1 I chose a sleek Bluetooth speaker for Brooke’s birthday. Oliver scoffed, “For her best friend, you sure don’t know what she wants.” He pulled out a leather journal titled 100 Things About Her, flipping to a marked page. “Her real wish is vintage jasmine perfume—not a bulky speaker.” Taking it, I flipped through pages filled with details: her favorite matte black, iced jasmine oolong with light ice, hatred of hair-touching, fear of rainy-night walks. The tight handwriting burned my eyes, souring my throat. Slamming it shut, I forced down my trembling voice. “Oliver, do you know my favorite food? Or what I hate most?” He froze, stammering, unable to answer a thing. A bitter smile curled my lips as my chest tightened. He could catalog Brooke’s every quirk, yet after four years, knew nothing about me. The three of us had made a pact years ago. We promised that after graduation, we would all move to Portland together to build our careers. In that exact moment, I completely abandoned that plan. I pulled out my phone, opened the official employment offer from a top firm in New York City, and typed out my reply. “I accept. I will report for onboarding next week.” Less than a minute after I hit send, my phone began to vibrate. “You previously turned down a highly competitive salary package because you wanted to relocate to Portland with your boyfriend and best friend,” the project director said over the line. “What made you suddenly change your mind?” Thinking back on everything that had unfolded recently, I fell silent for a moment. Brooke and Oliver had never technically crossed the physical line. But it was that very ambiguity, that suffocating and blurred emotional affair, that left me with no solid ground to stand on. I could never point to a singular, undeniable betrayal, yet every interaction between them felt fundamentally wrong. It went on for so long that I started questioning my own sanity, wondering if I was just being overly sensitive. I used to believe that as long as the three of us stuck together, everything would work out fine. But holding that meticulously written journal today, I just felt incredibly exhausted. I let out a soft breath. “I thought it over carefully. Compared to Portland, New York City offers a much better trajectory for my career.” The director voiced his approval. “Excellent. We will see you on Monday.” I hung up and walked back down the hallway. Oliver’s gaze flicked over to me for a split second. “Was that the New York recruiter again? Just reject them already. Brooke already booked three plane tickets to Portland. We leave in a week.” I looked at him quietly. “What if I already accepted the offer?” He paused, glancing up at me with a lazy, dismissive smirk. “Are you serious right now? Everyone knows you follow me and Brooke wherever we go. There is no way you would abandon us to go to New York alone.” I forced a dry, hollow laugh. He was right. For years, I had trailed behind them, living my life as nothing more than an afterthought in their orbit. That was exactly why I refused to revolve around them anymore. I opened my mouth to speak, but Brooke suddenly leaned through the doorway, flashing a brilliant smile and extending her hand. “Oliver! Where is my birthday present?” Oliver immediately softened. He reached into a shopping bag and handed her the beautifully wrapped perfume. Brooke tore the wrapping paper away, her eyes lighting up instantly. “I have wanted this specific scent for months! I only mentioned it in passing once, I cannot believe you actually remembered!” Before she even finished her sentence, Oliver pulled out a luxurious designer handbag and placed it on the table before her. Brooke blinked in surprise. “There is another gift? Did Christina get this for me?” Oliver shook his head gently, his eyes locked onto her with undeniable tenderness. “No.” “The perfume is the gift you asked for. But this bag is the gift I wanted to give you. We are moving to Portland soon. You will need something high-end to carry to your interviews.” I stood just a few feet away, feeling like an absolute stranger intruding on a private movie scene. My heart sank deeper into my stomach. We were both women in his life. Yet he remembered a passing comment from Brooke well enough to write a novel about it. When my birthday rolled around last month, my boyfriend of four years simply patted my shoulder. “Christina, money is a little tight right now. I will make it up to you next year, okay?” I smiled at my own stupidity. He was not broke. He just preferred spending his savings on someone else. The drive back to our apartment was entirely silent. The moment I closed the front door behind us, Oliver finally spoke up. “Christina, you haven’t said a word. Are you mad at me?” Before I could even formulate a response, he kept going. “Is this because I didn’t get you a real birthday present?” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a tiny glass vial. It was the exact same brand and scent he had just purchased for Brooke. “Stop sulking. Here, take this.” One glance was all I needed. It was a complimentary miniature sample given out by the beauty counter. It could not even begin to compare to the full-sized luxury gift set he had proudly handed to another woman. Seeing my reluctance to take it, Oliver sighed defensively. “Brooke is different from you. At the end of the day, she is an outsider. As your boyfriend, shouldn’t I make an effort to maintain a good relationship with your best friend? What if she starts talking badly about me behind my back?” I stared down at the tiny glass vial sitting on the entryway table. “I am not mad. I am just tired. I am going to take a shower.” When I turned off the water and began towel-drying my hair, I heard Oliver laughing hysterically in the living room. I pushed the bathroom door open. He was curled up on the sofa, clutching his phone, typing furiously with a massive grin on his face. Hearing my footsteps, he glanced up and chuckled again. “Christina, you have no idea. Brooke is hilarious. She went home to try on the new designer bag, took a picture, and sent it to me. But her cat decided to sit on the leather and refuses to move. She is freaking out but doesn’t want to drag the