I have betrayed her.
I betrayed Ana.
Not with lies, not with deceit — but with a heart that refused to listen, a soul that could not obey, and a love that has devoured every inch of me.
She once told me, “Friendship lasts forever, Collins. Love doesn’t. Let’s always be friends.”
I remember the night she said it — the stars sprawled across the sky like scattered diamonds, the air heavy with the scent of summer rain.
We were lying on her rooftop, a bottle of cheap wine between us, and her head resting so close to mine that I could feel her every breath.
Her words struck me like a sudden gust of wind. I swallowed hard, my heart already beginning its slow, painful descent.
“What if we live apart one day?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. “What if life pulls us in different directions?”
She laughed softly, a sound too light for the weight in my chest. “Distance doesn’t matter with friends. We’ll write, we’ll call — you’ll get sick of me.”
I smiled, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “What if we grow tired of each other?”
She turned her head then, her golden-brown eyes meeting mine beneath the vast, endless sky. “We won’t. Not as friends. People fall out of love, Collins, not out of friendship.”
The words were a knife, twisting slowly, but I kept going. “What if we get married?”
Ana blinked, her lips parting slightly. “Then you’ll be the first person I tell,” she said softly. “And you’ll stand by me, because you’re my best friend.”
I felt the ground tilt beneath me. “And what if we…” I hesitated, the words barely a whisper, “what if we fall in love?”
She didn’t flinch — didn’t even pause.
“That’s the thing,” she replied, her voice steady, almost too rational. “If we ever did… it would ruin us. Love ends. It fades, changes… but friendship? That’s the only forever I believe in.”
Her hand reached for mine then — a soft touch meant to comfort, but it burned through me.
“Promise me, Collins,” she said, her voice firm now. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be friends.”
And like a fool, I promised.
I promised her forever.
Her voice had been soft then, like a feather grazing my skin, and her eyes — those golden-brown eyes that could drown empires — held a warmth I mistook for enough.
I agreed, thinking I could cage the wildfire burning inside me. I promised her friendship, an unbreakable bond of loyalty.
But a promise means nothing when every glance she gives me carves another piece of my heart.
How could I not love her?
Ana is… everything.
She isn’t just beautiful — she’s radiant. The kind of girl who walks into a room and doesn’t realize every head has turned.
She’s the sun and doesn’t know she burns.
Her dark curls tumble down her back, always slightly messy, like the wind itself is obsessed with touching her. And her smile — my God — her smile makes me believe in things I shouldn’t.
That the world is kind. That love can heal. That maybe, just maybe, she could look at me the way I look at her.
I have watched her fall asleep on my couch, her lashes resting like delicate threads against her cheeks.
I have memorized the way she chews on her bottom lip when she’s nervous, how she throws her head back when she laughs — unrestrained, unbothered.
And the scent of her — vanilla and something faintly floral — clings to me long after she’s gone, like a ghost I don’t want to exorcise.
Every time she calls me her best friend, something in me withers.
She thinks friendship guarantees forever. But love — this love I carry — feels eternal, and that terrifies me more than any betrayal ever could.
And now, here I stand, on the edge of shattering the world we built together.
I have betrayed her because I want more.
I want to follow her wherever she goes — to taste every new dish with her, to watch her face light up at every “first” she experiences.
I want to be the man who holds her hand in the dark, the one who kisses her goodnight, the onee who whispers promises of forever not as a friend — but as a lover.
I want her to carry my name, my children, my future.
And I know I shouldn’t.
“Collins,” she says softly, pulling me from the storm inside me.
She’s sitting across from me at the small café we always go to — the one with the crooked tables and the overgrown ivy curling along the windows.
She’s sipping her coffee, her lips stained with foam. God, even that is beautiful.
“You’ve been quiet all day.” Her head tilts, curls slipping over her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”
You.
I want to tell her — but the words gather at the back of my throat like a flood threatening to break free.
I grip the edge of the table. “Ana…” My voice cracks, and I see her brows knit in concern.
“You can tell me anything,” she says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.
It’s a simple touch, one she probably doesn’t think twice about. But it unravels me.
I close my eyes for a moment. “I think I’ve done something terrible.”
Her fingers go still against mine. “What?”
I open my eyes, and there’s worry swimming in hers now — but also trust. She trusts me. She thinks I am still the friend I promised to be.
I am about to break that.
“I love you, Ana.” The words finally escape, raw and unforgiving. “I know I shouldn’t — not like this — but I do. I love you in ways that friendship can’t contain.
I want you. All of you. And I know that betrays the promise we made, but I can’t keep pretending anymore.”
Silence.
Her hand slips away.
I see the shock in her eyes, the way her lips part but no sound comes out.
“Ana…” I whisper, my heart pounding against my ribs. “I’m sorry. I know this might be selfish, but if loving you is a betrayal… then I’d do it again. Over and over.”
She blinks, her gaze distant, her breathing uneven.
I brace myself for her anger. For her to say I’ve ruined us.
But then, so softly I almost miss it, she says, “Collins… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
And in that moment, I don’t know whether this betrayal will be the death of us — or the start of something far greater.
The end.