When my best friend, Chloe, invited me to go camping by the lake, my boyfriend, Ethan, immediately offered to come along. “It’s not safe for two girls to be out in the woods alone,” he said. Looking at the two people I loved most in the world standing by my side, my heart swelled with warmth. It was already dark by the time we reached the campsite. Out of nowhere, Chloe suggested going for a midnight swim. Ethan immediately offered to join her. “It’s not safe for you to swim alone in the dark,” he said. “I want to go too,” I chimed in. But Ethan stopped me. “Aren’t you terrified of deep water? I’d worry more if you came along. Just wait for us at the camp.” So, I waited alone. An hour passed, and there was still no sign of them. I opened my phone and saw Chloe had just posted on Instagram. “The most romantic thing this year—a midnight swim in the summer.” The attached photo showed Ethan, shirtless, holding her waist in the moonlit lake. A sharp pang of jealousy hit my chest, but I quickly forced myself to calm down. Chloe was my best friend. Back in high school, when I was being bullied and pushed into the school pool, she was the one who pulled me out. She had always been my protector. How could she ever betray me? A moment later, my phone buzzed. It was a call from Ethan. “Hey, Chloe and I are going to stay by the lake to watch the sunrise. Go ahead and get some sleep.” My heart sank into a cold, dark abyss. I didn’t sit there like an idiot waiting. I chose to leave.
I left the tent exactly as it was, put out the campfire, and walked straight to the parking lot. A couple camping nearby noticed me. Maybe my face was ghostly pale, because the woman asked with genuine concern, “Are you okay? Do you need some help?” I shook my head and forced a tight smile. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Then, I got into my car and drove away. The highway was nearly empty. My phone on the passenger seat vibrated non-stop. It was about a two-and-a-half-hour drive back to the city. The screen lit up and went dark, over and over. Ethan sent a few texts: “Why aren’t you replying?” “Are you asleep?” He followed up with a few voice notes, but I didn’t play them. Chloe’s text came ten minutes after his. Just one. “Maya, are you mad at us? Where did you go? Everything in your tent is untouched.” Then came five missed calls. I didn’t answer a single one. By the time I pulled into a highway rest stop, it was 2:00 AM. I shut off the engine. The moment the car went silent, all the strength drained from my body. I collapsed over the steering wheel. My phone rang again. This time, it was Chloe. I stared at her name on the screen for a long time. Her contact name was “Chloe ❤️”—she had grabbed my phone and added that heart emoji herself on her birthday last year. I hit decline. Then I opened my contacts, deleted the heart, and changed it back to just “Chloe.” I finally unlocked my apartment door just as the sun was rising. I stood under the hot shower for a long time, my mind racing. I thought back to my birthday three months ago. Chloe had been hyping it up in our Snapchat group a week in advance, promising me a “once-in-a-lifetime” surprise. But on the actual day, she and Ethan vanished for the entire afternoon. When they finally showed up at the restaurant that night, both of their hair was a messy, and Chloe’s ears were flushed pink. She handed me a cake box with a brilliant smile. “Your boyfriend and I literally ran through the entire downtown area for this cake. We’re exhausted.” Ethan chimed in beside her. “Yeah, she insisted on getting it from that artisanal bakery. It was already closed, but she practically forced me to find the owner to open up for us.” “Thank you,” I had said. As I cut the cake, I asked where they had been all afternoon. Ethan shrugged. “I told you, buying the cake.” Chloe playfully nudged his arm. “Why are you spilling all the details? How am I supposed to plan surprises for her in the future if you talk so much?” He smiled down at her, his eyes filled with a relaxed, unguarded intimacy. That was a look he used to reserve only for me. I didn’t turn off the shower until the water ran freezing cold. As I was drying my hair, the phone rang. This time, it was Ethan. I picked up. “Where on earth did you go? We’ve been calling you all night. Chloe is literally crying her eyes out.” His very first sentence was about Chloe crying. “I’m home,” I said. “You’re… what? You drove back alone in the middle of the night?” “Yeah.” There was a two-second silence on the other end, as if he was struggling to find his words. “If you were upset, you could have just told us. Driving alone on the highway at night—do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” “Just let Chloe know I’m home. That’s all.” I hung up. I put my phone on silent and flipped it face down on the table. Closing my eyes in bed, that Instagram picture kept flashing in my mind. They looked so close, so perfect for each other. I was never a paranoid person. But when the same “coincidence” happens too many times, it’s no longer a coincidence.
