Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Melodramatic Romance Best Friend

When I was ten years old, I suddenly gained the ability to see red threads connecting people’s heads. Only those who had actually slept together would be bound by this unavoidable red line. Over the years, two extra red threads popped up over my father’s head, driving my mother to threaten to file for divorce again and again. Because of this, loyalty became the single most important thing I looked for in a partner. In the end, I chose Jasper—a modest, reserved man whose head was completely clean. On the night before our wedding, my bridesmaids hosted a bachelorette party. We played a game where whoever lost had to hand over their phone for the rest of us to snoop through. When it was my maid of honor Jean’s turn, she clutched her phone tightly, her face flushing red as she bashfully giggled. “Don’t look at mine! He wore me out so late last night. Those photos are definitely not fit for public viewing.” Everyone teased her for keeping her relationship so secretive, since no one had ever met her boyfriend. I was just about to step in and smooth things over when I suddenly saw a bright red thread stretch straight out from the top of her head. It wove right through the crowd and anchored itself directly onto my fiancé, Jasper. Yet, when he dropped me off at home last night, his head had been entirely clean. In fact, just half an hour ago, he had sent me a text. [Aria, I’ve saved myself for you for twenty-five years. On our wedding night tomorrow, I can finally have you. I love you!] I looked over at Jasper standing outside the door, staring at me with deep affection, and then back at Jean, whose face was glowing with passion. I raised my glass and clinked it gently against hers. “Jean, is your boyfriend’s last name Cook?”

During our beach vacation, my wife, Carla Locke, lets her guy best friend, Alex Dugan, rub sunscreen all over her. "What have you been eating lately? Feels like you've gone up a cup size." The moment I see Alex's hand lingering on Carla's chest, the drink slips from my hand and shatters on the ground. Carla gets upset and tells me off for being so insecure. "We're just messing around. Why do you always overthink everything?" Alex shoots me a challenging look. "Don't be upset, Hubert. Carla and I are just friends. Sometimes, I wish I'd been born a woman. Then, people wouldn't keep misunderstanding our relationship." Carla leans into his embrace and shakes her head as she looks at me. "I wish you'd stop being so sensitive about this. Stop trying to ruin our friendship." However, Carla and Alex don't know that I'm from another world. After completing my mission in the previous world, the system rewards me with one wish. Since they insist they're just best friends, I'll be more than happy to grant his wish to become a woman.

My boyfriend and I had planned to fly to LA to watch our favorite MLB team play at home. But on the day we were supposed to leave, I waited at the airport for three hours. He never showed. It wasn't until after dark that he finally called. “Sorry, Audrey. I forgot to tell you. Natalie found out we were taking engagement photos and got so excited she couldn't sleep. She insisted I fly out with her early to scout locations.” “You can make it here on your own, right? The three of us will meet at the stadium entrance tomorrow.” I stood frozen. Natalie Brooks was my best friend. She had watched Derek Sinclair and me go from high school sweethearts to planning our wedding, and always called herself our biggest supporter. Yet with one casual “fly out early,” Derek had left me, his bride-to-be, behind at the airport. “You two have fun.” I smiled faintly. “I suddenly don't feel like going anymore.” The next day, I saw Natalie's latest post. She had uploaded a photo of herself with Ryan Kane, my favorite player. The caption read: “Thanks to Derek for pulling strings to get me this photo. Location scouting complete. The things I do for my best friend!” I calmly liked the post. Then I called the wedding planner and canceled the wedding we were supposed to have in two weeks. Natalie never stopped talking about how much she cared about my happiness, yet she had already taken the trip and surprise meant for me. I was done sharing this relationship with a third person.

On my wedding day, the crowd kept teasing us newlyweds. A friend asked me, "What's the most insane thing you've done for him?" I smiled. "Letting him tattoo his own special mark on me despite my bleeding disorder." Then, they asked the groom who was outside the room. "And what's the most insane thing you've done?" He paused for a moment. "That tattoo is the name of the miscarried child I had with her best friend." Everyone went white and exchanged looks, then someone tried to defuse the situation. "Still a joker, Zack." Zack Gray said solemnly, "It's not a joke, but that's not the most insane thing. I did it with her best friend the whole night before the wedding, and we did it right on the bed she's sitting on." I frowned, my heart pounding wildly. No wonder my best friend would tear up every time she looked at my tattoo. I sneered. If that was how he wanted to play, then I would do something crazy too.

