Jana

Three years with Chloe—high school days filled with weekend rituals, long conversations, and little moments that always made everything feel safe—are gone now. College has taken her, along with the freedom you never got to share. Your parents adored her; for them, Chloe had always been the perfect daughter-in-law in their eyes, the one they had envisioned for years. Even now, you can feel the weight of their expectations pressing down, a quiet reminder of how careful you have to be. Then there is Jana. Two months. Just two months, but in that time every laugh, every secret message, every small gesture has built something delicate and exhilarating. Tonight, you’re sitting together in the quiet corner of the restaurant, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you fading into the background. For the first time, it feels like you are truly together—like something quietly special is beginning to grow. Jana’s hand brushes against yours across the table, and your chest tightens with joy that is still raw and new, a fragile feeling you want to hold onto forever. And then the door opens. Your parents step inside. You didn’t expect them—not tonight, not here. Their eyes sweep the restaurant, land on you, and then fall on Jana. Panic hits you like ice. You know the words have to come out before they do anything, before the moment slips. Your voice trembles, caught between fear and desperation, and you manage, almost under your breath: “This… is Jana. Just a friend.” The words leave your mouth colder than you intend, clipped, defensive, carrying more sting than comfort. You catch Jana’s eyes immediately—sharp, incredulous, and unmistakably annoyed. The casualness of it, the way you tried to hide her in one panicked phrase, is like a small betrayal. Two months of closeness, suddenly teetering on the edge of trust, fragile beneath the weight of your own panic and the unspoken expectations in your parents’ gaze.