“Maya, you need to explain to me what the hell happened last night.” Ethan showed up at my apartment the next afternoon. He didn’t even knock; he just used his spare key. I was in the kitchen, waiting for the pasta water to boil. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his face tight with irritation. “Chloe has been crying since last night. She thinks she said something wrong and drove you away.” I dropped a handful of spaghetti into the pot. “Why is she crying?” “Why do you think? She woke up, found you gone, your phone went straight to voicemail. Wouldn’t you panic if you were in her shoes?” I stirred the pasta slowly. “I just wanted to go home. It has nothing to do with her.” Ethan walked over, standing right next to me, his tone softening slightly. “Is this about me going for a swim with her last night? The bugs were terrible out there, the water was freezing, and you’ve always hated deep water anyway. Chloe just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, so…” “I know,” I interrupted him. “Like I said, it has nothing to do with her.” He stared at my profile, his expression slowly shifting into confusion. “Then what is wrong with you?” I turned off the stove and drained the pasta into a bowl. “I just need some space.” He nodded, but his brows remained knitted. “Fine. Eat your food first. I’ll have Chloe call you later. At least tell her you’re okay so she stops blaming herself.” He turned to leave, then paused, looking back at me. “By the way, what happened to your forehead?” “Just a minor burn from the steam. It’s fine.” “Put a band-aid on it. Don’t let it get infected.” And with that, he left. From the moment he walked in to the moment he left, it took exactly eight minutes. He didn’t ask why I drove two and a half hours alone in the dark. He didn’t ask if I was tired, or what time I got home. His priorities were crystal clear: Chloe was crying, so he came. At 3:00 PM, Chloe called. I answered. “Maya, are you mad at me?” Her voice was raspy and thick, as if she really had been crying for hours. “No.” “Then why did you leave so suddenly? I came back to the tent and saw everything untouched. You scared the life out of me.” “Something came up.” “What could be so urgent at midnight?” I paused for a second. “Work emails. I had to submit a proposal first thing in the morning.” “Liar,” she said softly. “You told me before the trip that your schedule was totally clear this week.” I remained silent. She sighed, her voice turning defensive. “Is this because I dragged Ethan to go swimming? I just wanted to give you some quiet time. Didn’t you say you wanted to just sit by the campfire and zone out? I told him we should leave you alone for a bit so you could relax…” “I know, Chloe.” “Then why didn’t you just tell me before leaving? Do you know how long Ethan and I looked for you? He was literally about to call the cops.” I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Only then did she let out a sigh of relief. “Next time you’re unhappy, just tell me, okay? You’ve been like this since we were kids—keeping everything bottled up.” “Okay.” “Ethan and I are heading back tomorrow. I’ll take you out for a massive dinner to make it up to you.” “Okay.” After hanging up, I sat in silence for a long time. Every word she said was logical. Every explanation made perfect sense. But deep down, I knew something was entirely wrong. She hadn’t deleted that Instagram post. I opened her profile to look at it again. The top comment was from Ethan—a simple high-five emoji. Chloe had replied: “Go away lol.” Underneath, a mutual friend had commented: “Wait, who is this? New boyfriend?” Chloe never replied. And neither did Ethan. That comment was still sitting right there.
