I double-tap my smartwatch screen.

It's 8:44 a.m.

"Let's meet at our spot in the park. 9 a.m."

That was the plan. The park is a ten-minute walk from my house, so I step out, lock my door, and start my journey.

You're doing this as an atonement because I found out—not from you—that you got into a relationship with Linda.

I was upset. I'm still upset. I don't care that you're in a relationship. I'm upset that you didn't tell me. Why? Are you ashamed of me? Are you afraid I will jeopardize it?

I shake my head and let out a deep sigh. I don't care if anyone is looking at me. All that matters is that things have to make sense to me. I don't even know why this is bothering me so much. Maybe I do.

I thought our friendship was built on honesty and transparency. I thought you knew better than to do something like this to me. There should be an explanation. There has to be. My head is a hive, with thoughts buzzing up and down, stinging my heart.

I'm hurt, not upset.

It's 8:57 a.m.

I'm in front of the park. Our spot is a bench under a mango tree, raised slightly above the grass with terrazzo floor tiles. We come here every Sunday afternoon because that's when we have time to ourselves, without any friends.

We've talked about people under this tree. We've laughed until we cried under this tree. We've shared our fears under this tree. We've seen through each other under this tree. Today, I don't know what will happen under this tree.

Some people say we're in love. But that's not it. I like to own people. Not in an I-have-a-leash-on-you type of way. I just want my own people—my own person. We talked about it before, and you said I couldn't just own people. I understood what you meant, but you seemed okay with it.

It's 9:03 a.m.

I turned off my mobile data when I stepped out of the house. One of the voices in my head said you might bail on me, but that's not possible. You wouldn't do that to me. Still, I turned it off.

Now, however, I turn it back on. You were never late for our meetups, even though we had never set a time before. We just knew each other so well. We always knew what the other wanted.

My phone buzzes twice.

From the notification bar, I see the WhatsApp and Gmail icons. I slide the bar down. It's a message from my church group chat and a promotional email.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I'm relieved. I know you wouldn't abandon me, but I'm also annoyed. Where are you?

I walk up to the ice cream shop opposite the bench.

"How are you? What about your friend?"

I grin. "He's coming."

"Strawberry, right?"

"Yes."

I pay and walk back to the bench.

Everyone approves of us. We just go together.

I stick out my tongue to lick the side of the ice cream that's sliding down my fingers. Right then, my phone buzzes. I take a second before picking it up. My heart is racing. My insides turn. My phone is shaking. That can't be because of my hand.

It's not that deep.

All of this is not that deep.

"I'm sorry, I can't come. I have to reduce my time with you so Linda doesn't feel somehow."

Plop!

My ice cream falls off my cone and splatters on the tile.

I double-tap my smartwatch screen.

It's 8:44 a.m.

"Let's meet at our spot in the park. 9 a.m."

That was the plan. The park is a ten-minute walk from my house, so I step out, lock my door, and start my journey.

You're doing this as an atonement because I found out—not from you—that you got into a relationship with Linda.

I was upset. I'm still upset. I don't care that you're in a relationship. I'm upset that you didn't tell me. Why? Are you ashamed of me? Are you afraid I will jeopardize it?

I shake my head and let out a deep sigh. I don't care if anyone is looking at me. All that matters is that things have to make sense to me. I don't even know why this is bothering me so much. Maybe I do.

I thought our friendship was built on honesty and transparency. I thought you knew better than to do something like this to me. There should be an explanation. There has to be. My head is a hive, with thoughts buzzing up and down, stinging my heart.

I'm hurt, not upset.

It's 8:57 a.m.

I'm in front of the park. Our spot is a bench under a mango tree, raised slightly above the grass with terrazzo floor tiles. We come here every Sunday afternoon because that's when we have time to ourselves, without any friends.

We've talked about people under this tree. We've laughed until we cried under this tree. We've shared our fears under this tree. We've seen through each other under this tree. Today, I don't know what will happen under this tree.

Some people say we're in love. But that's not it. I like to own people. Not in an I-have-a-leash-on-you type of way. I just want my own people—my own person. We talked about it before, and you said I couldn't just own people. I understood what you meant, but you seemed okay with it.

It's 9:03 a.m.

I turned off my mobile data when I stepped out of the house. One of the voices in my head said you might bail on me, but that's not possible. You wouldn't do that to me. Still, I turned it off.

Now, however, I turn it back on. You were never late for our meetups, even though we had never set a time before. We just knew each other so well. We always knew what the other wanted.

My phone buzzes twice.

From the notification bar, I see the WhatsApp and Gmail icons. I slide the bar down. It's a message from my church group chat and a promotional email.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I'm relieved. I know you wouldn't abandon me, but I'm also annoyed. Where are you?

I walk up to the ice cream shop opposite the bench.

"How are you? What about your friend?"

I grin. "He's coming."

"Strawberry, right?"

"Yes."

I pay and walk back to the bench.

Everyone approves of us. We just go together.

I stick out my tongue to lick the side of the ice cream that's sliding down my fingers. Right then, my phone buzzes. I take a second before picking it up. My heart is racing. My insides turn. My phone is shaking. That can't be because of my hand.

It's not that deep.

All of this is not that deep.

"I'm sorry, I can't come. I have to reduce my time with you so Linda doesn't feel somehow."

Plop!

My ice cream falls off my cone and splatters on the tile.