Friends

Chapter 47

Jasmines POV:

It's been a few hours since that conversation.
Since the kiss.
Since he said he needed to talk to Maria.

Marc went to work. I went to class. We both pretended like we were fine—like nothing was sitting between us.

But now I'm home. Alone. And he's not.

He texted me earlier:

"Off at 5. Going to talk to her right after. I'll let you know when I'm on the way back."

Just like that. So casual. Like it wasn't his first love we were talking about. Like he wasn't walking straight into the past while I'm stuck pacing around in the present.

I've been sitting here for twenty minutes, staring at the same wall, refreshing his location even though I already know where he is. I told myself I wouldn't freak out. That I'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

But the second he walked out that door, it all came rushing back.

Kendrick used to do this too—say he needed to talk to an ex, say it was just for closure. And every time, I believed him. Every time, I ended up looking stupid. Crying into a pillow while he "found clarity" between someone else's legs.

And I know Marc isn't Kendrick.

But right now? That doesn't help.

Right now, I'm in an apartment that suddenly feels too quiet, trying to keep it together while he goes to see her.

I reach for my phone.

Because if I don't talk to someone, I'm going to explode.

I hit Nya's name.

She picks up on the second ring.

"I'm losing my shit, and I'm trying not to have a mental breakdown, but I don't know what to do," I confess, pacing across my room like the floor's on fire.

"Wait, what?" Nya's voice crackles through the speaker. "What do you mean—what's going on? What happened?"

"He's going to go see Maria," I say, the words coming out faster than I want them to.

"Who the hell is Maria?"

"Remember the girl I told you about before we hung up? His first love."

"Ohhh," she says, dragging it out. "Damn. Why is he going to see that bitch?"

"He's letting her know it's over. That he's done. That he's moving forward," I pause, pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead. "But we both know what that really means."

Nya doesn't answer right away. I can practically hear the eye roll through the phone.

"No, you know what that means, Jasmine. That's how it played out for you. That doesn't mean that's how it is for everyone."

My throat tightens. "You don't get it. I've seen this movie before. It starts with closure and ends with the girl walking out of the guy's apartment in last night's clothes."

Nya sighs. "Okay, and when I ended things with my ex, that was it. I said what I needed to say, blocked him, and moved on. That's what healthy people do, Jas."

"Yeah," I mumble. "Well, I'm not healthy."

"You really think Marc is going to fuck Maria?" Nya asks.

I freeze.

She said it like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Like she needs me to hear how absurd it sounds out loud.

But it doesn't feel absurd to me. It feels real. Too real.

"You didn't see her," I say, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. "She's... she's stunning."

"Jasmine."

"I'm serious. She has this long, dark wavy hair that falls down her back like silk—like those shampoo commercial girls, but in real life. Her skin is glowing, like she lives outside just to soak up the sun. And her eyes?" I shake my head, staring down at the floor. "They're this deep, warm brown that makes you feel like you're drowning, but you don't even care."

Nya doesn't say anything.

"She walks like she knows everyone's watching her," I add. "But not in a cocky way. In this graceful, effortless way. Like she doesn't even have to try to be beautiful—she just is."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"And standing next to her... I felt like a placeholder. Like if she had asked him to come home with her right then and there, he wouldn't have even looked back."

"Jasmine," Nya says again, her voice softer this time. Still firm. "And then what happened after that?"

I blink. "What?"

"After she batted her lashes and whispered his name like a Disney villain—then what? What did Marc do?"

I hesitate. My voice is quieter now. "He took me home."

"And?"

I swallow. "He made me feel safe."

"Exactly." She doesn't even wait. "He didn't entertain her. He didn't fall into her arms or flirt back. He took you home. And you told me yourself—he didn't even sleep with you when you begged. He tucked you in, Jas."

I close my eyes, my throat tightening.

"You're sitting here falling apart over what might happen," Nya says, "but you're forgetting what already did. He chose you. And not just with words—but with actions. With restraint. With care."

I feel my chest rise and fall, slower this time. Her words settling in.

"Maria's pretty," she adds. "Sure. But beauty doesn't mean shit if you're not what he wants anymore. And it's clear—you are."

There's a pause. Then—

"Besides, girl," she says, suddenly playful. "You a bad bitch."

I let out a laugh—small, but real.

"You forget sometimes, but that's why I'm here," she continues. "To remind you when you start spiraling into 'I'm not enough' land. Now take a breath, drink some water, and stop acting like Marc's out here being recruited by the streets."

I smile, even though my eyes sting a little.

"Thanks, Nya."

"Anytime, baby. Now go put on something cute and act like you know who the fuck you are. She had a chance, Jasmine. She just didn't know what to do with it. Besides—she's probably over there right now crying because he's letting her go."