High school: the era when having a boyfriend or girlfriend was the dream. The goal. Everyone wanted that couple status—the matching hoodies, the holding hands in the hallway, the inside jokes that made the rest of us cringe. Being the "it" couple was the high school fantasy everyone chased.

Except me.

Let me introduce myself. My name’s Kiki, and while everyone else was falling in love, I was... not. I used to think I was weird for not crushing on anyone, but eventually, I realized—people are just different. I wasn't broken. I just hadn't met my person.

Until Tyrone showed up.

He was the new guy. No one knew anything about him, and that made him even more interesting. He was leng—actually, no, that’s not even enough. He was peng. That’s the word. The kind of guy who looked like he walked straight out of a music video.

We started talking. Became friends. But let’s be real—that’s not what I wanted us to be. I dropped every hint a girl could possibly drop. I flirted. I texted. I complimented. But either he was completely clueless, or he just didn’t feel the same.

I remember sitting with my best friend, nearly crying. She’s basically a love guru—been through a thousand situationships, and somehow came out smarter each time. She gave me a full game plan: how to talk to him, when to act uninterested, when to accidentally bump into him in the hallway. I followed it all. Every stupid move.

There was this one time she told me to pull him aside and just talk to him—heart to heart, just me and him. I thought, This is it. This is the moment.

And that’s when I realized... he’d never seen me that way. I was the forever friend.

Fast forward 3 years after high school. I still hadn’t shaken the feelings. three. Damn. Years. Then one day, out of the blue, he calls me.

At first, I thought, This is it. He’s going to tell me he loves me.

Instead, he says: "I’m getting engaged."

My heart? Shattered. My brain? Numb. I just walked off. My best friend chased after me, because she knew. She knew I had loved him for years. And the girl he was marrying? The most annoying human being on earth.

Everything crumbled after that. And yeah, it was awkward—because technically, me and Tyrone were never even together. We “broke up” without ever dating.

Things drifted. We stopped talking. I healed. Slowly

It’s had been two years since Tyrone told me he was getting engaged.

And honestly?

I don’t even care anymore.

That version of me—the girl who waited years for a maybe—she’s long gone. I got my life back on track. I focused. I put everything into chasing the one dream that never broke my heart: becoming a fashion designer.

Now?

I have my own label. My own studio.

I signed a lease on my own place. A space that’s all mine, filled with sketches, fabric rolls, coffee cups, and ambition.

And Sasha—my ride-or-die, my therapist, my chaos manager—we made a promise back in high school: once we made it out, we’d see the world. And we did.

We traveled. Paris, Milan, Kenya, South Korea—we walked the streets with wide eyes and loud laughs, soaking in every ounce of freedom and beauty and growth.

We talked about the past sometimes, but never with pain anymore. Just memories. Like flipping through an old yearbook—familiar, but no longer defining.

Tyrone became a name I don’t flinch at. A chapter I’ve closed.

Because the truth is, while he was building a life with someone else, I was building myself.

And no love story—real or imagined—can top that.

Or so I thought.

If you had told high school me that one day I’d be living in my own apartment, designing clothes for actual clients, and eating brunch with my best friend in Paris—I would’ve laughed in your face.

But here I am.

Living it.

I have my dream job. I’m a fashion designer. I’ve worked my way up, sketch by sketch, stitch by stitch. My love life? Still non-existent—but for the first time in forever, I’m okay with that. I’ve found happiness in the life I’ve built. Peace in the silence. Fulfillment in creating.

It took me a while to get here—especially after Tyrone.

He’s engaged now. To a beautiful, intelligent, rich, and (let’s be honest) spoiled woman. And when I found out? That’s when I finally let go.

I gave up on the idea of us.

I stopped waiting for a text, a sign, a miracle.

And I started listening to my best friend. Sasha always told me I deserved more. That I was worth more. That being treated like I didn’t matter wasn’t love—it was emotional scraps. And she was right. I deserved so much better than what that man could ever give me.

It’s been six months since I last saw Tyrone. And those six months? They’ve been peaceful. He became a memory I didn’t reach for anymore. I moved on, or at least, I convinced myself I had.

But Then Came That Night.

One of our old classmates threw a party. I almost didn’t go, but Sasha begged me—said I needed a night out. What I didn’t expect was to see him there.

Tyrone.

Of course he was laughing, surrounded by people, holding his fiancée’s waist like she was everything. I said hi. Just a polite, quiet hi.

He said, “It’s been a while.”

I said, “Yeah, it has.”

