More Than Just Us

Small Distances

Kaye was sprawled on her bed, her phone lying beside her, the screen lighting up every few minutes. But it wasn’t the notification she was waiting for. Just random group chats, memes from classmates, reminders from professors.

Not him.

Kiko usually called around this time. Midnight had been their hour for years—the time when the world felt quieter and lighter, when secrets slipped out more easily. But tonight, the silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the electric fan and the sound of her pen scratching against paper.

She wrote instead.

You used to call me first. You used to choose me without thinking. Maybe I was spoiled by your attention. Maybe I thought it would always be mine.

Her phone buzzed, and her heart jumped—only to sink again when she saw the name.

Kiko: Sorry. Can’t talk tonight. Working with Lianne on our project. Don’t wait up.

Kaye stared at the message. It was short, casual, like nothing had changed. But it had.

She typed back quickly: Okay. Good luck.

Her fingers hovered for a second over the keyboard, wanting to add I miss you, or even just a simple Don’t forget me. But she erased it all, leaving the single line.

She tossed her phone aside, staring at the ceiling. For the first time, midnight felt lonely.

The next morning, she found him waiting outside her classroom, leaning casually against the wall.

“Kiko?” she blinked.

“Surprise,” he said, grinning as if nothing had happened. “Walk with me?”

Despite the knot in her chest, she smiled. Because how could she not? He was still her Kiko—the same boy who always showed up, even if he came later than she wished.

As they walked, he talked about his group project, about how Lianne had suggested a different approach that actually worked.

“She’s smart, you know?” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Like, really quick with ideas.”

Kaye forced a small smile. “Sounds like you make a good team.”

“Yeah. But don’t worry, you’re still my number one fan.” He nudged her playfully, and for a moment, her heart eased.

But as he continued talking, she realized how often Lianne’s name slipped into his sentences. Unintentional, casual, yet constant.

And every mention was a reminder of the space slowly growing between them.

That weekend, they met at the café again. But this time, Kiko was distracted. He checked his phone often, smiling faintly at new messages.

Kaye stirred her coffee slowly. “You’re busy today.”

“Huh?” He looked up. “No, no. I’m all yours.”

But his phone buzzed again, and his eyes flicked to the screen before he caught himself.

Kaye forced a laugh. “It’s fine. Answer. It’s probably her, right?”

Kiko froze, then chuckled awkwardly. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” she said too quickly.

He leaned back, smirking. “You are.”

She rolled her eyes, hiding the way her cheeks burned. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe.” He grinned, but then reached across the table, tapping her notebook. “But you know you’re still my favorite person, right?”

Her breath caught. His words were light, casual, but his eyes lingered longer than they should have.

And just like that, the ache dulled, replaced by the warmth that only he could give her.

That night, back in her room, Kaye opened her notebook again.

She wrote slowly, carefully, as though the words themselves were fragile.

"You keep saying I’m your favorite person. But favorites can change, Kiko. And I don’t know how to stay still while you learn how to let me go."

She closed the notebook, pressing it to her chest, and whispered into the quiet:

“Don’t let me go.”

But the only answer was the vibration of her phone across the sheets.

Another message.

Kiko: Goodnight, Kaye. Sweet dreams.

And though her heart ached, she smiled. Because at least, for tonight, she was still the one he said goodnight to.