We ended up getting dinner at Chloe’s favorite Mexican spot downtown. The second she walked through the door, she threw her arms around me, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. “My sweet Maya! Did you miss me?” Ethan followed close behind, holding two iced boba teas. He handed one to Chloe. “Low sugar, just the way you like it.” Chloe took a sip and playfully rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, so you actually remembered this time? Last time you got me full sugar and I almost died.” Ethan chuckled, then turned his gaze to me. “Do you want one? I can go grab another.” “No, I’m good.” “Well, you can have a sip of mine? I haven’t touched it yet.” He offered his cup. Chloe immediately blocked his hand. “That’s yours. Sharing drinks is so unsanitary.” She turned and waved down the waiter. “Could we get a glass of water for her? Room temperature, please. Thanks.” Ethan didn’t say anything else. He pulled out a chair and sat down. When ordering, the two of them debated for five minutes over whether to get spicy salsa on the tacos. Chloe couldn’t handle spice, but Ethan loved it. “Last time you ate that hot sauce, you got a massive canker sore the next day. It looked so painful,” Chloe said, tapping his menu. “How about we do one mild and one spicy?” “Sure, whatever you say.” I spoke up, “I actually want spicy too.” “Your stomach has been sensitive lately,” Ethan said without even looking up. “I’ll be fine for once.” “Better not risk it. Remember last time you had those extremely spicy wings and spent the night in the ER? Chloe had to stay with you all night.” I forced a small smile and dropped the subject. Once the food arrived, Chloe kept putting food onto Ethan’s plate. “Try this. How is it?” Ethan took a bite. “Could be better.” Chloe froze, pulling her fork back. “If it ‘could be better,’ why are you eating it? Spit it out!” Ethan laughed, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just kidding. It’s actually great.” Chloe playfully swatted at him, and they dissolved into giggles again. I stared down at my drink, stirring the ice cubes. At the next table, a young couple was watching them. The girl whispered to her boyfriend, “Are those two together? They look so cute.” The guy whispered back, “Yeah, looks like it. The other girl is probably just a friend.” They didn’t bother to lower their voices. I heard every word. Chloe heard them too. Her hand froze for a second. She glanced at me, then quickly pulled her hand away from Ethan’s arm. “Maya, let me get that taco for you.” “No, I’ve got it.” As I reached across the table, my sleeve brushed against the hot fajita skillet, burning my wrist. Ethan was busy pouring tea for Chloe and didn’t notice. But Chloe saw. She stood up and grabbed my hand. “Oh my god, let me see. Is it red?” “I’m fine,” I said, pulling my arm back. “Seriously, it’s just a tiny scratch.” Ethan finally looked up. “What happened?” “Nothing,” Chloe answered for me. “Be careful when you pour the tea, Ethan. You’re spilling water everywhere.” She grabbed a napkin to wipe the table. Ethan watched her, naturally taking the napkin from her hand to help. Their fingers brushed against each other. Neither of them pulled away. I pulled my sleeve down, hiding the red burn on my wrist. Halfway through the dinner, Chloe went to the restroom. Ethan suddenly leaned in close. “Are you free this weekend? I want to take you to that new art exhibition.” I looked at him. “What exhibition?” “The… uh…” He hesitated. “Chloe recommended it. She said the artist’s style is exactly what you like.” “Chloe recommended it.” “Yeah. She mentioned you brought it up once.” I set my fork down. “I never brought that up.” He blinked, looking lost. “Oh. Maybe I got it mixed up. But anyway, let’s go this weekend.” “Why don’t you just go with Chloe? Since she recommended it, she definitely wants to see it.” Ethan frowned. “I’m asking you. I want to take you.” “Fine,” I said. “Let me know the time.” He let out a sigh of relief, as if he had just checked off a difficult task on his to-do list. The moment Chloe returned, he immediately steered the conversation elsewhere. “Hey Chloe, are you going to that exhibition this weekend?” “Of course! I really want to check out that brunch spot right next to it too.” I kept my head down, eating my food in silence.
