Leo wasn’t alone.

For the first time in three weeks, Maya didn’t cry. She just sat in the dark and realized: some pictures are small for a reason. They protect you from the version of the story you aren’t ready to see.

The photo wasn't cropped anymore. Across the small café table sat a woman—Maya’s former best friend, Priya. And on Leo’s left hand, resting on his coffee cup, was a silver band she’d never seen before.

Maya didn’t consider herself a stalker. She was just observant . There’s a difference.