Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Strawberry Ice Cream
There were exactly three things I did after a breakup.
Delete every picture.
Change my bedsheets.
Buy strawberry ice cream.
Kian knew this.
Which was probably why he didn’t look surprised when I opened my apartment door wearing pink pyjama shorts, an oversized T-shirt, and the expression of a woman who had officially given up on love.
He looked at me.
Then at the tub of strawberry ice cream in my hand.
Then back at me.
“No.”
I frowned. “Hello to you too.”
“Amara.”
“What?”
“You broke up with him.”
I moved away from the door. “Technically, we broke up with each other.”
“That’s what you said about Daniel.”
“Daniel and I did break up with each other.”
“He blocked you.”
“After we mutually decided to go our separate ways.”
“He blocked you while you were still typing.”
I stopped.
Kian walked past me.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Unfortunately, he was right.
I closed the door and followed him into the living room.
Kian had been walking into my house without being invited since we were thirteen. Back then, it had been my parents’ house, and my mother used to complain that she had somehow gained another child without giving birth to one.
Eight years later, nothing had changed.
Except now the house was my tiny university apartment, and Kian had somehow decided that paying absolutely none of the rent still entitled him to half my fridge.
He opened it.
“Where’s the food?”
“There’s food.”
“There’s ketchup.”
“Exactly.”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Ketchup isn’t food.”
“Not with that attitude.”
He closed the fridge.
I dropped onto the sofa and pulled my blanket over my legs.
Kian stared at me for a moment.
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“Independent woman era.”
I gasped.
He walked over and sat at the other end of the sofa.
“Three days?”
“Forever.”
“Four days.”
“Kian.”
“Five if you start listening to sad music.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I threw a cushion at him.
He caught it.
Annoying.
“I am done with relationships,” I announced.
“Right.”
“I mean it.”
“Of course.”
“Men are exhausting.”
“As a representative of the organisation, I apologise.”
I tried not to laugh.
I really did.
But something about the completely serious expression on his face broke me.
A laugh escaped.
His mouth lifted slightly.
“There she is.”
And just like that, the heaviness in my chest became a little easier to carry.
That was the annoying thing about Kian.
He knew.
He always knew.
He knew when I actually wanted advice and when I just wanted someone to agree that everybody else was terrible.
He knew that when I said I’m fine quickly, I probably was.
But when I said it slowly?
I’m... fine.
Emergency.
He knew I hated people touching my food but would steal chips from his plate without asking.
He knew I couldn’t sleep without some kind of noise playing in the background.
He knew I was terrified of pigeons.
Which was completely reasonable, by the way.
Those things are evil.
And he knew that even though I had been the one to end things with Ryan, I was still sad.
“So?” he asked.
I looked at him.
“So what?”
“What happened?”
I stared into my ice cream.
“He said I wasn’t really in the relationship.”
Kian’s expression changed slightly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that I noticed.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Obviously I asked.”
“And?”
I sighed, putting the tub on the coffee table.
“He said it always felt like there was somewhere else I’d rather be. Or someone else I’d rather talk to.”
Kian went quiet.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was a suspicious nothing.”
“I have normal nothings.”
“No, you don’t.”
He leaned back against the sofa.
“Maybe he just wasn’t right for you.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Groundbreaking.”
“I try.”
I pulled the blanket higher.
Ryan and I had dated for seven months.
Seven months wasn’t exactly a lifetime, but it wasn’t nothing either.
He was nice.
Funny.
Good-looking.
My friends liked him.
My parents liked him.
Kian—
Well.
Kian tolerated him.
Which, for Kian, was practically a blessing from the Pope.
“I thought this one would work,” I admitted.
He glanced at me.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It was... easy.”
“Easy isn’t always good.”
“Says the man whose longest relationship lasted eleven months.”
“Twelve.”
“You broke up before your anniversary.”
“Eleven months and twenty-eight days.”
I stared at him.
“That’s eleven months.”
“It’s basically twelve.”
“That’s like saying nineteen is basically twenty.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“We’re not agreeing to anything. You’re wrong.”
He smiled.
I hated when he did that.
Mostly because it usually meant he knew I’d forgotten what I was upset about.
I narrowed my eyes.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?”
“Changed the subject.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.”
He reached for my ice cream.
I slapped his hand away.
“Absolutely not.”
“You haven’t even eaten it.”
“It’s emotional-support ice cream.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
His phone buzzed.
He pulled it from his pocket.
And smiled.
Oh.
I knew that smile.
I sat up.
“Who is she?”
His smile disappeared immediately.
“What?”
“Who. Is. She?”
“Nobody.”
I lunged for his phone.
Kian moved it out of reach.
“Amara.”
“LET ME SEE.”
“Get off me.”
“WHO IS SHE?”
“Why are you insane?”
“Why are you hiding your phone?”
