First message
He’s smiling again. That easy, warm, golden smile — the one he uses on me. Except it’s not for me right now, it’s for her. Some sophomore with a crooked smile and too much lip gloss, leaning on his desk like she owns the air around him. She laughs at something he says, too loud, too familiar, and I feel my nails pressing half-moons into my palm. Does she think she’s special? She doesn’t know his favorite coffee order. She doesn’t know he only smiles like that when he’s tired, trying to keep people from asking questions. I’m the one who notices when his shirt sleeves are rolled unevenly. I’m the one who stays late just to make sure he’s not alone in the building. She’ll be gone in two years — I’m forever.