cat off, so she is literally crouching on the floor trying to reason with an animal.” He laughed while tilting his screen toward me so I could see the photo. My hands stopped moving through my wet hair. We used to have a group chat called The Grub Club. We shared every random, pointless moment of our days in that chat. But I could not remember the last time that group chat had been active. The final message was sent by me three weeks ago. I had asked where we should go for dinner over the weekend. Nobody ever replied. I stared at the glowing screen in his hand. My voice came out incredibly quiet. “When did you two add each other privately?” Oliver flinched. He awkwardly averted his eyes, the smile dying on his lips. “Oh, just… you remember that week you were pulling all-nighters writing your senior thesis? Brooke sprained her ankle. I happened to be nearby, so I drove her to the urgent care clinic.” My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. When Brooke sprained her ankle, I had blamed myself for days. We were supposed to go shopping, and I felt incredibly guilty that she got hurt while I was stuck in the library. She had comforted me over the phone, telling me not to worry because a kind stranger had helped her get to the clinic. She told me to focus entirely on my thesis. It took until this exact moment to realize that the kind stranger was my boyfriend. I stood frozen in the middle of the living room. Cold water dripped from the ends of my wet hair, falling onto the back of my hand. It felt like ice. On the day of Brooke’s birthday, Oliver left the apartment at dawn just to secure her favorite custom cake from a high-end bakery across town. The evening dinner took place at an intimate, atmospheric private kitchen. Brooke showed up wearing a stunning dress that perfectly matched the color of her new designer bag. Throughout the entire night, her eyes continuously gravitated toward Oliver. Whenever she noticed me looking, she would hastily tear her gaze away. When it was time for a toast, Brooke’s eyes looked visibly glassy. “I am just so incredibly lucky to have met both of you.” Right after she spoke those words, she shot a fleeting, loaded glance at Oliver, tilted her head back, and downed her entire glass of wine. Oliver immediately reached out, wrapping his fingers firmly around her wrist. “Slow down.” She smiled playfully, breaking his grip to pour herself another full glass. Her voice dropped into a raspy whisper. “It is my birthday today. I want to drink.” I sat right beside them, entirely incapable of joining the conversation. I was a ghost haunting my own relationship. Oliver tried to stop her at first. But eventually, he grabbed his own glass and filled it to the brim. She drank a glass, and he matched her. They sat across the table from one another, never making direct eye contact, yet their rhythm was intimately synchronized. After several rounds, both of them were heavily intoxicated. Suddenly, Brooke propped her chin on her hand, looking directly at me. Her words slurred heavily. “Christina… I fell in love with a guy. I really, really like him.” I managed to pull a bitter smile to my lips. “If you like him, you should go after him. Maybe he feels the exact same way.” Her eyes ignited. She leaned forward, staring at me with intense desperation. “Do you really mean that?” “I mean it.” The second those words left my mouth, Brooke lifted her gaze. She stared straight across the table, locking eyes with Oliver. Oliver’s face went completely rigid. The alcohol seemed to evaporate from his bloodstream instantly. He stood up in a sudden panic, disrupting the heavy tension. “You are drunk. Stop talking nonsense. I am calling a car to take you home.” He practically lunged around the table, throwing his arm over my shoulder and dragging me toward the exit without another word. The cab ride home was suffocatingly silent. Neither of us spoke a single syllable. Halfway there, Oliver abruptly rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. He turned his face toward the rushing city lights, his expression dark and unreadable, lost in his own chaotic thoughts. The acrid stench of burning tobacco instantly flooded the back seat. I instinctively held my breath. I have a highly sensitive respiratory system. I cannot tolerate cigarette smoke. Oliver knew this perfectly well. For the four years we had been together, he never touched alcohol or tobacco in my presence. Even when his fraternity brothers pressured him to partake, he would always hold my hand and decline politely. “My girlfriend cannot handle the smoke,” he used to tell them. But tonight, he let the toxic cloud fill the cramped space of the vehicle. He clearly saw me coughing and turning my face away in discomfort, yet he remained entirely indifferent. The second we walked through our front door, his phone chimed. It was a custom notification tone he had specifically assigned to Brooke. I ignored him and walked straight into the bedroom. It took him nearly half an hour to finally enter the room. He claimed it was a work call from the Portland recruiters. His lie was incredibly sloppy, completely riddled with holes, but I did not even have the energy to call him out. I simply rolled over, turning my back to him. Deep into the night, his phone began vibrating relentlessly against the mattress. Driven by a morbid impulse I could not control, I reached over and picked it up. I opened the chat. The glowing text pierced my eyes like broken glass. The most recent messages were sent while I was lying right beside him. Oliver wrote: “Brooke, we cannot keep doing this. It is not fair to Christina.” She replied: “I know. But I genuinely cannot control how I feel.” He wrote back: “I cannot hurt Christina. I cannot move to Portland with you anymore. I want to go to New York with her.” Brooke responded with a massive wall of text, guilt-tripping him relentlessly. She reminded him of their sacred promise that the three of them would stick together, begging him not to abandon her. Oliver went silent for a long time. His final reply consisted of a single word. “Okay.” The screen faded to black. I tapped it to wake it up again. I read those lines over and over until my vision blurred