Chapter 10 – Oliver
Three months. That’s how long it’s been since that first date — the one that flipped my whole world on its axis without warning. And somehow, even after all this time, Ellie still makes my chest feel too full in the best way possible.
I pull into the school parking lot a few minutes early, like I always do now. Not because I have to… but because she’ll be here soon. And waiting for her — that quiet moment before she walks toward me — has become my favorite part of the day.
I’m scrolling through my playlist, pretending I’m not checking my mirrors every ten seconds, when I see her. Hair pulled back, backpack slung over one shoulder, that soft smile she only gives me. And just like that, everything inside me settles.
She opens the passenger door and slides in, her hand immediately finding mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe this is what it feels like to be someone’s safe place.
Her fingers lace with mine, warm and small and steady, and something in my chest pulls tight — not in a painful way, but in that way that makes you realize you’d do anything to protect the person sitting next to you.
God.
I think I love her.
The thought hits me so suddenly I almost forget to breathe. I’ve liked her for months. Wanted her. Missed her. But this… this is different. This is deeper. This is the kind of feeling that makes everything else fade out.
“Morning,” she says softly, squeezing my hand.
“Morning,” I manage, even though my heart is doing that stupid flutter thing again.
We walk to class together like always — her hand in mine, her head leaning just a little closer than before — and for a moment, it feels like the world is exactly right.
But then I see Josh across the courtyard.
He’s standing alone, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking between us with something I can’t quite read. Not anger. Not sadness. Something in between. Something heavy.
I lift my free hand in a small wave, but he doesn’t wave back. He just nods once, tight and quick, before looking away.
Weird.
But Ellie squeezes my hand again, and the weirdness slips to the back of my mind. I’ll talk to him later. He’s probably just tired. Or stressed. Or… something.
Right now, all I can think about is the girl beside me and the way she makes everything feel lighter.
And the terrifying, incredible truth settling quietly in my chest:
I’m in love with her.
And I don’t think I can hide it much longer.
Ellie’s hand stays in mine as we walk through the front doors, the morning rush buzzing around us — lockers slamming, people laughing too loudly, someone sprinting because they’re late. But all of it feels muted, like the world turned the volume down just for us.
She’s talking about her Psychology quiz, her voice soft and animated, and I’m nodding along… but honestly, I’m barely hearing the words. I’m too focused on the way her thumb brushes the back of my hand. Slow. Absentminded. Like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Like she’s comfortable with me. Like she trusts me. Like I’m hers.
We turn the corner toward her hallway, and she stops walking for a second, tugging gently on my hand so I face her.
“You okay?” she asks, tilting her head a little. “You’re quiet.”
I swallow, because how am I supposed to tell her the truth? That I’m standing here trying not to blurt out I love you in the middle of a crowded hallway?
“Yeah,” I say, smiling because it’s the only thing I can do without combusting. “Just… happy.”
Her cheeks warm, and she squeezes my hand again — that tiny, grounding gesture that makes my heart feel too big for my chest.
“I’ll see you after class?” she asks.
“Always.”
She walks away, and I watch her go — the sway of her hair, the way she hugs her books to her chest, the little bounce in her step. And it hits me all over again, sharp and soft at the same time:
I’m in love with her.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
Quietly.
I’m still standing there like an idiot when someone bumps my shoulder.
Josh.
He barely glances at me as he passes, muttering, “Sorry,” but his eyes flick toward Ellie’s hallway.
Quick.
Tight.
Something unreadable.
Before I can say anything, he’s already walking away.
Weird.
Again.
But I shake it off.
Right now, I have to get to class.
The rest of the school day drags in that slow, restless way it always does when I’m waiting to see Ellie again. Every class feels longer, every clock tick louder. By the time the final bell rings, I’m already halfway down the hallway.
She’s waiting for me by the doors, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair falling softly around her face. When she sees me, her whole expression brightens — just enough to make my chest feel warm.
“Hey,” she says, stepping closer.
“Hey,” I echo, and I can’t help it — I reach for her hand again. She lets me, fingers slipping between mine like they belong there.
We walk out to the parking lot together, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. She leans into my side a little, tired in that way she gets after a long week.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Just exhausted. I’m so glad I have today off.”
“You need it,” I say softly. “You’ve been working nonstop.”
She smiles, small and grateful. “I know. I’m gonna sleep in. Maybe read. Maybe do nothing at all.”
“That sounds perfect,” I tell her. “You deserve a good night. And rest. Lots of it.”
She squeezes my hand, and for a second, she just looks at me — really looks at me — like she’s memorizing something.
“I’ll text you when I get home,” she says.
“Please do.”
She laughs under her breath, then rises on her toes to kiss my lips before heading toward her dad’s car, which she has been driving lately. I stand there like an idiot, watching her go, feeling that same quiet, overwhelming truth settle in my chest.
God.
I think I love her.
