It was a typical Wednesday evening. We had just finished dinner, and the two of us were lounging on the couch. The glow of the TV flickered softly in the background, but neither of us was really watching it. He had his phone in his hand, scrolling through messages, while I absentmindedly flipped through a magazine.
He started telling me about his day—how his boss was being extra picky about some project, how a coworker brought in donuts and everyone swarmed the breakroom. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual back-and-forth we shared about our day. But as he spoke, I noticed something strange.
He kept smiling at his phone.
At first, I tried to brush it off. Maybe he got a funny meme from a friend, or maybe his mom sent him one of those weird gifs she’s always into. But the smile wasn’t going away. Every few seconds, he'd glance down, his thumb tapping furiously, and that grin would sneak back onto his face.
I nodded along as he kept talking, but now my focus was somewhere else entirely. Why was he smiling so much? I glanced at the phone screen from the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t quite see who he was texting. It wasn't like him to be so engrossed in a conversation when we were together, especially when it didn’t involve me.
“So, uh, what’s so funny?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but I could hear the edge in my own voice.
“Huh?” He looked up, confused for a second. “Oh, nothing, just some work stuff.” He shrugged it off, but I wasn’t convinced. His phone buzzed again, and without even thinking, he unlocked it and smiled. Again.
Now I was getting that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—the kind that shows up when something feels wrong but you can’t quite put your finger on why. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. I mean, we trusted each other, right? But there was something about that smile that made my chest tighten.
“Is it really work stuff?” I asked, a little more pointedly this time.
He looked up again, his smile fading slightly. “Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. You’re just... smiling a lot. Whoever’s texting you must be pretty funny.”
For a moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe? Or was it just surprise? He hesitated, and that hesitation spoke volumes.
“It’s nothing, really,” he said, but now I could see him getting nervous. He shifted on the couch, locking his phone and placing it face down on the coffee table.
My heart sank. He never did that. I wanted to believe him, I really did, but the more I replayed the scene in my head, the more it felt like something was off. My mind started racing—was it someone else? Was I overreacting? Maybe it really was just work. But if it was, why was he acting so... cagey?
I couldn’t let it go. “Is it someone from work?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s... no, it’s not like that. It’s just... an old friend. Someone I hadn’t talked to in a while. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything.”
“An old friend?” I repeated. The air felt heavy now, thick with unspoken tension. “And that’s why you’ve been glued to your phone all night?”
“It’s not what you think,” he said quickly, but the defensiveness in his tone made my heart race even more.
“So then what is it?”
He ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration showing. “Look, she’s just someone I knew a long time ago. We’re catching up, that’s all.”
My chest tightened at the word “she.” There it was. The truth, or at least a part of it. I could feel my pulse quicken, but I wasn’t ready to let this spiral out of control.
“And you’ve been catching up... all night?” I asked, my voice quieter now, but the hurt was there, creeping into the edges.
“It’s not like that,” he insisted again, but it felt like he was trying to convince himself more than me. “I didn’t mean for it to be a big deal.”
“Well, it feels like a big deal,” I said softly, my eyes stinging with the tears I didn’t want to shed. “I’ve been sitting here all night, and you’ve barely looked at me. But her? She’s got you smiling.”
He looked away, and the silence that followed was unbearable. I wanted him to say something that would make it better, something that would make me feel like I was overreacting. But all he did was sit there, staring at his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, but it didn’t feel like enough.
I stood up, suddenly feeling too restless to sit any longer. “I think I need some air,” I muttered, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair.
“Wait,” he said, reaching out to me, but I shook my head.
“I just... need to think,” I whispered, heading toward the door.
As I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, but it did little to soothe the ache in my chest. I knew I had a lot to think about, and whatever was happening with his mysterious "old friend" wasn't going to be easily dismissed. Maybe it really wasn’t a big deal, but the way it made me feel—left out, second place—was.
And that smile... that smile was going to stay with me for a long time.
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