More Than Friends

I sit at my desk, staring at the blank document on my laptop. The cursor blinks, mocking me, but it’s not like I’m really trying to write.

My mind’s too tangled up in other things to focus on my next article. Or rather, one thing. Hannah.

It’s the same routine every weekend. I pretend I’m not waiting up, I’m not sitting here, fingers hovering uselessly over the keys, waiting for her to come through the door. But I am.

I sigh, running a hand through my thick, curly hair, tugging at the loose spirals that always seem to have a mind of their own. It falls around my face, slightly frizzy in this humidity, giving me a permanent just rolled-out-of-bed look. It matches the rest of my style—comfortable, low maintenance, nothing flashy—just me.

She should be home any minute now. She’s out with Matt again—the third time this week. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach, something I’ve been trying to ignore for months but can’t shake anymore.

This isn’t just another boyfriend, another passing phase. Hannah’s love affairs usually burn bright but fade fast. Matt is... different. This is by far the longest and most mature relationship she has ever had.

I try to tell myself I’m being ridiculous, but the feeling won’t go away. That gnawing sense that things are changing. That my time of having Hannah all to myself is slipping away.

We’re twenty-four now, not college kids anymore. I know we can’t live together forever. Hannah and I have been roommates for years—first in that cramped dorm room, and now in the cozy little house we rent.

Lately, it feels like our time living under the same roof is coming to an end. We both work remotely and even though we keep different schedules, we still spend so much of our days together.

I don’t know what my life would look like if that changed. I hate thinking about it, and every day I do my best to keep her from noticing how much it’s getting to me.

Maybe I’m just lonely. It’s been a few months since I’ve been on a date. Hannah has encouraged me to get back out there after my last boyfriend cheated on me, but I keep making excuses.

I shift in my chair, pretending like I’m working, but all I can think about is the way she lights up when she talks about Matt. They’ve been together for almostsixmonths.

I hate feeling like this—like I’m a bad friend and like I’m holding her back. Sometimes, it feels like I’m clinging to something that’s not mine to hold on to. But I can’t help it. Hannah isn’t just my roommate. She’s my best friend. My chosen family.

It feels like a countdown ticking away until the moment she comes home with news that changes everything. The thought makes my chest tighten.

We’ve been inseparable since we met our freshmen year. We survived finals, heartbreaks, bad bosses, and everything in between together. Even after we graduated, we stuck together. I assumed it would always be that way—just the two of us. Men would come and go, but we would always put each other first.

We’ve always been so different—Hannah with her blonde waves and sunny personality, and me with my laid-back style and introverted nature. I remember the day we met, I’d just arrived on campus, trying to keep my head down. I’ve never been the type to seek out attention.

Even back then, I was more comfortable fading into the background—at five-three, with my slim build and wild brown curls, I’ve always felt small, like I take up less space in the world than most people.

I was hauling my things up the stairs to the dorm room, praying that somehow, through some amazing mix-up, I would end up in a dorm by myself. I’d walked up to the open door and there she was, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, laughing at something on her phone and in no rush to put away the messy piles of clothes and other belongings strewn about the floor.

Hannah was... well, Hannah. A few inches taller than me, curvy, and radiating so much warmth, she practically glowed.

She was wearing ripped jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater, with her long blonde hair in a messy bun, and loose strands framing her face to accentuate her big blue eyes.

I remember standing there for a moment, feeling like a total disaster in comparison, just hoping she wouldn’t notice me. But of course, she did.

I was scared she’d be like the mean girls I left behind in high school—the ones who, when they actually remembered I existed, made sure I never forgot about my chaotic home life. But I shouldn’t have worried.

She lit up when she saw me and she quickly threw down her phone and bounced toward me, grabbing a box from my arms like we were already best friends.

“You must be Abby! I’m Hannah—your roommate. Here, let me help you!” She made it impossible not to like her.

I wasn’t sure what to make of her at first—so bubbly, so full of energy. But by the end of that day, we were already swapping stories about high school and talking about the future. It was the start of... well, everything.

I’d never had a friend like Hannah before. She’s the kind of person who draws people in and makes everyone feel like they belong. And for someone like me, who’s always been a little more on the outside, it was... special. She made me feel special.

But now, it feels like something is threatening that. I should be happy she found someone she cares about.

It’s getting serious between Hannah and Matt. Serious enough that I’ve been bracing myself for the day she comes home and tells me he’s asked her to move in with him. Or worse, that he’s proposed.

I can’t help but feel like a jerk. Matt isn’t a bad guy—he’s polite, good-looking, a middle school teacher who’s steady and reliable. A little boring, but after some of the men Hannah and I have dated, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

He’s perfect for her. The kind of guy Hannah deserves. But deep down, I’ve never warmed up to him, even if I can’t exactly put my finger on why. Maybe because I’ve always known that he’s the one who could change everything.

I hear the key in the lock and freeze.

I don’t want to look like I’m waiting up for her, so I keep my eyes glued to the computer screen and wait for her to pass by my open door to her room. The door clicks shut, and I listen, waiting to hear her footsteps come down the hall.

One second. Two. Still nothing.

With a sigh, I push away from my desk and head for the kitchen, trying to act casual. Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I glance over my shoulder and see her standing in the middle of the living room.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. How was your date?” I keep my back to her, twisting the cap off the bottle.

No answer.

I turn around, and that’s when I get a better look at her. Her back is to me, still in the red dress she modeled for me earlier. It hugs her curves perfectly, but there’s none of her usual lightness in her posture. Her shoulders are slumped, her head hanging low.

I can tell right away that something’s wrong.

My chest tightens, and I set the water down on the counter. I walk over, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Hannah?” I place my hand on her shoulder. When she doesn’t respond, I gently turn her around.

Her eyes are red and swollen, her makeup smudged, cheeks streaked with tears. She looks like she’s been crying for hours.

“It’s over.” Her voice is hoarse and broken. And before I can say anything, she collapses into my arms, sobbing, clinging to me like I’m the only thing holding her together.

She’s taller than me, but I do my best to hold her up, my arms wrapping around her tightly. I feel her warmth pressed against me, and all I can do is stroke her back, my fingers tangling briefly in the loose waves of her blonde hair. My heart breaks for her, but at the same time, there’s this terrible rush of relief coursing through me—this awful, greedy relief.

She’s hurting, and all I can think about is that she’s still here. Still mine.

I curse my selfishness, even as I murmur soothing words into her hair.Chapter