Off-key Lovers

( 3 ) | ??????? ?? ??? ???? ☆|

It's just a like.

It means nothing.

My fingers twitch.

Screw it. Two can play this game.

I open Instagram.

I scroll to his latest post. That he just posted.. 6 hours ago. A concert photo- stage lights cutting through the darkness, Nash front and center, guitar slung low, head tilted back like he's lost in the music. The caption?

'Some things never change.'

My heart clenches. Because for a moment- just a second, I hear his voice in my head, whispering those words to me like he used to.

I swallow hard. Fuck him.

My fingers hover over the comment section. A war rages inside me.

Am I really about to do this?

Yes. Yes, I am.

I stare at the comment before hitting send.

My thumb hovers, and for a split second, I wonder if I'm really ready to go down this road again.

What if this spirals? What if it gets worse than the last time?

I've been down this path before. I'm not going to back down. I hit send.

@ScarlettBianci : Nice lighting.

No emojis. No heart. Just cool, casual, and vague enough for people to go insane over.

I hit send.

Then I lock my phone, throw it across my bed, and scream into my pillow.

Because I know exactly what I've done.

And so does he.

--

Nash Armani
9:46 AM

I'm mid-rehearsal when my phone buzzes.

I barely glance at it-until I see the notification.

Scarlett Bianci commented on my post.

For a second, I just stare.

The amusement comes slow, curling at the edges of my lips as I click on the comment.

@ScarlettBianci : Nice lighting.

That's it? That's all she's got?

Dylan, who's been tuning his guitar next to me, leans over my shoulder. "Dude. She commented."

I take my time pocketing my phone, shrugging like it's nothing. "Yeah."

Dylan whistles low. "Shit's getting interesting."

I smirk but don't respond.

Because he's right.

Scarlett doesn't interact with me online. Not since the breakup.

This? This is new.

And the fact that she actually took the time to write something? It means I got to her.

I should let it go.

I should.

But later that night, when I'm alone in my apartment, the words still sit at the back of my mind.

'Nice lighting.'

Casual. Subtle. Like she's trying to be indifferent.

But she isn't.