And suddenly—everything I buried came back like a punch to the chest.

The memories. The hope I used to carry. The feelings I thought I’d forgotten.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The room felt smaller. The air too thick. I smiled, excused myself, and left quickly—trying to make it seem casual when inside, I was breaking again.

Then Came Derek.

While I was walking (read: running) out of that suffocating party, I bumped into someone. Hard. My bag fell, everything spilled, and I dropped to the floor in a panic, trying to pick it all up before the tears in my eyes gave me away.

Then I saw him—kneeling beside me, helping me collect my things.

Derek.

Now known as Mr. Derek, CEO of the biggest company in Denver City.

Apparently, while I was obsessing over Tyrone, he was building an empire.

And apparently, he remembered me.

“Are you okay, Kiki?” he asked.

He said my name.

I was stunned. In high school, we never spoke. I didn’t even think he knew I existed.

I gave him a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

But he didn’t buy it.

“Why are you crying?” he asked softly.

I tried to laugh it off. “Allergies,” I said, forcing a grin.

But that’s when it all collapsed. The fake smile, the tight throat, the brave front.

I sat down on the staircase and cried. Really cried.

Derek sat with me, offered me a tissue, and said, “I can stay if you want company… or I can leave if you’d rather be alone.”

I looked at him—really looked—and whispered, “Please stay.”

And he did. He stayed.

No pressure. No judgment. Just quiet presence. And for the first time in a long time… I felt seen.

I stopped crying because I felt embarrassed for tearing up in front of someone over problems that didn’t concern him. So I told him, “Oh, I’m sorry,” then quickly gathered my things and left in a hurry—before he could see how smudged my makeup had become. I didn’t even give him a chance to speak.

I rushed into the bathroom and looked up at the mirror. I thought I saw a ghost.

I looked terrifying—almost unrecognizable.

I cleaned myself up, made sure I didn’t look like a mess, then walked out.

I had barely taken a step out of the bathroom when the person I was trying to avoid appeared right in front of me. He looked at me and said hello, and for a second, I wondered if he even remembered me.

I said, “Hi, how are you?”—my voice light, my smile effortless.

At least I hoped it looked that way.

He went on about his amazing life. His fiancée, Christine. Their happiness. Their future.

I smiled like I cared, while thinking, Seriously? I asked how you were, not for a wedding announcement.

Then he smiled and said, “By the way, Christine loves your fashion brand. She follows everything you do.”

I managed a polite smile, nodding. “Tell her thanks for the support. It means a lot.”

And just when I thought the conversation had reached its peak awkwardness, he looked at me—dead serious—and said,

“I was wondering if you would design her wedding dress? It would mean the world to her.”

For a second, I couldn’t hear anything else around me. Just that one request echoing in my head—the last thing I ever imagined he’d ask.

The last thing I ever wanted to be part of.

I smiled and said, “Of course. I’d be honoured to design her dress.”

My voice didn’t even shake. I sounded calm—maybe even sincere.

But in the back of my mind, I was screaming.

I didn’t want to do it.

I didn’t want to be part of their story.

I wanted to say no.

Then, almost like an afterthought, he finally turned the question back to me.

“How are you? How’s life?”

I smiled and held my head high. “It’s amazing. I’m happy where I am.”

A rehearsed answer—smooth and safe.

Then came the question I really didn’t want him to ask.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

My heart skipped. I paused—but not for too long.

“Yeah,” I said, too quickly.

A lie.

A big, shiny, protective lie.

The truth was, I wasn’t seeing anyone.

The last guy I liked didn’t feel the same—which was him—but I wasn’t about to let him know that.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I know him?”

And before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Probably not. His name’s... Derek.”

Derek? Who the hell is Derek?

Why did I say Derek?

Now I had a boyfriend.

Apparently.

A fictional one I didn’t even know.

He smiled at me—warm and easy.

“I’m really happy for you.”

I smiled back.

Then he said, “Hey, after we meet to talk about Christine’s dress, we should go on a double date. You, me, Christine... and Derek.”

And just like that, the air vanished from the room.

My brain froze. Internally screaming:

Why? Why are you doing this to me?

I couldn’t even think fast enough to come up with an excuse.

All I knew was—there was no Derek.

Not even close.

And now, I needed to conjure one. Quickly.

But I’d already come this far with the lie.

So I nodded and said, “Yes. He’d love that. He’d be so happy to meet you both.”

And as the words left my mouth, I thought,

Cool. Now I get to go find a boyfriend who doesn’t exist. Fantastic.