WHEN SHYALA TOLD AMBER EVERY MOMENT SHE SHARED WITH ANTHONY!

WHEN SHYALA TOLD AMBER EVERY MOMENT SHE SHARED WITH ANTHONY

Amber sat quietly at the edge of the park bench, her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the lake in front of them. The breeze carried a chill, but the tension between her and Shyala was colder. Shyala stood beside her for a few seconds, clutching her phone like it held her courage. Then, with a deep breath, she sat down.

"Amber," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I need to tell you something. Actually… everything."

Amber didn’t look at her, but the slight raise of her eyebrow said she was listening.

Shyala’s fingers trembled as she picked at the edge of her sleeve. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not with Anthony. Not between us.”

Amber flinched at the name.

Shyala continued, “It started months ago. That day when we all went out after finals? You left early because your sister needed you. That night… Anthony stayed.”

There was a pause.

“I thought we were just talking, you know? Just passing time. But he opened up to me. About his family. His past. And I… I listened. He said no one had ever really listened to him like that before.”

Shyala swallowed hard, her voice cracking slightly.

“That night, nothing happened. But something… changed. And I didn’t stop it.”

Amber turned her head slightly, her eyes filled with something unreadable—anger? sadness? both?

“I swear I didn’t plan it,” Shyala said quickly. “But after that night, we kept talking. Texting late. Meeting at the café before classes. At first it felt innocent. It felt… safe. Like maybe I finally had someone who saw me. But I knew—I knew—it wasn’t right.  

Her voice broke now.

“The first time he held my hand, I pulled away. But I went back. Again and again. And every time, I told myself I was going to stop. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept going. She had to.

“We went to that art gallery he always talked about. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my sister. He said he liked the way I looked at paintings like they were people. He smiled at me that day in a way I hadn’t seen before. And I let him.”

Amber closed her eyes.

“We sat by the river one evening. I remember the sky—it was pink and gold—and he told me he felt something he hadn’t felt in years. And I said I felt it too. I said that.” Shyala’s voice was shaking now, “I’m not proud. I’m not telling you this to excuse anything. I’m telling you because you deserve the truth.”

There was silence.

Shyala took a deep breath and whispered the hardest part.
“I fell for him, Amber. And I hate myself for it.”

Amber’s jaw clenched, her voice low. “You knew how I felt about him. I told you everything. Every time I doubted myself, you were the one I came to. And all that time… you were with him?”

Shyala nodded slowly, her eyes filled with guilt and pain. “I broke something that mattered. I betrayed someone who meant everything to me. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just needed you to know. Every moment. Every lie. Every time I chose silence instead of honesty.”

Amber stood up slowly, her hands trembling. “You didn’t just lose him, Shyala. You lost me.”

She walked away.

Shyala didn’t follow. She sat on the bench alone, watching the lake ripple gently in front of her, as if mocking how peaceful everything looked on the surface—while inside, everything had just shattered.