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The Other Side
publish date:
2026-04-03 03:18:36
Latest chapter
My Bestfriend's Boy The Distance Between
MiaThe apartment was too quiet without him. I hadn't realized how much space Ethan filled until he was gone. His sketchbooks on the coffee table. His coffee mug in the sink. The sound of his pencil scratching paper late at night. All of it was absent, and the silence felt like a physical weight. I paced the living room, then the kitchen, then back again. The clock on the wall said 11 PM. He’d called at 9, tired but excited about the show. I’d listened to him talk about the gallery, the curator, the decision to remove Ava’s paintings.“I’m taking the paintings of her out of the show.”I’d wanted to be happy. I’d wanted to feel relieved. But all I felt was a familiar, ugly twist in my chest. Jealousy. I thought I’d buried it. I thought I’d moved past it. But hearing him say her name—even in the context of letting her go—had reopened something I’d pretended was healed. You’re being ridiculous, I told myself. He chose you. He’s with you. He’s not in love with her anymore. But the voice i
My Bestfriend's Boy The Ghost on the Wall
EthanNew York was nothing like Los Angeles. The energy was sharper, faster, like the city was always in a hurry to get somewhere else. I stood at the window of my temporary apartment in Chelsea, watching the taxis swarm below, and felt a familiar ache in my chest. I’d been here a week. The gallery show opened in three days. Everything was on track—the paintings had arrived, the curator was happy, the critics had been invited. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was forgetting something. Or someone. At the gallery, the space was called The Brightside. White walls, high ceilings, track lighting that made everything look like it belonged in a museum. My paintings were already hung—a mix of old and new, landscapes and abstracts, and three pieces from the series that had made me famous. The ones of Ava. I stood in front of them now, my hands in my pockets, my reflection ghosting over her face.“You’re brooding,” said a voice behind me.I turned. Leo, the gallery owner, was leaning aga
My Bestfriend's Boy The Weight of Words
AvaSeattle was raining. That wasn’t news. Seattle was always raining. But today, the rain felt different—heavier, like the sky was holding its breath. I stood at the window of our apartment, a cold cup of tea in my hands, watching the drops streak down the glass. Behind me, my laptop sat open to a blank page.The same blank page that had been staring at me for three weeks.“You’re brooding,” Oliver said, coming up behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.“I’m thinking.”“Same thing, with you.”I leaned back into him. “I can’t write.”“You’ve said that before. You always figure it out.”“This time is different.”He turned me around to face him. “How?”I looked at his face—the kind eyes, the steady smile, the small scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood bike accident. This man had never once made me feel small. He had never once made me feel like my struggles were a burden.“I don’t know what to say anymore,” I admitted. “The words feel f
My Bestfriend's Boy The Weight of Words
AvaSeattle was raining. That wasn’t news. Seattle was always raining. But today, the rain felt different—heavier, like the sky was holding its breath. I stood at the window of our apartment, a cold cup of tea in my hands, watching the drops streak down the glass. Behind me, my laptop sat open to a blank page.The same blank page that had been staring at me for three weeks.“You’re brooding,” Oliver said, coming up behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.“I’m thinking.”“Same thing, with you.”I leaned back into him. “I can’t write.”“You’ve said that before. You always figure it out.”“This time is different.”He turned me around to face him. “How?”I looked at his face—the kind eyes, the steady smile, the small scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood bike accident. This man had never once made me feel small. He had never once made me feel like my struggles were a burden.“I don’t know what to say anymore,” I admitted. “The words feel f
My Bestfriend's Boy The New normal
MiaThree years on, It didn’t sound like a long time. But when I thought about everything that had changed—the guilt, the healing, the slow, careful building of something new—it felt like a lifetime.Ethan and I had been living together in Las Vegas for two of those years. My apartment was now our apartment, filled with his sketches and my books and the kind of quiet domesticity I’d never thought I deserved.This morning, I woke to the smell of coffee.He was already on the balcony, sketchbook in hand, the desert sunrise painting everything gold. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and joined him.“You’re up early,” he said, not looking up from his pencil.“So are you.”“Couldn’t sleep.”I sat beside him, our shoulders touching. “Bad dreams?”He shook his head. “Good ones. Too good. I didn’t want to wake up.”I knew what he meant. Sometimes happiness still felt fragile, like something that could shatter if I breathed too hard.New Morning Routine, Ethan made breakfast—eggs, toast,
My Bestfriend's Boy Ava’s Final Words
AvaA year after the housewarming, I sat alone in my Seattle study. The rain tapped against the window, soft and familiar. My laptop was open to a blank page—the first page of a new novel, one I hadn't started yet. Outside, the city hummed its quiet hum. Inside, the only sounds were the click of the radiator and the distant meow of Fitzgerald, who was probably knocking something off the kitchen counter. Oliver was at work. Priya was traveling. For the first time in months, I was completely alone. And I was thinking about forgiveness.I'd been asked about forgiveness a lot. At book signings, interviews, panels. Readers wanted to know how Elena—my fictional stand‑in—had found the strength to forgive. They wanted to know if I had forgiven the people who hurt me. I always gave honest answers. But I'd never found the perfect words. Until now. I opened a new document and started typing.“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”I stared at the sentence.
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