I reread the text I haven’t sent: “Hey. We need to talk about what I saw tonight.”
But inside my chest, right now, it doesn’t feel like a safe harbor. It feels like a shipwreck.
Too confrontational. Delete. “Are you okay? You seemed… distracted.” Too passive. Delete. “I think I’m in love with you and it’s making me stupid.” kenzie love pov
The Weight of a Look
But I’m not.
Instead, I stand up. I splash cold water on my face. I look at my reflection—messy bun, mascara slightly smudged, a small silver necklace with a crescent moon that E gave me for my birthday. I touch the charm. It’s warm from my skin.
And here’s the thing about being Kenzie Love: people assume I’m immune to jealousy. I’m the “chill girl.” The one who laughs off drama, who says “it’s fine” when it’s absolutely not fine. I’ve built a whole identity around being low-maintenance, easygoing, a safe harbor for other people’s storms. I reread the text I haven’t sent: “Hey
And for once, I won’t look away first.