Still Tangled In You.

Chapter Four: Three Lines I Can’t Untangle

I didn’t notice when my life started dividing into two versions.

One version of me belonged to him—the boy I used to love, the boy who broke me, the boy who still somehow found his way back into my space even after everything.

And the other version… was slowly starting to belong to his friend.

At first, it didn’t feel like anything serious.

It never does at the beginning.

With his friend, everything was simple. No pressure. No confusion in the way he spoke to me. No emotional games that made my chest feel tight at night.

Just conversations.

Long ones.

Easy ones.

The kind that didn’t make me overthink every word I said.

He would check on me randomly during the day.

“Did you eat?”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Don’t overthink things too much.”

At first, I thought it was just kindness.

Something normal.

Something I probably needed after everything I went through.

But slowly, I started noticing something I didn’t want to name.

I started waiting for his messages.

Not in a desperate way… but in a way that made me smile when my phone lit up and feel slightly disappointed when it wasn’t him.

That scared me a little.

Because I wasn’t supposed to be feeling anything.

Not yet.

Not after everything I had just come out of.

But feelings don’t wait for permission.

Meanwhile, my ex was still there.

Still present in a different way.

Not fully gone. Not fully staying either.

It was like he refused to choose distance.

Some days, he would act like nothing had changed between us.

Other days, he would go quiet and leave me stuck wondering what version of him I was dealing with.

And then there were days he would come back suddenly, like he never left.

One night, he called again.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds before answering.

My heart already reacting before I even said hello.

“Hey,” he said softly.

That voice.

That familiar voice.

It always did something to me I didn’t like admitting.

“Hi,” I replied carefully.

There was a pause.

Not the kind of pause that feels comfortable.

The kind that feels like something heavy is about to be said.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.

I closed my eyes for a second.

Because I knew where this usually went.

“I told you I needed space,” I reminded him quietly.

“I know,” he said quickly. “But it’s hard.”

That word again.

Hard.

Everything between us was always “hard,” never simple.

Never clear.

“I miss how we used to be,” he added.

And just like that, I was pulled back into a place I had been trying to leave.

Because I missed it too.

I hated that I did, but I did.

But then reality would always step in.

The truth that he still had a girlfriend.

The truth that I was never fully chosen.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I said again.

My voice sounded tired this time.

Not angry.

Just tired.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I added.

There was silence again.

And in that silence, I felt it—the same pattern repeating.

He didn’t know how to fully let me go… but he also wasn’t leaving where he was.

“I just… don’t want to lose you,” he said again.

And that sentence started feeling like a cycle.

Not love.

A cycle.

Something that keeps you stuck instead of setting you free.

After the call ended, I sat there for a long time again.

Thinking about him.

Thinking about everything.

And then my phone lit up again.

His friend.

“You still awake?”

I hesitated before replying.

“Yeah.”

“Talk to me?”

And I did.

Because talking to him didn’t feel heavy.

It didn’t feel like confusion.

It felt like breathing after holding my breath for too long.

We talked about random things at first.

School. Life. Small jokes that made me laugh quietly to myself in the dark.

But then the conversation shifted.

Slowly.

Naturally.

He started talking about me.

Not in a dramatic way.

In a calm way.

Like he had been paying attention longer than I realized.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said at one point.

I didn’t respond immediately.

Because hearing someone say that out loud made everything feel real again.

“I just don’t want you to keep hurting,” he added.

Something about the way he said it made my chest feel tight.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… emotional.

Because nobody had said things to me like that without asking for something in return.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I just said softly:

“I’m trying.”

And he replied:

“I know.”

That was it.

No pressure.

No expectation.

Just understanding.

And somehow… that made it worse.

Because understanding is dangerous when your heart is still healing.

It makes you trust.

It makes you open up.

It makes you feel safe enough to fall without realizing it.

After that night, I started noticing the shift.

With him, everything felt easier.

Talking felt natural.

Laughing felt real.

Even silence didn’t feel awkward.

And I didn’t notice when it started becoming something I looked forward to.

At the same time, my ex was still pulling at me in the background.

Not consistently.

Just enough to keep me emotionally stuck.

A message here.

A call there.

A “I miss you” when I was starting to feel okay again.

It felt like being pulled in two directions at once.

One side felt familiar.

Painful, but familiar.

The other side felt calm.

New, but safe.

And I didn’t know what was worse.

Missing someone who hurt you…

Or slowly falling for someone while still not fully free from your past.

One night, it all hit me at once.

I was talking to his friend when my ex’s name popped up on my phone.

At the exact same time.

Two notifications.

Two different people.

Two different feelings inside me.

I just stared at my screen.

Not moving.

Not replying.

Just stuck.

And in that moment, I realized something I didn’t want to admit out loud.

I wasn’t just confused anymore.

I was emotionally attached to both of them.

And neither of them were fully letting me go.

One was holding me through memory.

The other was holding me through presence.

And I was stuck in the middle of both.

Still tangled.

Still unable to pull myself free.

And worst of all…

I didn’t know which direction would break me more.