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

My best friend's brother and I have been dating for half a year, and she has no clue. My best friend drags me out on Christmas for a singles' night out. Unexpectedly, we see her brother, Chris Lambert, holding hands and kissing a girl under the fireworks. "Damn, Chris finally got the school belle!" She looks thrilled and pulls me forward to say hi. Chris awkwardly rubs his nose and introduces me to his girlfriend, "This is my sister, and the one beside her is… sort of like my sister too." I smile silently. We have held hands and kissed, yet now, I am just sort of like his sister.

When I went to return my engagement ring, the jeweler asked me why. Right in front of her, I slid it onto my finger. It caught at the second knuckle and wouldn't go any farther. "You can see for yourself. This isn't my size." The jeweler went pale and offered to resize it on the spot. I shook my head, my voice eerily calm. "You can fix the ring size. You can't fix the shoe size. And you definitely can't fix the wedding dress." Everything about my wedding to Charles Garth was mine in name only — my name was on the invitation as the bride, and that was as far as it went. Every time I asked him to come try on the dress with me, he'd keep his eyes on his laptop and answer without looking up. "I'm busy. I already know your measurements. I gave them to the boutique myself. "Just show up and be the bride. Everything's already handled." But three days before the wedding, what I got was a ring that wouldn't fit and a dress I couldn't wear. The shoes, the gloves, the garter — every single piece was sized for my best friend. Something I'd been holding onto for a long time finally gave out, and it left a hole in my chest. Charles frowned, still trying to talk me into it. "It's just a ceremony. You two are so close — would it really be so bad if Maia stood in for you at the altar?" I didn't say anything. I didn't refuse, either. I just thought — maybe it wouldn't be so bad to swap out the groom instead.

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

When my friend, Winnie Stuart, gets fed up with her family urging her to find a boyfriend, she offers me 500 dollars, saying, "Let me rent your boyfriend for a day. I just need him to be my plus-one for a wedding, and I'll return him to you right after the ceremony." My boyfriend, Chase Harrington, accepts the money and takes off the couple ring on his finger. "I need to be professional and make sure my client's cover isn't blown." Winnie and I used to share a room in college. She's been a mutual friend of Chase and me for seven years now. At 10:00 pm, Chase comes home earlier than scheduled and puts his ring back on. He also transfers 500 dollars to me. "Time for the post-rental inspection," he says as he kisses me. "Returned in perfect condition, right?" Since then, Winnie has started making a habit of renting him. She hires him to accompany her to her client meetings, move her furniture for her, and attend her company's annual dinner with her. Even when she gets drunk late at night, she summons him. Each time Chase comes home, he'll transfer the money to me with a smile. "Isn't it great that we're earning some extra cash? She's just renting my presence as a service anyway. It's not like she's renting my heart." On my birthday, I wait at the restaurant I booked. Even when it's closing time, Chase is still a no-show. When I call him, I hear Winnie's voice coming through the speaker instead. "Sorry, babe. I've rented him for the entire day today." "When does the rental period end?" I ask. "At midnight." Chase's lazy drawl rings out. "There are still 20 minutes left. I need to show proper work ethic." The next day, my mother says, "Why don't you bring Chase over for a meal this weekend? Your dad says he's got a good bottle of wine ready." At that very moment, Winnie uploads a new Instagram post. It's a video of Chase sitting on a couch in her living room, peeling an orange for her mother. The caption reads, "Yet another successful rental service. My parents are very satisfied." Instead of confronting either one of them, I start returning all the "rental earnings" Chase has ever transferred to me. I add a remark. "I won't be accepting any returns this time."

