More Than Just Us

Between Two Worlds

Kiko sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone screen. Kaye’s last message still glowed there:

“Got home safe. Thanks for today.”

On the surface, it was ordinary. Something she’d typed a hundred times before after their hangouts. But tonight, it read differently. Shorter. Colder.

He ruffled his hair, letting out a groan. “What did I do wrong this time?”

He replayed the café scene in his head—the quick, sharp way Kaye had said “Of course” when he mentioned Lianne. The look in her eyes when she said he didn’t share his best parts with her anymore.

That one stung.

Because it wasn’t true. At least… he didn’t think it was.

The next morning, he biked to campus early, earbuds in, trying to drown out the thoughts. But as soon as he chained his bike, he heard a voice call out.

“Kiko! You came!”

Lianne waved from across the courtyard, a thick binder clutched to her chest. Her smile was bright, but her eyes carried that familiar panic he’d grown used to.

He sighed inwardly. He had promised to meet Kaye before class to grab breakfast, but Lianne looked like she hadn’t slept. Again.

“What’s wrong this time?” he asked as she hurried toward him.

“My presentation later. I keep tripping over my words. Could you—just once more—hear me out?” Her plea was almost childlike, and before he could think twice, he nodded.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Half an hour later, Kiko was still sitting on a bench, listening to Lianne stumble through her lines, correcting her tone, assuring her she sounded fine. She clung to his every word, laughing nervously, saying she didn’t know what she’d do without him.

But all Kiko could think was: Kaye’s waiting.

He checked his phone. Two missed messages.

Kaye: “You on your way?”

Kaye: “Guess not. Never mind.”

His stomach twisted. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, guilt burning like acid.

When he finally saw Kaye in the hallway later, she didn’t even look up from her notebook. Usually she’d grin, wave, tease him for being late. But this time, she just kept walking.

“Kaye!” he called, jogging up beside her.

She gave him a small, polite smile. “Hey.”

That was it. No teasing, no warmth. Just one word.

Kiko’s chest tightened. “Sorry about earlier. Lianne—”

“Of course.” The words slipped from her mouth again, flat and clipped. “Lianne needed you.”

This time, she didn’t even try to disguise it as a joke.

Kiko stopped in his tracks. He wanted to grab her wrist, make her look at him, demand she tell him what she really meant. But something in her posture—straight, guarded—warned him not to push.

So he just watched her walk away, her hair swaying with every step, leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

That night, Kiko sat at his desk, books open but untouched. His mind refused to settle.

Why did it feel like he was being torn in two directions?

Lianne needed him—her constant worries, her fragile way of leaning on him. He couldn’t just walk away from that. What kind of friend would that make him?

But Kaye…

Kaye didn’t need him in the same way. She was strong, independent, fiery. But maybe that’s why he loved being around her—because with her, it wasn’t about saving anyone. It was about laughing until their sides hurt, talking about dreams, sharing silence that wasn’t heavy.

And yet, lately, all he seemed to do was let her down.

His phone buzzed. A new message from Lianne.

Lianne: “Thanks again for earlier. You always make things easier for me. :)”

Almost at the same time, Kaye’s IG story appeared—a photo of coffee and notes on her desk, captioned: “Solo grind. Some things you just learn to do on your own.”

The words felt like a knife.

Kiko pressed his palms over his face, groaning. “What am I doing?”

The weekend came, and he decided to fix things. He texted Kaye early.

Kiko: “You free today? I owe you one. My treat. Anywhere you want.”

Minutes passed. No reply. He refreshed the chat. Still nothing.

Just as panic started creeping in, his phone buzzed.

Kaye: “Sorry. Busy. Maybe next time.”

Kiko stared at the screen. The ache in his chest spread wider.

She was pulling away. He could feel it. And the worst part? He didn’t know how to stop it without hurting someone else.

That night, lying in bed, he whispered the words he couldn’t bring himself to send:

“Kaye, you’re the one I don’t want to lose.”

But he had no idea if he was already too late.