Your My Little Secret

page 1.🤍

Hi, my name is Liyah, and my boyfriend's name is Devon. This is how my story started.

It began with small things—half-truths, pauses where honesty should've lived, smiles that didn't quite reach my eyes. I kept telling myself it was temporary. That no one was getting hurt. That I'd fix it before it turned into something real.

But the truth is, it already was.

Devon's hand rested on my thigh as we sat in the passenger seat of his car, his fingers tapping along to a song I wasn't really listening to. He was talking about something—college plans, maybe, or his job—but his words faded into background noise. I nodded at the right moments, laughed when he laughed, played the role I'd learned so well.

To the world, this was what I was supposed to want.

A boy who loved me out loud. Who posted me. Who held my hand in public and kissed my forehead like it meant something permanent. Someone safe. Someone expected.

"Baby, you okay?" he asked, glancing over at me.

I smiled—the same smile I'd been wearing for weeks.
"Yeah," I said. "Just tired."

It wasn't a complete lie. I was tired—just not in the way he thought.

Because only an hour earlier, I'd been pressed against a bathroom sink, my phone buzzing in my hand, my heart racing for a reason I couldn't explain away. Her name lit up my screen like a warning I kept ignoring.

Did he leave yet?
I miss you.

I stared at the message longer than I should've. Long enough to feel guilt curl in my chest. Long enough to feel something warmer settle right beneath it.

I never texted her when I was with him. That was one of my rules. But rules get blurry when emotions don't listen.

Now, sitting beside Devon, my phone vibrated again. I didn't need to look to know it was her.

She always knew.

The car stopped at a red light, and Devon leaned over to kiss my cheek. It was gentle. Familiar. Empty in a way that made my chest ache.

I couldn't remember when it stopped feeling like love and started feeling like obligation.

Later that night, I locked my bedroom door and turned off the light, the glow from my phone the only thing illuminating the room. My heart sped up the second her face appeared on my screen.

There she was—messy hair, soft eyes, a hoodie too big for her frame.

"You took forever," she said, smiling anyway.

"I know," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

She didn't ask why. She never did. Somehow, that made it worse.

We talked quietly, like the walls could hear us. Like the truth might slip out if we spoke too loud. Every laugh felt stolen. Every smile felt dangerous. When she said my name, it felt like coming home—and that scared me more than anything.

Because homes aren't supposed to be hidden.

When the call ended, I stared at the ceiling, my chest tight with everything I couldn't say. I had a boyfriend who loved me in the daylight.

And a girl who loved me in the dark.

Somewhere between those two truths, I was losing myself.

And I didn't know which lie would break me first.