The Secret We Shared

part 1-Pretty Girls Get Lonely Too

I was lying in bed, scrolling through TikTok for no reason. Just killing time.

Nothing felt funny. Nothing felt anything.

"Nastasiaaa! Dinner!"
My mom's voice echoed from downstairs.

I didn't answer.

I wasn't hungry. I never really am when I like someone. My stomach just closes off. My chest gets tight. It's like my body knows I'm about to mess it all up before I do.

His name is Daniel.

Tall, Italian, brown hair, older. We met when I went out for a quick coffee. He held the door open for me,looked like he already knew me. I looked at him with a soft smile, he smiled back.

That was all it took.

I dragged myself downstairs eventually. Quiet as usual. My parents were talking about work or something, I wasn't really listening. I nodded when they looked at me, picked at my food.

They didn't ask questions. They never do.

We've never been that kind of family. They've always been busy, distracted. I learned how to keep my thoughts to myself a long time ago. I got good at it.

After dinner, I went straight back to my room. Locked the door. Laid on my bed again, phone in hand.

Daniel called me.

I smiled without meaning to and answered.

"Hey," I said, soft and slow, like I wasn't completely excited to hear from him.

"You always sound like you just woke up," he laughed.

"I haven't. I just have a calm voice," I said, like I always do.
That's not true. I just don't want to sound too eager.

"Talking to you makes me relaxed, Most girls give me headaches."
He meant it as a compliment. I took it like one.

"Yeah, I try to be different from others." I said, because that's what they like hearing.

"You definitely are."
He paused.
"I like that about you."

I smiled to myself.
"I like talking to you," I said, even though I wanted to say I like you.

We kept talking. He told me about growing up in italy, and how people here feel fake. I told him I feel the same.
He said I'm different.
I told him I don't do drama, I don't play games, I'm just simple.

That was a lie.

But it sounded good.
And I wanted to be easy to love.

"I like that you're real," he said.

I swallowed hard.
"Thanks," I whispered.

We stayed on the phone for almost an hour. Everything he said made me want more. His voice, the way he laughed, how he listened.

When we hung up, I stared at the ceiling and let myself feel it for a second. That warm, buzzy, too-good-to-be-true feeling.

I was left alone in my own thoughts for a while.

Then I opened his Instagram.

He followed a new girl.

Also brunette. She looked older. She was stunning. I clicked her profile, scrolled once, twice, three times.

She followed him back.

And just like that, the feeling died.

My chest went cold.

I hated that it mattered.
But it did.

I didn't tell anyone. I never do. But in my head, the story had already started:
He's losing interest.
She's pretty.
He'll pick her.

Not like i'm not pretty, in fact i really am. I really love the way i look, i have my moms russian features, long light brown hair, big green eyes, full lips and i get told i look like a doll all the time but still... No matter how pretty i am i will never be the only girl.

And I'll act like I don't care.

So I didn't text him back.
Didn't like his story.
Didn't answer when he called again later.

Just like that, I started pulling away. Quietly. Subtly.
I always do.

It's easier to leave before they do.

Even if nothing actually happened. Even if he did nothing wrong.

One new girl was all it took.

That's the thing about me—
Even when I like someone, I never let them close.
Not really.

I'll flirt, I'll smile, I'll say all the right things.
But the second I feel unwanted, I'm gone.

And no one ever sees it coming.