On June nineteenth—the day my boyfriend and I had planned to get our marriage license—he vanished without a word. It wasn't until that night that I stumbled across a post on his social media. He'd forgotten to block me from seeing it. "From twenty to twenty-eight, our youth: signed, sealed, delivered." The photo attached showed two marriage certificates. In the wedding picture beside it, a girl I didn't recognize leaned into his shoulder, beaming. Furious, I opened the comments to demand an explanation, and found my best friend's message waiting there instead. [Congratulations to the old flames who finally found their way back to each other!] My chest went tight. My hands shook as I called her. After a long silence, she finally told me the truth. "Yeah. They've been together for eight years. Everyone already knew. We didn't hide it to hurt you. We were just scared you'd make a scene. "Alice and Chase were always the better match. It wasn't easy for them to get to where they are today. Why make things hard on another woman? Just be the bigger person." The tears that fell were cold as ice, but where they landed, they burned straight through me. Twelve years together, and for eight of them, Chase Peterson had loved someone else. Everyone had known. They'd just all agreed to keep it from me.

On our eighteenth attempt to get married, Miles Corbett stopped the ceremony again because I began my vow a fraction too late. He looked completely disappointed in me. "You know I'm a perfectionist. Why can't you follow the wedding schedule exactly? "If you miss the timing again, maybe you should let your best friend take your place." My best friend, Audrey Sloan, was famous for always being perfectly on time, so Miles used her as the standard I was expected to match. If I reached the curb one minute after Audrey at the end of the workday, he drove away with her and left me behind. If I entered the restaurant half a step later than she did on Valentine's Day, he gave her the candlelit dinner that was supposed to be mine. If I reached the airport twenty seconds after her before our annual vacation, he canceled my ticket and traveled with Audrey instead. Even at our wedding, he had stopped the ceremony seventeen times and used Audrey to rehearse my role seventeen times. To make the eighteenth attempt succeed, I filled the venue with more than a hundred synchronized countdown clocks and practiced every cue for over two hundred nights. But ten seconds before my vow was due, Audrey jumped the cue and said "I do" first. Miles ignored both me and the synchronized clocks and canceled the wedding for the eighteenth time. The problem had never been my timing; the problem was that the bride was not her. So I finally decided to give his perfectionism what it wanted. Miles took Audrey's hand again. "Watch carefully. We'll demonstrate it one more time." I smiled and slid the wedding rings onto their fingers. "No demonstration needed. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

After we got married, my husband gave every piece of jewelry he bought me its own name. "This watch is Renee. This four-leaf clover bracelet is Phoebe. This diamond ring is Shannon..." My best friend looked puzzled. "Why do those all sound like women's names?" I smiled. "Because they are. "They're all named after women Derek Shaw cheated on me with. Every time I caught him, he would give me another piece." There were ninety-nine pieces in all. The first time I discovered his infidelity was the day after our wedding. I'd trashed our new home then. Derek simply wrapped his arms around me from behind, took my hand, and asked if it hurt. That night, he slipped a bracelet I had had my eye on onto my wrist. "I was just having a little fun. If you don't like her, I'll get rid of her." Over the three years we were married, some version of that scene played out almost every day. My heart went from twisting in agony to slowly being worn numb. I opened the box in my hands. Inside was a pearl necklace named Jenny. I used to tell myself that he was only fooling around and that, deep down, he still loved me. But this time was different. Derek had truly fallen for her. He took her to Tayhollow to see the ocean and laid the groundwork for her future after graduation... I ran my fingers over the pearls without the slightest flicker of emotion. "This is the hundredth, and I just don't have it in me to keep doing this anymore…"

After finishing my meal, I went to the cashier counter to settle the bill as usual. It took me longer than usual because the signal was poor. By the time I settled the bill, I could not find Corbin, my boyfriend, or Mabel, my best friend, anywhere inside or outside the restaurant. I called over a dozen times before they finally answered. “You were taking too long, so we just went ahead. “We’re at the Perler bead craft store on the second floor. Hurry up and get over here. The mall was packed and even more crowded than usual for the holiday. The elevator came twice, and both times it was full. So, I gave up and took the escalator instead. By the time I got to the store, every seat at the craft table was already taken. Corbin and Mabel were sitting together, talking about starting at Northbridge University this September and planning out the next ten years of their lives, from graduate school all the way to their doctorates. It was this grand plan for their future, and I had no place in it. They had already made plans to enroll in prestigious universities as early as May. I, however, failed my PSATs and was still considering repeating a year to catch up. Seeing me standing frozen at the door, Corbin said in a helpless tone, “You’re always so slow. Just wait outside for now.” I watched their backs, and a sudden exhaustion washed over me. “Corbin, I’m done chasing you.”

