The distance that should not have hurt

I didn’t follow Reese on Instagram.

She didn’t follow me either.

But that didn’t stop me from checking her account more often than I’d admit to anyone.

Her posts weren’t anything special—

sports clips, blurry music room selfies, group photos with people I didn’t know—

but something about the way she smiled in them made me look twice.

Then one evening, when I opened her profile like I always did…

Private.

Just like that.

No explosion, no heartache—just a small ache under my ribs, the kind that comes when a window you always peek through suddenly shuts.

The Week After Exams

Exams came and went.

The school fell back into its usual rhythm—fast, loud, messy.

The results were announced on a Wednesday morning.

I came third.

My friends cheered, teased, and nearly crushed me in a group hug.

Reese… failed.

She stared at her paper for a long second, then shrugged with an easy grin, like the whole thing was a joke she already knew the punchline to. People whispered around her, half shocked, half entertained.

“She’s smart though!”

“Not book-smart.”

“She’s always playing sports.”

“Or music.”

“Or everywhere except class.”

I didn’t join the conversation.

But I kept glancing at her—at the way she laughed it off, leaned back in her chair, tapped a beat on her desk like the failure didn’t touch her.

I wondered what she looked like when she wasn’t pretending everything was fine.

But I never asked.

Before Sports Week

The days between exams and Sports Week were strangely blurry.

Reese talked to me less—not dramatically, not suddenly, just… gradually.

One day she didn’t tap my shoulder during attendance.

The next, she didn’t flick my hair during English.

Another day she didn’t lean close to whisper a joke.

It wasn’t cold.

Just quieter.

Like someone dimming the brightness of a lamp without turning it off.

I pretended not to notice.

Or maybe I pretended it didn’t bother me.

Sports Week Begins

The school transformed in a single morning.

Blue.

Green.

Red.

Yellow.

Flags everywhere, face paint smudged across cheeks, teachers shouting instructions no one listened to. The smell of grass mixed with sweat, sunscreen, and loud excitement.

I was in Blue House.

Reese was the Green House leader.

Her voice carried across the field—confident, warm, loud enough to cut through the noise. She stood with a whistle hanging around her neck, hair tied loosely but still messy at the ends, shirt sleeves rolled up.

Her team adored her.

“Leader!”

“Reese! Where should we go?”

“Fix the lineup!”

“Tell him to stop cheating!”

Green House almost always won.

I watched from the sidelines, refusing every attempt my friends made to drag me into a game.

“Come on Steph,”

“You never try!”

“Do it for Blue House!”

“Do it for us!”

“I’ll embarrass everyone,” I said, dead serious.

They groaned dramatically and gave up.

I wasn’t made for sports.

And sports knew that too.

Reese and Amelia

That was when I noticed her with Amelia.

Amelia—the new girl who arrived two weeks late, yet fit in as though she’d been here for years.

Pale skin.

Long, dark brown hair.

Eyes that were gentle even when she laughed.

Pretty.

Soft.

Easy to like.

Reese and Amelia stood together during every match—talking, teasing, laughing.

At one point, Amelia fixed Reese’s ponytail for her.

My stomach dropped before my mind could even process why.

Someone whispered next to me:

“Reese is bisexual, right? Her ex-boyfriend cheated. Now she only dates girls.”

Their voice sounded too loud in my ear.

My heart reacted before my thoughts did.

Suddenly, every shared smile between Reese and Amelia felt sharper.

Every whisper between them looked suspicious.

They matched—visually, socially, effortlessly.

I told myself it was none of my business.

But that didn’t stop the jealousy.

It didn’t stop the sinking feeling either.

The Distance Becomes Real

After that, Reese and I barely spoke.

Maybe she was busy.

Maybe she didn’t notice.

Maybe she preferred Amelia.

Maybe she never thought of me the way I… stupidly thought of her.

And when Sports Week ended and normal classes resumed—

nothing changed.

No tap on my back.

No playful flick of my hair.

No soft whispers during roll call.

Just silence.

A friendly silence.

A harmless silence.

A silence she probably didn’t even think about.

But silence still hurts

when you were once part of the noise.

I tried to forget her.

Push her out.

Convince myself it was just a harmless crush I had blown out of proportion.

But feelings grow in strange places.

And they don’t disappear just because you want them to.

A Normal Day That Wasn’t

One Tuesday, after lunch, as I sat reviewing notes, a girl from another group approached my desk.

“Stephani?” she asked shyly.

“Yes?”

“My friend wants your Instagram. Can I get your username?”

I blinked.

“For what?”

“Oh, um… she didn’t say. She just asked.”

I hesitated—then wrote it anyway.

Maybe it was for a class thing.

Maybe nothing.

I forgot about it immediately.

Until that night.

The Unexpected Follow

I had just finished showering when my phone buzzed.

New follower: steve.l

Message request pending

I froze.

Steve.

From my class.

The laughing-at-everything guy.

The one with too much confidence and too many friends.

The one who had never spoken more than five words to me.

Why would he—

I opened the message.

A strange feeling pulled at my chest—not excitement, not joy, but confusion tangled with something I couldn’t name.

Why now?

Why him?

Why me?

And just as I stared at his message request, something else twisted inside me—

a quiet, painful awareness of the person I actually wanted to see on my screen.

Someone whose distance hurt more than it should.

Someone who was never mine to want.

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