Being Just Friends Hurts

Chapter 3: Nothing More, Nothing less

AYLA

I walked into James’s room, dragging my feet and sighing like the world owed me a miracle.

“I’ve had the worst day,” I groaned, flopping on his bed without bothering to take off my shoes.

James glanced at me from his desk, where he was pretending to study. “Worse than the day you spilled caramel macchiato on Professor Klein’s laptop?”

“Worse. This one involved a canceled restock on those headphones I’ve been wanting for months.” I groaned into the pillow. “Gone. Sold out in two minutes. I give up on life.”

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled quietly like he knew something I didn’t.

And then he got up.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

I lifted my head, squinting at him. “Why?”

“Just… trust me.”

I gave a dramatic sigh but closed them anyway. “If you’re about to throw something at me, I swear—”

Something soft and heavy landed in my lap.

“Open,” he said.

I looked down—and my breath caught.

There, wrapped in sleek matte black packaging, was the pair of headphones. The exact ones I’d shown him once, in passing, like two months ago. Limited edition. Sold out everywhere. And in my favorite color.

I blinked. “You didn’t.”

He smiled, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “They dropped early in the U.S. store last week. I had a friend ship them over. Thought you’d need a pick-me-up.”

My chest ached.

“James…” I stood slowly, still holding the box. “I didn’t even think you remembered.”

“Of course I did,” he said, voice quieter now. “You talked about them for three straight days.”

I crossed the room without thinking, launched myself into his arms, and hugged him—tight, grateful, full of emotion I didn’t know how to filter. He smelled like pine and soap and everything familiar. Safe. Warm.

But this time… something felt different.

I pulled back just enough to see his face, and he was already looking at me like I was made of stars. I knew that look. I’d seen it a thousand times—but never this close.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

And then, I kissed him.

Just a small kiss. Quick. On the cheek. But not the edge-of-the-face type friends gave. This was slower. Closer. I lingered there for a breath.

Then I kissed him again—this time right at the corner of his mouth.

Still soft. Still warm. Still “just friends.”

Right?

JAMES

I wasn’t prepared.

Not for how she hugged me like I’d just brought her the moon. Not for the way she pressed into me, all warmth and softness and vanilla-scented hair. And definitely not for the way her lips brushed my skin—once. Then again. Closer.

I froze for a second.

Then my hands settled on her waist, almost without permission. I pulled her gently closer, my fingers flexing like they didn’t want to let go.

She tilted her head, looking up at me. We were too close now. I could see the freckles under her eyes. The small scar near her brow. Her lips were parted just slightly, and my heart was breaking rules I’d set for myself.

She smiled, too casually.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she said, voice breathy.

I swallowed. “None at all.”

But my hand stayed on her waist a beat longer than necessary.

And I wondered what it would take to make that kiss something real.

Something more than “nothing.”

AYLA

I pulled away after a second too long and laughed—nervously, too loudly.

“Okay, enough of the mushy stuff. I’m not going to cry just because I finally own a pair of headphones.”

James raised an eyebrow. “You literally cried when you missed the last pair in your cart last week.”

“Yeah, but those tears were justified,” I said, holding up the box like it was sacred. “This? This is a happy miracle.”

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled that boyish, lopsided grin that always got to me.

That was the thing about James—he had the kind of smile that looked like it was only ever meant for you. That was dangerous. It always had been.

I dropped onto the edge of his bed and carefully opened the box, acting like the world hadn’t just shifted a little when my lips touched his skin. I didn’t mean it—not really. I mean, it was just a kiss, right?

Just friends.

We’ve always been like this—close, flirty, sometimes even a little too close. But we never crossed the line.

Even when I wanted to.

Even when he looked like he was just about to.

JAMES

I watched her unwrap the box like a kid on Christmas morning.

Ayla had this way of making everything feel brighter, like even a quiet night in my room could be electric with her around. And God, the way she kissed me—like it was nothing. Like it didn’t light a fire in the pit of my chest that I knew I’d have to smother the moment she looked away.

But I played it cool.

Always did.

I leaned back on the desk, arms crossed, forcing a smirk. “So, you’ll be too good for the rest of us now with your premium sound?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. I’ll be taking a call and pretending I don’t hear anyone beneath my audio class.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

There it was again—that tension. That line between teasing and meaning. And if I said anything… if I hinted at the truth, everything would change.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because Ayla wasn’t just someone I liked. She was my person. And I couldn’t risk losing her. So instead, I walked over and messed up her hair.

She yelped. “James!”

“You looked too composed. Balance restored.”

She shoved me lightly, her smile returning full force. And just like that, we were back to normal.

Kind of.

AYLA

Later that night, we were both too lazy to head to our separate places.

It wasn’t unusual. We crashed at each other’s all the time. But tonight, it felt different. Maybe because every time I looked at him, I remembered the feel of his hand on my waist. The warmth of his breath when I kissed him. The quiet way he looked at me like I was more than his best friend.

But we didn’t talk about it.

Instead, we ended up in the living room of the mansion we shared—courtesy of my father, who had more money than sense. It was huge. Open. Luxurious. Minimalist modern furniture with oversized cream-colored sofas that could easily seat ten people.

James collapsed onto the longest couch, sighing like a man who had fought battles.

“I carried emotional weight today,” he said dramatically. “You cried. That takes a toll.”

“I did not cry.”

“Internally, you wept.”

I threw a pillow at him and laughed.

We stayed like that for hours. Talking. Teasing. Playing some old Netflix show neither of us were really watching. At one point, I stretched my legs over his lap, and he didn’t flinch.

Just like old times.

Normal.

Except it wasn’t.

Because now I was wondering how it would feel if I kissed him for real. If I let it linger. If I meant it.

And that scared the hell out of me.

JAMES

She was sprawled on the couch with her feet in my lap, humming under her breath and occasionally tossing popcorn in the air like a five-year-old.

And I let her.

Because it was Ayla.

And even if I could never have her the way I wanted, I’d take every moment I could get like this. Quiet. Easy. Close.

But I wasn’t blind.

I saw the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t watching. The way her laughter would catch when our eyes locked too long.

And I knew—deep down—she felt something too.

Still, we said nothing.

Because our friendship was built on the promise that we’d never ruin it. That no matter what, we’d be the people each other could always rely on. No mess. No breakups. No lies.

Just forever.

But I also knew…

Forever didn’t always mean unchanging.