Micheal found out the same way everyone else did.
Not through a confession.
Not through a message.
Not even through Teema's voice.
It was a picture.
Someone had posted it during lunch—nothing dramatic, nothing staged. Just Teema and Daniel sitting close on the low wall near the library, her shoulder leaning into his, his head tilted toward hers as if he were saying something meant only for her. They weren't even looking at the camera.
That was what made it real.
Micheal stared at the screen longer than he meant to. The cafeteria noise blurred, voices melting into a low hum. Across the room, Samson was saying something, but Micheal didn't hear it.
"Mich," Samson said again, snapping his fingers. "You alive?"
Micheal locked his phone and looked up. "Yeah."
Samson followed his gaze, then sighed quietly. "So it's official."
"Looks like it."
"You okay?"
Micheal considered lying. Then decided against it. "I don't know yet."
The rest of the day moved in pieces. Classes ended. Bells rang. People laughed. Daniel passed him in the hallway and gave a small nod—polite, almost hesitant. Micheal nodded back.
That was it.
No challenge.
No apology.
No explanation.
After school, Teema waited near the gate like she always had. When she saw Micheal, she straightened, clearly nervous.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
They stood there, the space between them heavier than usual.
"I wanted to tell you," she said. "Before you heard it from someone else."
He nodded. "I figured."
Her hands twisted together. "Daniel and I… we're trying things. I didn't plan for it to happen this fast."
Micheal swallowed. "You don't owe me a timeline."
She looked relieved—and guilty. "I was scared you'd be angry."
"I'm not," he said. And that surprised both of them.
She searched his face. "You're really okay with this?"
He hesitated, just for a second. "I'm okay with you being okay."
That wasn't the same thing.
They both knew it.
Daniel approached from a distance, stopping when he noticed them talking. Teema glanced back at him, then at Micheal.
"I should go," she said softly.
"Yeah."
Before leaving, she reached out and squeezed Micheal's hand—quick, familiar, almost instinctive.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For staying kind."
She walked away, joining Daniel. He slipped his hand into hers without hesitation, like it was already natural.
Micheal watched them leave together, their steps falling into sync.
Later that night, his phone buzzed.
> I hope we can still be friends.
He stared at the message for a long time.
> Me too, he typed. Honestly.
He set the phone aside and lay back on his bed, the ceiling fan spinning slowly above him.
He had stayed.
He had shown up.
He had done everything right.
And still, she had chosen someone else.
The realization hurt—but beneath it was something quieter, steadier.
This wasn't about failure.
It was about timing.
And timing, he was learning, didn't care how hard you tried.
---
Micheal didn't decide to pull away all at once.
There was no dramatic moment where he told himself this is where I stop. It happened quietly, in the way he started choosing silence where he used to choose presence.
The next morning at school, he didn't wait by the lockers.
Teema noticed almost immediately.
She slowed when she reached their usual spot, scanning the hallway before realizing he wasn't coming. Daniel was beside her, talking about something that had happened in class, but her attention drifted.
"Everything okay?" Daniel asked.
"Yeah," she said, forcing a smile. "Just thought I saw someone."
Micheal arrived a few minutes later, already halfway down the hall when he passed them. Teema lifted her hand to wave.
He waved back.
Kept walking.
It wasn't cold.
It wasn't rude.
It was just… different.
At lunch, Micheal sat with his teammates again. When Teema caught his eye across the cafeteria, she smiled. He nodded once in return and went back to his food. Liana sat beside him, talking about an upcoming event, her voice light, easy.
Teema watched longer than she meant to.
After school, Micheal skipped the usual route home. He took the longer path past the field, the one that gave him time to think without running into anyone. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
> You okay? —Teema
He stopped walking.
For a moment, his fingers hovered over the screen. Then he typed:
> Yeah. Just giving you space.
The reply came almost instantly.
> I didn't ask for space.
Micheal stared at the words, chest tightening.
> I know, he replied. I just need it.
There was no response after that.
That night, he didn't text her goodnight.
The silence felt heavier than he expected—but also strangely necessary.
The following days settled into a new pattern.
Micheal still spoke to Teema. He still smiled, still answered when she spoke to him in class. But he stopped lingering. Stopped waiting. Stopped being the person who filled in the gaps.
When Teema talked about Daniel, Micheal listened without commenting. When she asked him how he was doing, he answered simply.
"Fine."
It wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the whole truth.
Teema noticed the change more clearly by the end of the week.
They crossed paths near the stairwell one afternoon.
"You're avoiding me," she said quietly.
"I'm not," Micheal replied. "I'm just… adjusting."
"To what?"
He met her eyes then. "To you not choosing me."
The words landed between them, gentle but firm.
Teema's breath caught. "Micheal—"
"It's okay," he said quickly. "I mean it. I just can't be the same person I was before."
She looked down, guilt flickering across her face. "I didn't want to lose you."
"You didn't," he said. "You just changed where I fit."
Daniel appeared at the end of the hall, slowing when he saw them talking.
"I should go," Micheal said.
He walked past Daniel without stopping.
That evening, Teema sat on her bed, phone in hand, scrolling through old messages she hadn't realized she'd saved. Across town, Micheal lay awake, staring at the ceiling again—only this time, the fan felt louder, the room emptier.
Distance, he realized, wasn't always about anger.
Sometimes, it was the only way to heal without making anyone the villain.
And for the first time since Daniel arrived, Micheal allowed himself to stop hoping.
Not completely.
Just enough to breathe.
---