The following year, Matt and I were no longer classmates.

But I couldn’t help but think. On that cotton candy stand, with the soft glow of the lights flickering above and the sugar-sweet smell thick in the air—did he go there for me? Was that moment, so unexpected, his way of reaching out? Or was it just a coincidence, a random encounter that meant nothing more than the fleeting passing of time?

It didn’t feel like nothing. The way he handed me the cotton candy, his eyes meeting mine with that soft, lingering look—it felt like there was something left unsaid between us. Something we never got to finish. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I didn’t even know if I wanted the answer.

Classes went by. Months went by.

“How was class?” I’d ask, and for a while, he replied enthusiastically. The texts would come in fast, full of details about his day—his favorite parts of the lecture, funny moments with classmates, or random thoughts that seemed so typical of him. He was always the one to share, always so open, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t so different between us. Maybe there was still some kind of connection.

But then something changed. Slowly, at first, like a slow drip of water seeping through a crack. His responses grew shorter. “Good,” or “Okay,” or sometimes just “Yeah,” would be his answer to my questions. And the little notes about his day? They stopped coming altogether. The excitement, the eagerness, the little snippets of his life that used to flood my screen—it all faded away, like the last traces of sunlight sinking below the horizon.

And worse, the frequency of his replies dwindled. What used to be a back-and-forth, a conversation that spanned minutes, even hours, became one-sided. I was the one initiating, the one reaching out. I found myself staring at my phone, waiting for a reply that never came on time, wondering if he was busy or if—if I was honest with myself—he just wasn’t interested anymore.

Wait a minute. Was I always the one texting first? I blinked, the thought settling into my mind with an uncomfortable weight. Had it really been me all along, always the one making the effort, always the one trying to keep the lines open? Every time my phone buzzed, my stomach would do a little flip, hoping it was him, hoping he would be the one to reach out this time. But it never happened. Not anymore.

I glanced down at the bracelet Matt had given me, the one that still clung to my wrist. The blue leather strap had faded slightly, worn from months of constant wear. But it was still there. Still his. I ran my fingers over it absently, feeling the texture of the smooth band against my skin. It had been his gift to me—something simple, something he had said would remind me of him whenever I needed it. And for a while, it worked. I’d catch myself glancing at it when I needed strength, when I missed him. But now, as I looked down at it, something inside me flickered, something sharp and painful.

I could feel the distance between us growing wider, even as I held on to something that no longer felt like it was mine.

It was silly, really, but I couldn’t shake the thought. Was this it? Was this the end?

I swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away. I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here, waiting for him to suddenly care, waiting for the days to stretch on and on without any hope of change.

I decided to apply for the coffee shop he worked at. 

I got hired.

The first day I showed up, the manager greeted me with a wide smile, quickly giving me a rundown of what I needed to do. But just as I was getting comfortable, the door’s bell jingled, and I looked up to find Matt standing in the doorway.

“Melanie?” The confusion on his face was impossible to miss. His brows furrowed, and he stepped closer, almost as if he wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

“Oh good! You two know each other!” The manager beamed, oblivious to the tension now hanging in the air. “Matt, why don’t you show her around?”

My heart raced as I nodded awkwardly, trying to keep my composure. Matt, however, stood there for a moment, frozen, before shaking his head and looking at me with a mixture of confusion and something else that I couldn’t quite place.

“Why are you here?” His voice was low, edged with disbelief.

“I needed money,” I answered, a forced smile tugging at my lips. But his gaze softened for just a moment before hardening again.

“You don’t need money, that much I know.” His words stung a little, and I bristled. "I'm not buying it."

"But I do! I'm saving up... for something,” I said, my voice quieter, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

He sighed, clearly frustrated but still reluctant to press further. “Okay. Sure.” He turned toward the coffee station. “Follow me.”

Matt guided me through the process of making coffee, his tone professional—detached even. But the tension between us never seemed to lift. Every time he glanced at me, it felt like the space between us grew, even though we were standing just inches apart.

“Okay, now you try it,” he instructed, his voice clipped.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my hands. The espresso machine hissed as I fumbled with the controls, pouring too much milk into the steamer, the foam collapsing into a sad mess.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

Each failure made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Hey, go easy on me! Can I take a break?” I laughed nervously, hoping to lighten the mood, but Matt didn’t smile. Instead, he gave me a pointed look, his eyes hard.

“You should stop,” he said flatly.

“Huh?” I blinked in confusion.

“I know what you're doing, Melanie,” he said, stepping closer, his voice sharper now, using my full name in a way that made my stomach flip.

A heavy silence settled between us.

“You should quit. We both know you’re not used to this,” he added, his words more cutting than I expected.

“I already told you, I’m saving up for something—” I started, but he interrupted me.

“Then find another part-time job.” His voice was laced with frustration, and he crossed his arms.

I froze, unsure of what to say. His words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. My cheeks burned with humiliation. "Stop pretending like this is about the job," he snapped, his eyes full of anger, confusion... maybe even disappointment.

The silence between us grew thick, suffocating, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll try again,” I whispered, barely able to hear myself. “I’m sorry.”

His expression softened just enough for me to see the conflict in his eyes, but before he could speak, I turned and hurried toward the restroom, my heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

In the restroom, I leaned over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. My breath came in shallow gasps, my hands trembling as I whispered to myself, “Okay, Melanie, you got this. It’s just a job... just a job.”

After a few more attempts, I started to get the hang of things. I wasn’t perfect, but at least I could handle the espresso machine without making a complete mess. Still, it wasn’t the coffee I cared about. It was seeing Matt again, being near him. But as the days passed, every interaction between us felt more strained.

I’d catch his eye from across the room, my heart skipping a beat, but he’d quickly look away, his expression unreadable. The connection we once shared seemed to have disappeared, replaced by an icy distance. And every time I tried to talk to him, the words seemed to fall flat.

And then, one day, everything changed again.

I saw him, standing so close to Stephanie, the girl who’s close to her now. The sight made my chest tighten in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

“Yes, she’s also working part-time here,” the manager said with a grin, not noticing the look on my face as I stared at them.

I couldn’t help but notice how they were always together. How Matt, who once wore the bracelet he gave me with pride, no longer had it on.

Then, one day, I saw him ask Stephanie if he could borrow the hair tie she had around her wrist. As his fingers slid over her wrist to get the rubber band, Stephanie blushed and smiled, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she owned him.

And the thing that made my heart sink the most?

Matt patted her head.

It was a gesture I thought was meant only for me. Only for me.

Matt went to the breakroom, I followed him.

“I have a hair tie. You can borrow one from mine, you know,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but it came out more brittle than I intended.

“I really don’t care. It doesn’t matter,” Matt replied, his tone sharp.

“But why her hair tie?” I asked, my voice a little too loud. Deep in my mind, I wanted to scream, Why her?

“Don’t make this a big deal,” he snapped. “It’s just a hair tie.”

“But I have one! Return it to her!” I demanded, feeling my frustration boiling over.

“What? No.”

Matt’s voice was cold now, and the space between us seemed to expand. His face twisted in anger, and for the first time in a long while, I realized just how much things had changed.

“Let me remind you, I thought you said friends. Right?”

I sounded like I was obsessed. And maybe, just maybe, I was.

“I’m sorry.”