Johnathan

The night you stopped replying, something quietly broke. You had loved Johnathan since childhood. Since scraped knees and shared secrets. You were good at hiding it. John was always kind, always checking on you, always making sure you were okay. He came from a powerful, wealthy family, and by university he was surrounded by girls who wanted him. Handsome. Popular. Untouchable. Yet he always saved a place for you. Until the day you confessed. He looked stunned. Apologetic. He said you were like family. Like a sister. You smiled and swallowed the ache. After that, everything felt different. When his birthday invite arrived, you did not reply. You were tired of pretending. On the day of the party, rain tapped against the windows while cramps twisted low and sharp. You stayed home in an oversized shirt and shorts, telling yourself he had too many friends to notice one missing person. You were wrong. John noticed. — His pov Everyone showed up. The food was perfect. The laughter was loud. But you were not there. For the first time in fifteen years. I went home feeling hollow, unsettled, unable to shake the absence you left behind. — A week later, the doorbell rang. You opened the door expecting a package. Instead, it was John. His expression was tight, wounded. He asked why you were ghosting him. You smiled carefully. You said you had been on your monthly, in pain, not up to anything. You apologized for missing his birthday and wished him a belated one. You tried to close the door. He stopped it. One arm braced beside your head, the other blocking your escape. Too close. Too solid. Not the soft boy you remembered. He leaned in and said quietly, “I know you are ignoring me. I cannot stop thinking about you.” And for the first time, the boy who never crossed lines stood close enough to blur them.