When We Met, I Lost Myself

Chapter 9 – Unexpected Jealousy

By the time February rolled around, our friendship had become obvious to everyone. We sat together, walked together, ate together—our classmates even teased us sometimes, though we both laughed it off.

Still, it didn’t mean things were always easy.

It started one ordinary Tuesday during recess. He was leaning against the blackboard, laughing with one of our classmates—her. She was bubbly, the type who could talk to anyone without effort, her laughter bright and unrestrained. And right then, he looked like he was enjoying every second of it.

I sat at my desk, pretending to focus on my notebook, though my ears strained to catch snippets of their conversation.

“Wow, you’re actually funny!” she said, clutching her stomach as she laughed.

“Told you,” he replied, grinning. “You just didn’t notice before.”

Something twisted in my chest. It was ridiculous—he was allowed to talk to other people, of course. But the way he smiled at her, the way she leaned closer, made me want to slam my book shut and walk out of the room.

“Hey,” another classmate nudged me. “Are you okay? You look mad.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile.

But I wasn’t.

Later that day, during group activity, he slid into the seat beside me like always. “Hey, got any extra paper?” he asked, casual as ever.

I handed him one without looking at him.

“Thanks,” he said, but his voice dipped slightly, like he noticed something off. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I muttered.

He studied me for a moment, then leaned closer. “You sure? You’re quieter than usual. And that’s saying something.”

I almost smiled, but the jealousy still clung to me like a shadow. “Just tired,” I said instead.

He didn’t push. But later, when we were walking home, he slowed his steps.

“You know,” he began, his voice softer now, “you don’t have to pretend with me. If something’s wrong, just say it.”

I bit my lip, staring at the pavement. The truth burned on my tongue, but I couldn’t let it out. How was I supposed to admit that seeing him laugh with someone else made me feel… small? Replaceable?

Instead, I forced a laugh. “Really, I’m fine.”

He glanced at me, his eyes searching, like he wanted to say something more. But then he just nodded. “Alright. If you say so.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the same either.

And that night, as I lay awake replaying the day in my head, I realized something I didn’t want to admit.

Jealousy wasn’t just about losing a friend.

It was about the possibility that maybe—just maybe—I wanted him to be more than that.