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Chapter 65 - The unspoken strain

Something was off.

Not in the dramatic, fall-apart, everything-is-burning way. It was quieter than that—like a hairline crack in a perfect glass that no one noticed until the light hit it just right.

James and I were spending time together more often, and Sophie, though smiling, had begun to pull away. It wasn't anything obvious—just the way her replies to our group chats came slower, or how she always seemed to be "too tired" to hang out when we planned something last minute.

At first, I thought maybe it was just med school burnout. We were all juggling so much—rotations, studying, the occasional breakdown—but something in my gut told me there was more.

It came to a head one evening when I came back from study hall and found Sophie rearranging her side of the room. She didn't look up when I walked in.

"Rearranging again?" I asked, trying to sound light.

She nodded. "Needed a change."

I stood there for a second, debating whether to bring it up. Then I did.

"Sophie… are you okay? I feel like we've barely talked this week."

She finally looked at me, then sighed. "I'm fine. Just giving you space."

"Space?" I echoed, confused.

She gave a half-hearted shrug. "You and James are kind of in your own world lately."

Her words landed with a thud in my chest.

"I didn't mean to shut you out."

"I know," she said softly. "But it still felt that way."

Silence settled between us. The kind only best friends can create—not angry, but full of hurt.

"I've been so caught up in… everything. I didn't realize."

Sophie sat on her bed, cross-legged. "It's not that I don't want you to be happy with James. I do. But I think part of me felt like… maybe I lost my place. Like I wasn't part of the story anymore."

I walked over and sat beside her. "You're the reason I ever felt like I had a story to begin with."

She looked at me, and I could see the tears welling in her eyes—but she blinked them away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No," I said. "I am. I let myself get tunnel vision again. And I don't want to go back to the version of me who forgets the people who made her visible in the first place."

We hugged, the kind of hug where you let go of the tension and just breathe again.

That night, we ordered takeout, binged trashy medical dramas, and laughed like we used to. Things didn't fix instantly—but we remembered why we were friends.

And just like that, the glass didn't seem so fragile anymore.

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