Loe was in town.
I found out the way people find out things they shouldn't care about — overhearing a conversation that wasn't meant for them.
I was on my way to the kitchen at work, passing Harper's desk when I heard her laugh — that particular kind she only used around people she loved.
"Oh, and Rae's flying in Thursday. So it's gonna be the three of us — me, Rae, and Loe. Chaos trio reunited," she said, grinning into her phone.
I didn't stop walking. Just kept going. I stirred my coffee like I hadn't heard a thing. Like my chest wasn't folding inward.
They didn't post pictures — not at first.
It was in pieces. A boomerang of clinking glasses on Harper's story. A tagged photo of Rae and Loe on Rae's feed with the caption, "he still talks too loud and eats all the fries — some things never change 💀💛"
Harper commented: "Don't forget he always steals the aux cord"
Then a final group shot: Harper sandwiched between Rae and Loe on a city rooftop. Golden-hour lighting. Her head tilted toward Loe's shoulder. Her smile full and easy.
It shouldn't have meant anything. But I felt like I'd swallowed the sun and it had nowhere to go.
I didn't say a word about it.
At work, I smiled when Harper passed by. I asked about her weekend like nothing stung.
"It was so good," she said, eyes bright. "We didn't stop laughing. Rae and Loe are such a disaster together. I forgot how much I missed it."
I nodded. "Sounds like a good time."
She didn't notice anything in my face. No one ever did. And that was the point.
I started staying later at the office.
Not because I had too much to do — but because the silence of my apartment was starting to feel too honest. At work, I could pretend I had things under control. Pretend I was just another person filing reports, making small talk, letting days pass without consequence.
Dani stopped by one evening while I was still typing.
"You okay?" she asked. "You've been pulling extra hours all week."
"Trying to impress the algorithm gods," I said with a smile.
She raised an eyebrow but didn't press.
I appreciated that about Dani. She noticed things — but let you come to her when you were ready.
One night, I sat on the floor of my apartment with my tarot deck in front of me. Not to read it. Just to hold something.
I didn't light candles or ask questions. I didn't pull any cards.
Instead, I whispered to myself.
"It's not real," I said.
Not out loud. Just in my head. Over and over. Until the ache in my chest dulled into something manageable.
It wasn't real.
The way Harper curled into me in that hotel bed — that was comfort, not closeness. The long conversations, the soft confessions — that was friendship, not intimacy. The way she looked at me sometimes, like I mattered — that was just Harper being kind.
Because that's who she was.
Not someone in love with me.
I started changing small things.
I stopped checking her social media first thing in the morning.
I stopped saving photos she sent in our team chat.
I stopped waiting for moments that felt like maybe.
Instead, I practiced smiling. Laughing when I was supposed to. Asking about Rae like it didn't sting to say her name.
"So, does Rae like Loe?" I asked one afternoon as Harper was filling her water bottle. I kept my tone light, casual — like it was just small talk.
Harper smiled, a little surprised. "Yeah, she does. I mean, she wasn't sure about him at first — she's super protective — but once she saw how happy he makes me, she softened."
I nodded slowly. "That makes sense. She seems… perceptive."
"She is," Harper said, eyes distant, fond. "She sees right through people. That's why I trust her with everything."
I swallowed that quietly.
"That's rare," I said.
And I meant it.
Even if it hurt.
It didn't happen all at once.
But over time, I began to bury it — all of it. The warmth, the wishing, the maybe-somedays. I folded them neatly and stacked them in the quietest part of my heart. The place where things go when they've stopped being possible.
Because the truth was:
I wasn't going to be Harper's person.
And that had to be okay.
The following week, Harper invited me out.
"Rae's still around, and Loe's flying back tomorrow," she said. "We're grabbing dinner. You should come."
She said it so casually — like it hadn't taken me weeks to stop imagining that invitation. Like I hadn't spent hours reminding myself I didn't belong in that part of her life.
I hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Of course," she said. "It wouldn't be the same without you."
It would, though. She just didn't know it.
Still… I said yes.
Not because I wanted to reignite anything. But because I was learning how to stay.
Even when it hurt.