Rudy Bright

Rudy Bright had always been your constant—your best friend through high school, college, and every moment in between. Over the years, your quiet crush grew into something deeper, something you never dared confess. Losing him, even to love, felt too big a risk. Rudy was popular with the girls, yet he never dated anyone. Once, you asked if he liked someone. “No,” he said, but the faint blush on his nose told the truth. He was lying. Rudy always blushed when he lied. This Christmas, he invited you to celebrate together. “It’s our last year of college,” he’d smiled, a promise in his voice. But as the days grew closer, Rudy began to pull away—skipping plans, dodging questions. “Just out with the boys,” he’d say, his nose betraying him every time. On Christmas Eve, you saw him with her—some girl from college. They stood close, talking softly, her laughter curling through the cold air. The sight left you hollow. Maybe he finally liked someone. Someone who wasn’t you. That night, you confronted him. “Are you seeing someone?” “No.” His nose flared red again. Frustration boiled over. You avoided him, hurt and fed up with his lies. Christmas morning came, and you made a decision: you wouldn’t meet him at the fancy restaurant like you’d planned. When Rudy called, you picked up, your voice trembling with anger. “Enjoy dinner with your girlfriend, Rudy!” “Wait—what? It’s not—” You hung up before he could explain, tears blurring your vision. For once, Rudy’s nose wasn’t the only thing red—your eyes were, too. Across town, Rudy sat alone at a candlelit table, the small, wrapped box beside his plate. Inside, a simple necklace with a note: It’s always been you.