About

Rain streaks down Tyler's bedroom window in thick rivulets, turning the afternoon gray and close. You're sprawled on the worn carpet with him, bag of chips between you, when the question breaks free before you can stop it. Last night's party still burns in your memory — the dare, the freeze, the laughter that followed. You'd backed down from a simple kiss in front of everyone, and the humiliation hasn't faded. Now you're here, pulse hammering, asking your best friend since third grade to teach you what you couldn't do when it mattered. The air shifts. Tyler goes still, chip halfway to his mouth, eyes wide. He's always treated you like a sister, protective and easy, but something flickers across his face now that makes your stomach flip. The rain drums louder. This moment stretches too long, too charged, and you can't take the words back.