The Distance Between Us

For the first time in a long time, there was no fighting.

No sharp words exchanged between classes. No lingering glances filled with silent challenges. No passive-aggressive comments thrown across the cafeteria.

Nothing.

And somehow, that felt worse.

Caesar told himself he didn't care. He told himself it was a relief, that the constant tension had been exhausting, that he was glad they weren't clawing at each other anymore.

But that was a lie.

Because at least when they fought, she still looked at him.

Now, it was like he didn't exist at all.

---

Blythe wasn't avoiding him.

Not in the obvious way, at least. She didn't change her routes in school or go out of her way to be somewhere he wasn't. If anything, she acted completely normal, as if nothing had ever happened.

That was what made it so unbearable.

She didn't ignore him. She didn't acknowledge him.

She just moved on.

And Caesar had no idea how she was doing it.

Because he couldn't.

---

He threw himself into other things—schoolwork, games, talking to people he barely cared about—anything to fill the spaces she used to occupy in his mind.

And at first, it worked.

Sort of.

But then the thoughts crept back in, little reminders of her woven into the smallest things. A song playing through someone's speaker that he knew she liked. A joke someone made that he instinctively turned to share with her, only to remember she wasn't there. The empty seat next to him in class, the one that used to be hers, the one that now belonged to someone else.

She was slipping away.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe she already had.

---

The thing that made it all worse—the thing that made it unbearable—was that people were starting to notice him.

It started small. More people calling his name in the hallways, more messages in his inbox from classmates he barely knew. Then came the invitations—to group hangouts, to parties, to things he never used to be included in.

At first, he didn't think much of it.

Then he realized—people were paying attention to him.

More than before.

More than ever.

And he wasn't sure how to feel about that.

---

The first time someone told him he was popular now, he laughed.

But they weren't joking.

It was a weird shift, one he hadn't expected. It wasn't like he had done anything differently—he was just the same as always. But somehow, somewhere along the way, his name had started to spread.

It wasn't just about him being smart.

It was the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way people were drawn to him even when he wasn't trying.

He had something.

Something people wanted to be around.

And maybe that should have made him feel better.

Maybe it should have made him forget.

But it didn't.

Because for every new person who called him a friend, for every laugh he shared with someone new, there was still something missing.

Someone missing.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had lost something important.

Something he wasn't sure he could ever get back.