WHEN HE LOOKED AT ME

CHAPTER 3

I stared at Ethan’s message so long that my screen dimmed from inactivity. Prettiest girl in school? Me? The words didn’t fit anywhere inside the version of myself I’d carried for years. They hovered awkwardly in my chest, foreign and heavy, yet impossible to ignore. Still, they glowed on my screen real, undeniable, and somehow trembling with a truth I couldn’t yet touch. My fingers traced the edge of my phone, almost afraid to swipe or respond, afraid that if I blinked, the words would vanish like smoke.

Another message appeared.

"Can I ask you something?"

My throat tightened like it had a mind of its own. I swallowed hard, my chest tight, and typed slowly:

"Sure."

A pause stretched across the room, measured in seconds that felt like hours. Then his next message appeared:

"Why don’t you ever talk to anyone? You always look… distant."

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. That question was too close, too honest. It dug into parts of me I tried not to think about, parts I kept folded and tucked away. I hated explaining myself. I hated how messy and raw the truth sounded when it was out loud. But I also didn’t want to push him away not him, not now.

I exhaled slowly, a soft, trembling breath, and typed:

"I’ll tell you someday. Just… not yet."

Almost immediately, a three-dot bubble popped up, blinking like it had been waiting for my answer, for me to prove that I existed outside the shadows I usually hid in.

"Okay. I respect that. Can I tell you something too?"

Before I could reply, another message came in, longer this time.

"I didn’t start using drugs because I wanted to. My parents are getting a divorce. They fight all the time, and I’m stuck in the middle. I guess I just wanted to feel numb."

I sat up on my bed, clutching my phone like it was suddenly fragile, as if the weight of his words could shatter it. The words fell across my chest, heavy, real, and impossibly intimate. I had never seen Ethan as anything but confident and untouchable, a boy everyone admired from a distance. But now… now he felt like someone I could almost reach, a boy carrying more than anyone realized, a boy whose quiet desperation mirrored some of the fears I’d carried myself.

My fingers trembled as I typed:

"I’m really sorry. That must hurt a lot."

The message sent, and my heart kept thudding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Another buzz.

"You’re actually the first person I told."

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. He trusted me. Out of everyone in the school, everyone he could have confided in, he chose me. Just me.

And then, just when my heart was beginning to steady, another message appeared.

"Bella… can I call you?"

I stared at the screen, hands shaking, phone pressed against my chest as if it could anchor me to reality. I didn’t know what to say. My mind spun with a thousand questions, a thousand what-ifs, but beneath it all, a small, dangerous spark of something like hope or maybe just recognition had begun to stir.