If it was so unfair, Coyln told herself, then she would try harder.
The thought followed her like a shadow as she stood in front of her bedroom mirror, adjusting the crooked bridge of her glasses for the third time. Her reflection stared back at her—long black hair falling straight past her shoulders, stubbornly refusing to curl no matter how many times she tried, her school uniform pressed neatly but worn with the quiet invisibility she had perfected over the years. At five foot five, she wasn't particularly short, nor was she tall enough to stand out. She existed somewhere in between, just like everything else about her.
Not quite beautiful.
That phrase had embedded itself into her mind long ago, not because anyone had ever said it outright, but because the world had a way of showing her. Compliments skipped over her. Attention slid past her shoulders and landed somewhere brighter, louder, shinier.
Like Milly.
Coyln exhaled slowly and reached for her bag. Today was supposed to be simple. Just the two of them, like always. Milly had messaged her the night before, her words bubbling through the screen.
Let's hang out tomorrow! There's a new café near the station! After school?
Coyln had stared at the message longer than necessary before typing back.
Sure.
One word. Safe. Quiet. Enough.
They had been friends since childhood—since scraped knees and shared lunches, since homework done side by side on the living room floor. Back then, the differences between them hadn't mattered. Milly's laugh had been just another sound Coyln liked. Her brightness had felt warm, not blinding.
But things changed. People noticed things. People grew.
Coyln slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out, locking the door behind her. The walk to the café took fifteen minutes. She used the time to rehearse conversations in her head, as she always did—predicting Milly's stories, preparing small responses, nods, quiet smiles. She was good at listening. People liked that about her.
At least, Milly did.
The café came into view, all glass windows and hanging lights, buzzing softly with after-school energy. Coyln scanned the front, expecting to see silver hair bouncing impatiently as Milly checked her phone.
She did see silver hair.
But Milly wasn't alone.
She was standing just outside the café, laughing, her hand looped comfortably around a boy's arm.
Coyln stopped walking.
For a moment, her mind refused to make sense of the image. Milly—beautiful as ever, silver hair catching the late afternoon light, her smile wide and easy. And the boy beside her—
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Athletic build, relaxed posture, dark hair slightly messy as if he had run his fingers through it one too many times. His school jacket hung loosely over his shoulders, and when he turned his head slightly, Coyln caught the curve of his smile.
John.
The world tilted, just a little.
Coyln knew him. Of course she did. Everyone did. Second-year. Popular. Handsome in a way that seemed effortless, as if he hadn't tried at all and still ended up admired. He was the kind of person teachers remembered and classmates talked about. The kind of person Coyln had trained herself not to look at for too long.
Her fingers tightened around her bag strap.
Milly spotted her first.
"Coyln!" Milly waved enthusiastically, silver hair swaying as she tugged the boy along. "You made it!"
Coyln forced her feet to move. Each step felt heavier than the last, but she walked anyway, stopping in front of them.
"Hi," Coyln said quietly.
Milly beamed. "I'm so glad you could come. Oh—" She turned slightly, her grip on the boy's arm tightening just a fraction. "This is John. I don't think I've ever officially introduced you."
Introduced.
The word echoed sharply in Coyln's ears.
John looked at her then, properly, his eyes meeting hers. For a split second, something like recognition flickered across his face.
"Hey," he said, smiling. "Nice to meet you. You're Milly's friend, right?"
Coyln nodded. "Yeah. Coyln."
"Nice to meet you, Coyln," John replied easily.
Milly laughed. "They've known each other forever! I can't believe I never introduced you two."
Coyln wondered when forever had started to include someone else.
"That's okay," Coyln said. Her voice didn't waver, and she counted that as a small victory.
"So!" Milly clapped her hands together. "Let's go inside before it gets crowded."
Inside, the café smelled like coffee and sugar. They found a table near the window. Milly and John sat side by side without thinking, their shoulders brushing naturally.
Coyln sat across from them.
The chairs felt uneven.
Conversation flowed easily between Milly and John. They talked about school, about teachers they both liked and complained about, about an upcoming sports match John was preparing for. Milly listened with sparkling interest, leaning closer, laughing at the right moments.
Coyln listened too. She always did.
She stirred her drink slowly, the spoon clinking softly against the cup. Occasionally, Milly would glance at her, pulling her into the conversation.
"Right, Coyln?"
"What do you think?"
"Didn't you say something similar once?"
Coyln answered when prompted—short, thoughtful responses, careful observations. John nodded at her comments, surprised once or twice.
"You're pretty smart," he said at one point, genuine admiration in his tone.
Coyln blinked. "Oh. Thanks."
Milly grinned. "Told you! Coyln's always been the smart one."
The smart one.
Not the pretty one. Not the interesting one. Just smart.
As time passed, Coyln became acutely aware of how often Milly's hand found John's, how easily he leaned toward her, how naturally their laughter blended together. They shared looks Coyln couldn't interpret, small smiles that meant something she wasn't part of.
She felt like a ghost at the table. Present, but transparent.
They decided to walk around after finishing their drinks. The street outside buzzed with people. Milly walked in the middle, still holding John's arm, while Coyln trailed slightly behind.
She told herself it was fine.
This was normal. Milly had a boyfriend. Of course she did. Milly was beautiful, cheerful, smart. Of course someone like John would choose her.
So why did it hurt like this?
As they passed shop windows, Coyln caught glimpses of their reflection. The three of them together looked wrong somehow. Like a picture with one extra piece that didn't belong.
At one point, John stopped to tie his shoe, crouching down. Milly waited patiently, smiling down at him.
"You're coming to the game tomorrow, right?" John asked as he stood back up.
"Of course," Milly replied instantly. "I wouldn't miss it."
John grinned. "Good."
He glanced at Coyln. "You too?"
Coyln hesitated. "I… I don't really watch sports."
"That's okay!" Milly said quickly. "Coyln's not really into that stuff."
John nodded, unbothered, his attention already drifting back to Milly.
Coyln felt something twist inside her chest.
It wasn't just jealousy. It was resentment—quiet, carefully hidden, but sharp. A secret grudge she had never allowed herself to name. John hadn't done anything wrong. He was kind. Polite. Everything people said he was.
But he stood there, effortlessly taking up space in Milly's world.
A space Coyln used to fill.
As the sun dipped lower, Milly checked the time. "Oh! I should head home soon. My mom's probably waiting."
John nodded. "I'll walk you."
Coyln knew what was coming.
"You don't have to," Coyln said softly, though she wasn't sure why she spoke at all.
Milly hesitated, just for a second. Then she smiled apologetically. "Are you okay heading home on your own?"
Coyln nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."
The words tasted like a lie.
They said their goodbyes at the corner. Milly hugged Coyln briefly, warm and familiar.
"I'm really glad you came," Milly said.
"Me too," Coyln replied.
John waved. "See you around, Coyln."
She watched as they walked away together, their figures slowly blending into the crowd.
When they were gone, Coyln stood still for a long moment.
The street felt quieter without them.
She adjusted her glasses and turned in the opposite direction, beginning the walk home alone. Her steps were slow, her thoughts loud.
She replayed the afternoon in her mind—the introduction, the laughter, the way Milly had looked at John like he was something precious. She thought about the space between them at the table, the way she had shrunk without meaning to.
If it was so unfair, she thought again, then she would try harder.
Try harder to matter. Try harder to be seen. Try harder to become something more than the quiet friend standing just outside the picture.
The thought didn't comfort her.
But it stayed with her all the same.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the quiet and the logic, the grudge took root—small, silent, and dangerous in its patience.