I didn’t go to the exhibition that weekend. The night before, I texted Ethan saying I had terrible cramps and couldn’t make it. He sent a single text back: “We’ll do it another time then.” Chloe, on the other hand, sent a barrage of hyper voice notes in our Snapchat group. She ended with: “Ethan and I will go check it out first, and I’ll send you tons of pictures!” I replied with a simple “OK” emoji. That afternoon, Chloe posted nine photos in the group chat, all from the exhibition. One photo showed her and Ethan standing in front of a giant infinity mirror installation. The mirrors stretched their reflections out, making them look almost fused together. Her caption read: “This installation is so cool!” Ethan commented with a clapping emoji. I slid my phone under my pillow, curled up on my side, and stared at the blank wall. The heating pad on my stomach was warm, but I wasn’t on my period. I just didn’t want to play the third wheel anymore. On Monday at work, my coworker Amber dragged me into the breakroom. “Do you know what your boyfriend posted on his private Instagram account on Saturday?” “No,” I replied. She pulled out her phone, scrolled for a bit, and showed me a screenshot. It was Ethan’s post. It was a photo of the same mirror installation, but from a completely different angle. He had captured Chloe from behind as she stood in front of the mirrors, the golden hour sunlight catching her shoulders. The caption was just one word: “Light.” I stared at it for three seconds before handing the phone back to Amber. “Oh, yeah. He went to the gallery with my best friend.” Amber looked at me, hesitating. “With that best friend of yours?” “Yeah.” “Maya, don’t you think…” she lowered her voice. “If my boyfriend posted a photo like that of another girl, I would literally throw a fit. Are you seriously okay with this?” I forced a laugh. “It’s just a candid shot. You’re overthinking it.” “I’m overthinking it? If my man posted that—” “They’re just friends,” I cut her off. Amber stared at me like I was completely out of my mind. “Wait… did he hide his posts from you?” I froze. “What do you mean?” “Can you actually see that post on your feed?” She shoved her phone closer, pointing at the privacy settings of the post. “Try checking his profile on your phone right now.” I pulled out my phone and went to Ethan’s Instagram. His last post was from five days ago—a photo of a coffee cup with the caption “Overtime.” There was nothing else. He had blocked me from seeing that post. Amber’s expression turned incredibly sympathetic. “Well… just watch your back, okay?” That night, I opened my laptop and logged into an old email account I hadn’t used in a while. I searched for an email I had starred three months ago. The subject line read: Internal Transfer Opportunity: Design Director, Zurich Branch — Deadline: Dec 15. I clicked it and read through the requirements again. My degree matched, my portfolio was solid, and my English was perfect. All I needed was an employment verification letter and a recommendation letter within the month. I had six weeks left before the deadline. I opened a new folder and began updating my portfolio. Later that night, Ethan called to say Chloe was treating us to Omakase on Wednesday night. “Are you still busy this week?” he asked. “Very busy.” “Come on, let’s go on Wednesday. Chloe booked this place two months ago.” “You two go. I have a tight deadline on my project.” There was a long silence on his end. “Why have you been blowing us off lately? You missed the exhibition too.” “I’m genuinely busy at work.” “Then when are you going to be free?” “Once this crazy phase is over.” He didn’t press further. He just told me to get some sleep and hung up. I went back to working on my portfolio, staying up until 3:00 AM. The next day, the day after, and the day after that. For a whole week, I went straight home after work, declining every single invitation. Chloe texted me three times in the group chat, and each time I told her I was working late. On her third attempt, she sent a private message: “Are you avoiding me?” I replied: “Seriously busy, trying to submit a proposal by the end of the month.” “Fine! But once you’re free, you owe me a dinner. You have to come!” “Deal.” By the first week of November, I had secured my recommendation letter and my employment verification. My portfolio was compressed into a 73-page PDF. I uploaded all my documents to the internal portal and hit submit. The screen showed: Your application has been successfully submitted. I stared at the words and let out a long, deep breath. By the last week of November, the interview invitation arrived. Three rounds of video interviews. I took two days of paid time off and locked myself in my apartment. Ethan thought I was sick and offered to come over. “No need. I just need some rest.” “Should I bring you some soup tonight?” “No, I have food in the fridge.” “Chloe said she wants to come keep you company.” “No, please. I just want to be alone.” He finally stopped pushing. By the second week of December, the official offer letter arrived. Zurich Branch, Design Director. Start date: January 15. I stared at that email for ten whole minutes before quietly closing my laptop. Over the next two weeks, I put in my two-week notice, terminated my lease, and gave away my heavy furniture. I replied to Ethan’s texts normally, chatted in the group chat, and politely declined every hangout. Neither of them noticed anything. Because they had never really paid attention to my life anyway. At 4:00 AM on January 13th, I stood in the departures hall of JFK airport with my suitcase. The screen at the gate lit up: Flight LX 15, New York to Zurich, 06:35. I slipped off my phone case. Inside was a Polaroid photo of the three of us from last New Year’s Eve. Chloe was in the middle, throwing her arms around Ethan and me, laughing wildly. I looked at it for a second, tore it into four pieces, and threw it into the trash can. My phone buzzed. It was a scheduled text from Ethan: “Good morning, babe. Make sure to eat breakfast.” I read it, exited the chat, and opened Chloe’s chat. Her last message was from yesterday afternoon: “Are we hanging out this weekend? A new sake bar just opened.” I didn’t reply. The PA system crackled to life: “Final boarding call for Flight LX 15 to Zurich…” I stood up, grabbed my suitcase, and walked toward the gate.
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