By the end of the day, Micheal had learned something unsettling.
Distance didn't always announce itself.
Sometimes, it arrived quietly—between classes, between glances, between moments that should have belonged to you but didn't.
He stood by his locker, twisting the dial without really thinking about the numbers. Around him, the hallway buzzed with end-of-day energy, but his attention kept drifting back to the same place.
Teema's locker.
She was there, laughing softly at something Daniel said. Not the kind of laughter that demanded attention—just the easy kind, the kind that came without effort. Micheal noticed the way she leaned slightly toward him, the way Daniel listened like every word mattered.
You're reading too much into it, Micheal told himself.
But the thought didn't stick.
"Dude," Samson said, appearing beside him. "Your locker's been open for like a full minute."
Micheal blinked and shut it. "Didn't notice."
"Clearly." Samson followed his gaze, then sighed. "You're spiraling."
"I'm not."
"You are," Samson said calmly. "You're just doing it quietly."
Micheal didn't argue.
---
Teema noticed Micheal before he noticed her.
He was walking ahead of her toward the stairs, shoulders slightly hunched, phone in his hand but not really looking at it. She slowed instinctively, then hesitated.
Say something, she told herself.
"Micheal," she called.
He turned, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it. "Hey."
They stood there, the space between them small but heavy.
"I feel like you've been avoiding me," she said gently.
He frowned. "I haven't."
"You have," she replied, not accusing—just stating it. "You leave quicker. You don't wait anymore."
That stung more than he expected.
"I didn't think you'd notice," he said before he could stop himself.
Teema's expression softened, but there was concern there too. "Why wouldn't I?"
Micheal opened his mouth, then closed it again. The words were right there, pressing against his chest, but saying them felt like stepping off something solid.
"I just didn't want to get in the way," he said finally.
Teema shook her head slowly. "You're not in the way."
"Then why does it feel like I am?" he asked, quieter now.
She didn't answer right away.
Behind her, Daniel was waiting a few steps back, pretending not to watch but very clearly aware of the tension. Teema glanced at him, then back at Micheal.
"Can we talk later?" she asked. "Like—really talk?"
Micheal nodded. "Yeah. Later."
Later.
Another word that carried more weight than it should have.
---
That evening, Micheal sat on his bed with his phone in his hands, rereading Teema's last message.
> I'm free after dinner.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Tell her now.
Ask what's changing.
Say you're scared.
Instead, he typed:
> Okay.
He set the phone down and stared at the wall, frustration curling in his chest—not at Teema, not even at Daniel, but at himself.
Why was saying nothing always easier than saying enough?
---
Across town, Teema sat at her desk, legs tucked beneath her chair. Daniel's words from earlier echoed in her mind.
I don't want to step on anything important.
She sighed, pressing her palms against her eyes.
Micheal had been important long before Daniel arrived. That hadn't changed.
So why did it feel like everything was shifting anyway?
Her phone buzzed again.
> Okay.
Simple. Neutral. Micheal's usual.
And somehow, that scared her more than if he'd been angry.
She locked her phone and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time, Teema wondered if trying not to hurt anyone was slowly doing exactly that.
---
Later that night, Micheal stood outside his house, phone in hand, staring at the darkened street.
Teema hadn't called yet.
He thought about turning back inside. Thought about pretending he was tired. Thought about how easy it would be to delay again.
Instead, he took a breath and typed:
> Are you still up?
The reply came almost immediately.
> Yeah. I was waiting.
Micheal closed his eyes.
Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain.
If he stayed silent again, he wouldn't just lose moments anymore.
He'd lose her.
And this time, he wasn't sure he could pretend it was an accident.
Micheal didn't call right away.
He stared at the screen, the words I was waiting sitting there like a quiet challenge. The house was silent now—his mom asleep, the TV long turned off. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once and then went quiet again.
He stood up and paced his room, phone in his hand, every step measured.
Just talk, he told himself.
You said you would.
He tapped the call button before he could change his mind.
It rang twice.
"Hey," Teema said.
Her voice was soft, careful. Not surprised.
"Hey," Micheal replied. He leaned against his desk, staring at the floor. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward—it was familiar. That somehow made it harder.
"So," Teema said finally. "You wanted to talk."
"Yeah." He swallowed. "I just… I didn't want to keep pretending everything's normal."
She exhaled quietly. "I feel that too."
That wasn't what he expected. His grip on the phone tightened.
"I don't think you're doing anything wrong," Micheal said slowly. "I need you to know that."
"I was worried you thought I was," she admitted.
"I don't," he repeated. "I just… feel like I'm slowly being moved to the side. And I don't know when that started."
Teema didn't answer immediately. He could hear her breathing on the other end.
"I never meant for you to feel that way," she said. "Daniel just—needed someone. And I thought I could be that without it changing anything else."
"Did it?" Micheal asked.
She hesitated.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "That's the part that scares me."
Micheal closed his eyes. The honesty hurt, but it was better than reassurance that felt hollow.
"I don't want to compete," he said. "I don't want to ask you to choose."
"I don't want you to," Teema replied quickly. "You shouldn't have to."
"Then what do we do?" he asked.
Another pause.
"I think…" she began, then stopped. "I think we've been avoiding this conversation because we're afraid of what it might change."
Micheal let out a small, breathless laugh. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
They sat with that truth between them.
"I still care about you," Teema said quietly. "That hasn't changed."
"I know," Micheal said. And he did. That was the worst part.
"Can we just… slow things down?" she asked. "Figure out where we stand instead of pretending we're fine?"
Micheal nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "I'd like that."
When they hung up, nothing felt fixed. But something felt… acknowledged.
And somehow, that mattered.
---
The next day, the school halls felt sharper, louder.
Micheal noticed everything now—the way Teema hesitated before sitting down, the way Daniel kept a careful distance when Micheal was around, the way people watched without really understanding what they were seeing.
At lunch, Samson raised an eyebrow. "You look like you actually slept."
"Barely," Micheal said. "But we talked."
Samson nodded. "Good. Silence kills faster than jealousy."
Micheal managed a small smile.
Across the cafeteria, Teema caught his eye. She didn't wave. She didn't look away either.
Just held his gaze for a second longer than usual.
---
After school, Micheal found Daniel by the bike racks.
The moment stretched, uncomfortable but inevitable.
"Hey," Daniel said first.
"Hey." Micheal shifted his bag on his shoulder. "I just wanted to say… I know this isn't easy."
Daniel blinked, clearly not expecting that. "I'm not trying to take anything from you."
"I know," Micheal said. "I just needed you to hear it from me."
Daniel nodded slowly. "For what it's worth, I don't want to be the reason anyone gets hurt."
Micheal studied him, then said, "Then maybe we're all just trying not to be."
They stood there for a moment longer before parting ways.
---
That night, Teema texted Micheal.
> Thank you for calling me yesterday.
He replied almost immediately.
> Thank you for listening.
She stared at the message for a long moment before typing back.
> We'll figure this out.
Micheal set his phone down, unsure whether that sentence was a promise or a question.
Outside, the night settled in quietly—no answers yet, no clear lines drawn.
Just three people standing in a space they finally had the courage to name.