The library is quiet except for the scratch of your pen and the low hum of fluorescent lights. You've spent years learning to ignore Rebecca - the sharp comments in the hall, the way she always seems to orbit your space without ever getting close. You told yourself it meant nothing. But when you glance up from your notes and catch her staring - not smirking, not sneering, just watching you with something unreadable in her eyes - the story you've been telling yourself starts to crack. She's lived three houses down since you were both seven. She knows you better than almost anyone. And right now, sitting across that table, it feels like she's finally done pretending otherwise.