While taking photos at the tourist attraction, I moved around three or four times to find the best angle. I aimed the camera at my boyfriend, Shawn Jacobson, and called out three times, "Hey, look this way." He seemed unable to hear me. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance instead. Then Nadia Sparks, my best friend, fumbled for her phone and called out to him, "Look at the camera!" He immediately struck a pose and smiled tenderly into her camera. A young couple saw the photos on Nadia's phone and teased her, "Wow, your boyfriend must really love you. You can see it in his eyes!" Nadia's face instantly turned bright red, and Shawn cleared his throat awkwardly. I looked down at my camera and saw that I had only captured a third of his profile. It looked like a paparazzi shot. Ever since we were kids, they had always ignored me. The two of them acted like I never had an opinion. As teenagers, they always excitedly picked where we would go, assuming I'd just follow along. When we grew up, the two of them decided to study medicine. They never bothered to ask what I wanted and signed me up for a medical program too. Later, they became the ER's dream team, while all my hard work only earned me a place as just a nurse. When I looked up, they were already walking side by side toward the next spot for photos. They probably expected me to just follow them, but I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. All this time, I had always stayed one step behind them. But even I had a day when I no longer wanted to follow them.

After my song was cut short at karaoke, I found myself back at the song selection machine. I just had to wait for 28 more songs until it would finally be my turn again. The next song was called "The Answer". My boyfriend, John Aldama, and my best friend, Selena Summers, gave each other a look of mild disdain but decided to sing the duet to prevent an awkward silence. Their voices, one cool and one sweet, complemented each other perfectly. Ever since high school, they'd been neck and neck on the honor roll, always vying for first and second place. Even after joining a top-tier company, they'd constantly bicker over projects. Even years after graduation, the people in our high school group chat were still "shipping" their "love-hate dynamic". No matter how hard I tried, I always remained the forgotten third person, an overlooked backdrop. Listening to them sing, I suddenly felt so tired. I no longer felt like singing the song that I had to wait endlessly for. I quietly deleted the song I'd selected and sent a confirmation to the email that asked me to be relocated abroad for work.

My best friend Summer Woods often made me play the "instant reply game" to test our boyfriends' loyalty. She said you could tell how much a man loved you by how quickly he replied to you. During a meal, less than three seconds after she sent the text, her mysterious boyfriend transferred $800 to pay her bill. I sat there until we finished all the food before I finally received a reply from Cody, which said, "I'm in a meeting." On a certain rainy day, Summer simply texted, "I forgot to bring an umbrella", and ten minutes later, a luxury car was there to pick her up. Meanwhile, I stood drenched in the rain for an hour before Cody finally replied, "Just grab a cab." Summer would poke my head and say, "You're such a fool. You wouldn't even notice if he was cheating on you." More than once, I defended Cody, "He loves me very much. He's just too busy." Then, I'd cling to her arm and whine playfully, "Besides, I have you~" During my bachelorette party, we were drugged at a bar. Summer anxiously took out her phone and said, "Rebecca, I feel bad for you. If he still doesn't show up this time, you should just break up with him." In despair, I sent a distress message to Cody. Ten minutes later, he burst in like a madman. I thought, this time, I'd finally won, but he rushed past me and pulled Summer tightly into his embrace. "Summer, I'm sorry I'm late." I watched him carry my bestie away in shock. It turned out Summer's "mystery boyfriend", who was always there at her beck and call, was none other than my fiancé, Cody Langford.

My best friend, Aria Sinclair, develops amnesia after killing my parents in a drunk-driving accident. Somehow, everyone forgives her. My own brother signs a letter of forgiveness on her behalf. The son I nearly died bringing into this world affectionately calls her "Ari". Even my lawyer husband of eight years stands in front of her and defends her. Because I insist on taking her to court, they join forces and have me committed to a psychiatric facility for an entire year. On the day I'm released, Grant Berton comes to pick me up. He says, "Aria has lost her memory. She's changed and turned over a new leaf. Do you really have to demand a life for a life? Can't we forget the past and move on together?" Voices rise around me from every direction, all urging me to let go and forcing me to forgive. I look at the people who are supposedly the closest and dearest to me. Then, I calmly utter one word. "No." This time, I don't scream and rage about sending her to prison. Even when I catch Grant and her together in the bedroom, I don't pick up a knife and drive them out. Instead, I silently speak to the system in my mind. "I give up on the mission." I don't want the wreckage of the past, and I have no interest whatsoever in a future without light.

