Page 86 of Fangirl

Maya snorts. “Babe, yes. Come on. No man is that emotionally invested in something platonic. Especially not a man like him.”

I throw her a flat look. “Wow, thanks.”

She lifts her hands like she’s innocent. “I’m serious! It’s been months of talking and pining and bantering, and you’re telling me he was just being friendly? Please. That man could snap his fingers and have a supermodel at his door in under ten minutes.”

“Lovely. That really helps.”

“It does!” she insists, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “Because he chose you. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to. And okay, he’s an idiot, and he hurt you, but love like that doesn’t just vanish because of a headline or a couple of trolls in the comments section.”

I blink hard, trying to hold back the sting in my eyes.

“I don’t know if I can trust him,” I admit quietly.

Maya tilts her head. “Fair. But do you want to?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Maya hums, thoughtful, but I can tell she’s already deep in best-friend battle mode.

“That’s okay,” she says. “You don’t have to know yet. Love doesn’t come with a use-by date or a multiple-choice quiz.”

I scoff. “Could’ve fooled me. Feels like everyone else has it all figured out. Marriage, kids, ten-year plans withcolor-coded spreadsheets.”

“Please.” She waves her spoon like a sword. “Most of them are one minor inconvenience away from a full-blown existential crisis and a badly-timed fringe.”

That makes me laugh, a tiny, cracked sound, but it’s something.

Maya softens. “You’re allowed to feel wrecked. You’re allowed to be angry, to doubt him, to doubt yourself. But don’t confuse that pain with failure. You didn’t fail. You opened up. You loved. And that? That’s brave as hell.”

I wipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my oversized hoodie. “You always say the exact right thing. It’s annoying.”

She smirks. “It’s my gift. Like clairvoyance, but emotionally codependent.”

We sit there for another long moment, warm under the blanket, ice cream slowly melting between us.

Then she says quietly, “You don’t have to do anything right now. You can just be here. With me. In this mess. Until you figure it out.”

I lean my head against her shoulder. “What if I never do?”

“You will,” she says, with the kind of certainty only best friends get to have. “And when you do? Whether you go back to him or burn everything to the ground, I’ll be right here. With more ice cream. And probably tequila.”

I exhale, a mix of laughter and tears. “You’re kind of the best.”

“I am the best. But don’t tell Pea. It’ll go straight to his head.”

I smile. I ache. I’m still broken.

But I’m not alone.

CHAPTER 15

JAKE

Ihaven’t slept.

The sun rises over London, casting golden light through the hotel suite windows like it’s trying to pretend the world isn’t on fire.

Too late.