“Because you’re trying to steal it!”
I climbed halfway across the sofa.
Kian held the phone above his head.
This was deeply unfair because he had been taller than me since we were fifteen and never let me forget it.
“Tell me!”
“No.”
“Kian!”
“You’re twenty-one.”
“And curious!”
“You’re a menace.”
“Same thing.”
He started laughing as I tried to reach around him.
Then my knee slipped between the cushions.
I fell forward.
Straight into him.
Everything stopped.
Not dramatically.
There were no fireworks.
No mysterious breeze.
No music playing from nowhere.
Just...
Kian.
His arm had automatically gone around my waist to stop me falling.
My hand was against his chest.
His face was closer than usual.
And for half a second, neither of us moved.
Then he frowned.
“Your hair is in my mouth.”
I immediately pushed myself away.
“Oh my God.”
He spat dramatically.
“Have you considered shampoo?”
“I washed it YESTERDAY.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I hit him with the cushion.
Hard.
He laughed.
Whatever strange half-second had happened disappeared as quickly as it came.
Not that anything had happened.
Obviously.
This was Kian.
I’d known him since I had braces and thought blue eyeshadow looked good on me.
There was nothing mysterious left between us.
Unfortunately.
“Fine,” he said, still laughing. “Her name’s Sophie.”
I froze.
Then slowly lowered the cushion.
“Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“Who is Sophie?”
“A girl.”
“Thank you, professor.”
“We met at the café.”
“And?”
“And we’ve been talking.”
“For how long?”
“A week.”
“A WEEK?”
“Why are you acting betrayed?”
“Because I tell you everything!”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You didn’t tell me you were breaking up with Ryan.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Because.”
“Brilliant argument.”
I ignored him.
“Do you like her?”
He shrugged.
That meant yes.
Kian had two shrugs.
One meant I genuinely don’t care.
The other meant I care very much but would rather eat glass than discuss my feelings.
This was definitely the second.
My sadness temporarily forgotten, I grinned.
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Kian.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Best friend?”
“Still no.”
“I’ll buy you dinner.”
His phone was in my hand three seconds later.
“Traitor.”
“I’m hungry.”
Sophie was pretty.
Really pretty.
Dark skin. Short curls. Big smile.
There was a picture of her standing beside a painting, wearing a green dress.
I looked at Kian.
“Oh, you’re finished.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“I know.”
The answer came so naturally that I paused.
Then I smiled.
“YOU LIKE HER.”
“Give me my phone.”
“You like herrrrr.”
“Amara.”
“Should I start planning the wedding?”
“Give me the phone.”
“Spring or summer?”
He snatched it back.
I laughed.
And maybe that should have felt strange.
Maybe I should have wondered why Kian hadn’t told me about her.
Maybe I should have wondered why something tiny and uncomfortable had settled somewhere beneath my ribs when he said I know.
But I didn’t.
Because Kian had dated girls before.
I had dated boys before.
That was what we did.
We dated.
We broke up.
We complained to each other.
Then we dated somebody else.
It had been that way for years.
There was no reason for anything to change.
Two hours later, Kian stood by my door putting on his jacket.
“You working tomorrow?” I asked.
“Nine till three.”
“Pick me up after?”
“Why?”
“I need groceries.”
“You have legs.”
“And you have a car.”
“Tragic.”
“Three fifteen?”
He sighed.
“Three fifteen.”
I smiled.
“Love you.”
“Unfortunately.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Goodnight.”
“Lock the door.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Amara.”
“I will!”
He stepped into the hallway.
“Kian?”
He turned.
I leaned against the door.
“Thanks.”
His expression softened.
He knew what I meant.
He always did.
“Don’t text Ryan.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Don’t stalk his Instagram either.”
“I DON’T DO THAT.”
He just looked at me.
“Goodnight, Amara.”
“Goodnight.”
I closed the door.
And locked it.
Because if I didn’t, he’d probably come back upstairs just to check.
My phone buzzed a few minutes later.
KIAN: You alive?
I stared at it.
He had literally just left.
ME: no 💔
Three dots appeared.
KIAN: finally
I smiled.
ME: blocked.
KIAN: see you tomorrow at 3:15
ME: thought i blocked you
KIAN: yet here you are
I tossed my phone onto the bed.
Eight years.
That was how long Kian and I had been doing this.
Through bad haircuts.
School.
First kisses.
Exes.
University applications.
Family arguments.
Birthdays.
Breakups.
Everything.
People came.
People left.
Kian stayed.
And at twenty-one, I thought that was simply what best friends did.
I didn’t know yet that there would come a time when seeing his name on my phone wouldn’t feel ordinary.
Or that one day, one of us would stop saying love you like it meant nothing.
But that night?
Kian was just Kian.
My best friend.
And I was completely certain that was all he would ever be.
