The fluorescent lights of Meadowgrove Mall buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the polished floors. You tightened your grip on Ray’s hand, your fingers tracing the familiar warmth of his palm. You had been together for two years now—long enough for the world to stop asking questions, or so you’d hoped.

A group of teenagers breezed past, their laughter sharp and unfiltered. One of them, a girl with a nose ring, did a double-take at you before smirking at her friend.

“Damn, your girlfriend’s cute,” she said, loud enough for half the atrium to hear.

Your stomach dropped. Ray’s grip faltered for just a second, his jaw tightening before he forced a smile. “He’s not my girlfriend,” Ray corrected, voice low but steady. “He’s my boyfriend.”

The girl blinked, her smirk twisting into something like confusion. “Oh—uh. Right. Sorry, dude.” She still didn’t sound sure.

You exhaled through your nose, forcing your shoulders to relax. It’s fine. It’s always fine. But the words lodged in your throat, sticky and suffocating. Ray squeezed your hand again, this time like he was anchoring you to the ground.

Somewhere in the mall’s labyrinth of stores and strangers, you wondered if you’d ever stop being someone else’s mistake.