By the time I clock in, the café is already busy — the usual after-school rush. I tie my apron, wash my hands, and fall into the rhythm of it: taking orders, steaming milk, wiping counters. It’s familiar, grounding, something I can do without thinking.
Which is good, because my mind keeps drifting back to Ellie.
Her smile.
Her tired eyes.
The way she held my hand like she needed me.
I’m wiping down the espresso machine when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting Ellie.
But it’s not her.
It’s Josh.
Josh: Can we talk after your shift? At the park? Please.
I stare at the message for a second, my stomach tightening.
He doesn’t usually say “please.”
He doesn’t usually sound… desperate.
I type back quickly.
Me: Yeah. I’ll be there at 9:15.
He doesn’t reply.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, but the weird feeling from this morning creeps back in — slow, heavy, unsettling.
Something’s going on with him.
Something he hasn’t said yet.
I try to shake it off and get back to work, but the thought keeps circling in the back of my mind like a loose thread I can’t stop tugging at. Josh isn’t usually like this. He jokes, he complains, he vents — but he doesn’t get quiet. He doesn’t get distant. And he definitely doesn’t say please.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of coffee orders and half-focused thoughts. By the time I’m wiping down the counters for closing, the café is empty, the lights dimmed, the air warm and humming with the last traces of espresso.
I clock out, grab my jacket, and step outside into the cool night air. The sky is dark, the moon bright, the kind of night that feels too still, too quiet. I shove my hands into my pockets and start heading toward the park.
When I reach the park entrance, I spot him immediately.
Josh is sitting on our usual bench, hood up, shoulders hunched, staring down at his hands like they’re holding answers he doesn’t want to face. The glow of the streetlamp casts a pale circle around him, making him look smaller somehow. Younger. Lost.
I take a slow breath and walk toward him.
“Hey,” I say gently.
He doesn’t look up right away. When he finally does, his eyes are tired — not just from the day, but from something deeper.
“Hey,” he mutters back.
I sit beside him, leaving just enough space to give him room but close enough to show I’m here. Really here.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He swallows hard, jaw tightening. And for a moment, he doesn’t answer.
Then he lets out a shaky breath.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, man,” he says quietly. “I just… I feel like everything’s changing. And I’m stuck.”
I turn toward him, brows pulling together. “Josh…”
He shakes his head, cutting me off.
“I feel alone, Oliver.”
The words land heavy between us.
“I feel like everyone has someone except me,” he continues, voice cracking. “And I know it’s stupid, I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but… I miss you. I miss when it was just us.”
There it is.
The first real crack.
I open my mouth to respond — to tell him I’m still here, that nothing’s changed — but something in his expression makes my breath catch.
There’s something else behind his eyes.
Something sharp.
Something he’s trying to hide.
But I blink, and it’s gone.
Just exhaustion.
Just loneliness.
At least… that’s what I tell myself.
Josh drags a hand through his hair, staring down at the gravel beneath his shoes.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Change isn’t bad, man. It just means we’re growing.”
“Yeah,” he says, but it’s flat. Unconvincing.
There’s a long pause — the kind that feels like it’s holding something heavier underneath. Then he exhales, voice low.
“I just miss when things were simpler,” he says. “Before everyone started pairing off. Before you…” He stops himself, jaw tightening. “Before things got… different.”
I frown. “Different how?”
He shrugs, but it’s too sharp to be casual.
“I don’t know. You’re just… busy now. With her.” He says “her” like it’s a weight in his mouth. Not angry. Not bitter. Just… something.
Something I can’t name.
I blink, confused. “Josh, I’m still here. You’re my best friend.”
He nods, but his eyes flick away — toward the dark trees, toward nothing — and for a split second, something tightens in his expression. Something that almost looks like hurt. Or jealousy. Or both.
But then he forces a small laugh, shaking his head.
“Forget it,” he says. “I’m being dramatic.”
And just like that, the moment slips away.
Or… it seems to.
I nudge his shoulder lightly. “Hey. You can talk to me about anything. You know that.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
But the way he says it doesn’t sound like he believes it.
Josh exhales, shoulders slumping as he stands from the bench. “Thanks for coming,” he says quietly. “I just… needed someone to talk to.”
“Always,” I tell him. “You know that.”
He nods, but there’s something distant in his eyes — something I can’t place. He shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing toward the path that leads out of the park.
“I’m glad she makes you happy,” he says after a moment. “Really.”
There’s a pause — small, but sharp enough to catch on something inside me.
Then he adds, almost too casually:
“She seems like the kind of girl anyone would fall for.”
He says it with a soft smile. A harmless one. A friendly one.
But something about it feels… off. Just for a second. Like a shadow passing over his face.
Before I can respond, he turns away.
“See you tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder.
And just like that, he’s gone — swallowed by the dark path and the glow of the streetlamps.
I shake my head, brushing off the weird feeling settling in my chest.
He’s just tired.
Just lonely.
Just… Josh.
But tonight, something feels different.