and my eyes burned. Only then did I place the phone back on his pillow. I lay perfectly still on the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling. My mind drifted back to our college graduation day. The three of us had stood together on the campus green, debating where we should build our futures. I told them I wanted to go to New York City. The career opportunities for my major were endless there. Brooke said she wanted to return to Portland because it was close to her family. Oliver did not even hesitate. He immediately agreed with Brooke, suggesting we move to Portland and claiming that the majority should rule. I had laughed it off, telling them that as long as we were together, the destination did not matter. It took me until tonight to finally understand the truth. I was never Oliver’s first choice. During our junior year, Oliver and I had signed a lease for this modest one-bedroom apartment near campus. It was small, but I had poured my heart into making it a warm, inviting home. Our toothbrushes were a matching set—one blue, one pink—sitting side by side in a glass cup. Our indoor slippers were a set too. His were charcoal gray, mine were cream. Sitting on his desk was a pair of custom ceramic mugs painted with our portraits. He had dragged me to a street fair to paint them. His artwork was incredibly sloppy and disproportionate. I had laughed the entire walk home, but I still treated that mug like a priceless artifact, placing it right in the center of the room. Looking at all those carefully curated memories now, I just felt like a massive joke. Oliver leaned against the bedroom doorframe, watching me fold my clothes into a large suitcase. He sounded incredibly relaxed. “Packing already? You must be really excited to move to Portland.” My hands paused over a stack of sweaters. I looked up and called his name quietly. “Oliver.” “Yeah? What is it?” I shook my head slowly. “Nothing.” I lowered my eyes and went back to folding. Just then, the front door swung open. Brooke walked in carrying two iced coffees. She kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable right on the edge of our bed. “I finalized the rental agreement for our place in Portland! It is a massive three-bedroom apartment with amazing natural light.” “The master bedroom goes to you and Oliver. I will take the room right next door. And as for the third room…” Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to look at Oliver. “Oliver and I decided to turn it into a dedicated gaming room. We both play the same games anyway, it will be perfect.” My fingers stopped moving. I was never much of a gamer. But back in college, the two of them would spend hours sitting side by side on the sofa, screaming into their headsets, completely absorbed in their shared digital world. I would sit right next to them, utterly invisible, unable to contribute a single word to their conversations. Brooke suddenly slapped her forehead as if remembering something urgent. She reached out and grabbed Oliver’s arm tightly. “Oh my gosh, I almost forgot! You need to come help me deal with the moving company right now.” “My current landlord is being an absolute nightmare about the security deposit and the broken refrigerator. He keeps arguing with me in circles and I cannot handle him.” Oliver let her drag him a few steps toward the door. I frowned and spoke up sharply. “Oliver. I need to talk to you.” He started to turn around, but Brooke yanked his arm harder. “Christina, whatever it is, just tell him when we get to the airport! Let me borrow your boyfriend for two hours, please?” Without waiting for my permission, the two of them walked out the door shoulder to shoulder. I stood alone in the quiet apartment. The words let’s break up were lodged completely sideways in my throat. I swallowed the lump down. We were all functioning adults now. Three days of total silence was the universal code for a permanent breakup. I refused to waste another second overthinking. I zipped up my luggage, grabbed the handle, and walked out the door. From this moment forward, Christina was officially dead to both of them. … When Oliver and Brooke finally packed her belongings and headed for the airport, Brooke naturally looped her arm through his. Oliver remained silent, letting her hold onto him, his mind completely elsewhere. Since walking out of the apartment, he had been agonizing over what Christina wanted to tell him. It clearly bothered him that she could not even wait for him to finish helping Brooke. Brooke chattered happily about furniture layouts and gaming setups, but Oliver just nodded absentmindedly. He did not absorb a single word. They arrived at the bustling departure hall in a state of high anxiety. Oliver immediately scanned the massive terminal, desperately searching the crowds, but Christina was nowhere to be found. Brooke finally unlinked her arm from his, speaking casually. “Girls always take forever to get ready. Just be patient, we still have plenty of time.” But the minutes ticked by mercilessly. With only thirty minutes left before the Portland flight began boarding, the check-in counters were preparing to close. Christina was still completely MIA. Oliver gripped his phone tightly. He dialed her number without hesitation. The line clicked twice before an automated voice echoed through the speaker. “The number you have dialed is currently powered off.” Brooke stood beside him, tugging gently at his jacket sleeve. “Her battery probably just died. Should we head through security and wait for her at the gate?” Oliver ignored her entirely. He sprinted toward the customer service counter, his voice thick with panic. “Excuse me, I need you to page Christina over the intercom! We are booked on the six o’clock flight to Portland, and we cannot find her!” The airline agent typed on her keyboard, scanning the passenger manifest. When she finally looked up, her expression shifted into something distinctly uncomfortable. “Sir. Miss Christina booked a ticket on the four o’clock flight to New York City. She boarded her plane over two hours ago.” Those words struck his skull like a physical blow, leaving him completely paralyzed.
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