Once, I posted a photo of Eugene Chapman and me. He stopped me right there on the street, his face cold as he pushed my phone down. "Louisa, I don't like putting my private life online for strangers to gossip about. Delete it. You don't need to be that desperate for attention." People streamed past us as I fought back tears and deleted the post. Only when the photo disappeared did his expression finally soften. He sighed and pulled me into his arms. "Come on. We just need to live our lives. We don't have to post everything online just to prove something to other people." After that, I never posted about him again. For the next three years, there wasn't a single trace of him anywhere on my social media. When my best friend asked if I even had a boyfriend, I laughed it off and told her Eugene was just a private person. Even our wedding invitations for next month only had a scenic photo on the front. Then last night, a pet influencer's video popped up in my recommendations, and Eugene was in it. He had one arm around a girl and was grinning at the camera, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The post had more than ten thousand comments, almost all of them gushing about how cute Eugene and his girlfriend were together. I went through the account, post by post. The first video of him went up just eight months after Eugene and I started dating. The girl's pinned comment read, [He insists on filming us every single day. It's so annoying.] So Eugene never hated having his life all over social media. He just hated having me in it. I closed the app and texted the wedding planner. [The wedding is canceled.]

I had stayed up all night to get the merchandise. It was then callously discarded by my boyfriend. On that stormy day, I knelt beside a dumpster and searched through bags of trash. Yarden Scott stopped in his tracks. “What are you looking for?” “My merch.” I did not look up. “I reminded you three times. It was in the left drawer of the sideboard.” His shirt was soaked from the rain. He subconsciously said, “Yvonne’s car broke down. I went to pick her up. I forgot.” He forgot. Last week, he threw away the commemorative ticket stubs I had stayed up all night organizing because he thought they were scraps of paper. The month before, he threw away the brooch my grandmother left me because he thought it was an old button. Every single time, he brushed it off with the same excuse. I gave a mocking smile. “You always remember everything when it comes to Yvonne, don’t you?” Yarden carefully wiped the hair tie Yvonne Jordan had left behind and answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s your best friend. That means I have to treat her very well. “If I keep her happy, our relationship will last. Isn’t it all for your sake?” I watched his practiced movements and felt completely drained. I could not say another word. I had reminded him countless times before not to touch the drawers in my study. He ignored me and threw away my collection of rare stamps. I told him again and again that I was allergic to mangoes. At a group dinner, he still ordered a mango shake for me. But when Yvonne casually mentioned that she had trouble sleeping, he started sending her music to help her sleep every single day. If Yvonne wanted to eat at her favorite restaurant, he would pull every string he could to get a reservation. To him, everything about me was a burden. Everything about Yvonne was worth his time. If that were the case, then I should not bother him any longer.

On the day my overseas assignment ended, my boyfriend, Victor Walter, posted something on social media and quickly deleted it. The room was filled with familiar friends. The caption read, [Waiting for tonight's guest of honor.] I thought he had found out that I had changed my flight to come back early and wanted to surprise me. When I arrived at the location and entered the room, everyone fell silent. My best friend, Cynthia Haight, was the first to recover from the shock and said, "Welcome home! We've been waiting for you." Everyone ushered me into a seat and took turns toasting to my return. After several rounds, I leaned drowsily into Victor's arms and closed my eyes to fake being drunk. He pinched my cheek the way he always did and tested me, "Clementine?" When I did not respond, he draped his jacket over me. I smiled a little. Just as I was about to tease him, I heard Cynthia's voice, saying, "Victor, what are we going to do about our wedding on Saturday?" Victor let go of me and turned to pull her into his arms. "Don't worry. The wedding's still on." Their friends chimed in and reassured her softly, "Clementine won't find out. We're all covering for you. There's nothing to worry about." My body turned rigid. I only dared to open my eyes a tiny bit. Under the couch, I noticed something that had been shoved out of sight. [Victor Walter & Cynthia Haight—One-Year Anniversary.]