“It’s just…rejection. Alfie was my first long-term boyfriend, and one of the people who knows me best in the whole world, and it’s mortifying that one morning he woke up and decided that I wasn’t smart or funny or hot enough for him. Georgia is so effortless and beautiful and everyone wants to hang out with her. In the meantime, I…I feel like the odd man out, and I’m starting to wonder if this is what the rest of my life is going to be. So knowing that for the next two months those two will be pitying me, and basking in their togetherness, and maybe constructing five to ten percent of their pillow talk around how I’ll undoubtedly die alone…” I’m crying again, and this is way more than I ever meant to open up about, more than I remember admitting to anyone, and…

Fuck it.

I can’t.

“Thank you for talking to me. I feel better now.” I don’t, not really. But I hang up anyway, even as he starts saying something I refuse to listen to.

My phone is drenched in tears. I dry it as best as I can, then decide to turn it off, just in case. I dust myself off, grab my backpack. Even in the sudden collapse of my life, I have a single certainty: next week’s nuclear astrophysics test.

The uni library is open, so I make my way to George Square, and let its pretty bookshelf-like exteriors soothe me. Under the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the hall, I have to force myself to take a deep breath. I’ve been here with Alfie and Rose more times than I could count on my hands and toes. Georgia would join us, too. She and Alfie both smoke, so they’d frequently step outside for breaks and come back looking flushed and smelling like cigarettes. Even though I never enjoyed the scent, it had become so dear to me that…

I’m an idiot. I’m a fucking idiot.

I deserve this.

I refused to be jealous, or suspicious. Aren’t relationships supposed to be built on trust and mutual respect and love? What’s the point, otherwise? Am I supposed to live on high alert when—

“Watch where you’re going,” a guy hisses at me after I bump into him. I mutter an apology and sit at the closest table, making a superhuman effort to focus on orbital periods.

So the numbers and the words get blurry every once in a while.

So I barely get done a fifth of what I manage on a regular night.

So my head is pounding and my body weighs a million stones and—

Fuck it. It’s been over three hours. I’m going to bed.

It’s late, but it’s also a Friday. The streets around campus are still bustling. I drag myself toward my Potterrow apartment, wishing I’d thought of grabbing a thicker jacket before running out this morning. It’s nearly midnight when I say one last Please let Alfie and Georgia be in bed prayer and stick my key into the lock.