SEPTEMBER 2015 – THE PAST

What is even happening here? Why is Samira kissing the boy she knows I’m in love with? Why would she do this?

“But…” Ayla begins, visibly confused. “Why would she…?” My sister is ready to march straight over to confront Samira, but I grab her arm before she can take a single step. No one in the classroom seems to notice the tension in the air.

“Too many eyes,” I whisper, shaking my head. “We’ll talk to her after school.”

Ayla doesn’t look happy with my response, but she nods in reluctant agreement. Without another word, she backs down. Samira notices us and immediately turns her gaze away. That small gesture sparks a storm of negative energy within me, all directed at the girl I once considered my friend.

“Hey, Ayla!” Anastasia Ivanova’s voice suddenly rings out. She leaps up and pulls us into a hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t reach out all summer! My parents decided out of nowhere to spend the entire summer in Russia, even though it was originally just supposed to be three weeks. I didn’t even pack enough clothes!” she says with a grin. “So, I just bought new ones!”

Ayla rolls her eyes but laughs. Anastasia’s parents run a highly successful construction company and are behind many of the largest buildings in our city. Yet, instead of sending their daughter to a private school, they chose a public one, wanting to teach her the value of money—though it doesn’t always seem to work as intended.

While Ayla chats with Anastasia, my eyes stay fixed on Samira. She’s practically glued to Matthew’s arm, running her fingers through his hair with her free hand. That lying, manipulative…! How can she do this to me? She knows how I feel about Matthew! So why? Why is she hurting me like this?

Ayla grabs my hand, and when I look at her face, she gives me a sympathetic smile. Her touch alone is enough to keep my tears at bay.

“And what did you two do over the summer?” Anastasia asks curiously.

Ayla answers, “We spent July in North Africa with our family. It was so hot, I just wanted to come back home!” She grimaces at the memory of the sweltering vacation. “Thankfully, all of our relatives had air-conditioned rooms.”

I listen, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Samira and Matthew. The school bell rings, signaling the start of the first lesson. We take our usual seats, the ones we’ve occupied for the last four years.

Is it a blessing or a curse that Samira and Matthew sit in the front row while I sit two rows behind, watching them the entire class? Why hasn’t Samira come to talk to me? Why hasn’t she spoken to Ayla or me at all? What happened to make her change so much? Or was she always like this?

Maybe my mom was right all along. She warned us about Samira from the very beginning, but I never took her seriously.

JUNE 2016 – THE PRESENT

The inspector studies me thoughtfully, her expression remaining impassive, almost impenetrable. No reaction, no hint of how she’s processing my story so far. It makes me uneasy. Doesn’t she understand how hard it is for me to say all of this out loud? A little compassion wouldn’t hurt. Instead, she stays cold, detached—likely on purpose. She isn’t on my side. But I shake the thought away. No, I can’t think like that. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.

The truth is: she is listening. She’s taking the time to hear me out, but inside my head, a voice keeps whispering doubts. She wants your trust, the voice sneers, just to bring you down at the critical moment! No! I don’t want these thoughts! Stop it! Please!

“This friend…” The inspector’s voice cuts through the chaos in my mind like a knife. The whispering stops abruptly, and I blink. She shifts her gaze away from me to the files in front of her. “Samira… what was your relationship with her? And what’s her full name?” Her tone is factual, her questions precise. It doesn’t matter whether these details are relevant to the murder case or not. Right now, every little piece of the puzzle matters.

“Samira Farahani,” I answer hesitantly, feeling my throat go dry. I swallow hard. “She used to be… along with Ayla… my best friend. Today…” I pause, searching for the right words. “Today, she’s a stranger. A stranger I share memories with.”

SEPTEMBER 2015 – THE PAST

Samira and Matthew distracted me throughout the entire lesson. How could I have been so blind? How did I not see that this girl had such intentions?

During the first break, I stay seated, hands folded on my desk, waiting for Ayla’s signal. In matters like this, I rely on her instincts. I only act when she deems it the right time. Ayla is smart, deliberate, always one step ahead. Her decisions are never rash or impulsive. Maybe that’s why she’s never had a relationship to this day. Or could it be because she has feelings for Aryan—my brother? Even though she’s denied it for years, I can sense she’s not being honest with herself. And while Ayla has long been part of our family, I secretly hope her story with Aryan has a happy ending.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“We’ll settle this best after school,” Ayla whispers as she sits beside me. Her voice is calm yet resolute. I nod in agreement. Ayla must already have a plan in mind. She always thinks strategically, finding the simplest way to reach her goal. “You know Samira is a total drama queen. The more attention she gets, the more over the top she’ll act.”

Samira is exactly that kind of person. She manipulates situations and people to get what she wants. Why did it take me so long to see that? Why was I so blind?

The rest of the school day drags on, but thankfully only geography, math, and history remain—subjects I usually enjoy. At least, I hope I can focus today despite everything. Yet, my thoughts keep drifting to one thing: the boy I’ve loved for years is sitting just a few meters away. So close, yet so far.

The Matthew I know would never have been impressed by someone like Samira. He’s the type who finds girls like her insufferable. But then, I remember the years I spent by Samira’s side. We shared moments—both good and bad. Maybe that’s why I was blind to her true nature for so long. But which face is her true face? The friend I once had, or the person who’s now acting so ruthlessly?

To my surprise, I manage to follow the lessons better than I expected. Still, my gaze occasionally drifts to the front row, and each time, I regret it. Samira clings to Matthew as if she’s decided to put on a show for the whole class. She completely ignores my presence, acting as if I’m invisible.

The hours pass agonizingly slowly, and with each passing moment, my uncertainty grows. What game is Samira really playing?

During history class—the last period before our confrontation with Samira—I nearly embarrass myself in front of the entire class. The professor asked a question while I was lost in thought. Thankfully, I managed to recover at the last second with a counterquestion. Though it wasn’t the answer he wanted, it seemed to satisfy him.

Samira glanced over her shoulder at me. Her eyes sparkled with schadenfreude, as if she’d been waiting for me to fail. Or am I imagining that?

When the school bell rings, signaling the end of the first day, I exhale in relief. I couldn’t have endured the sight of Samira and Matthew any longer. It feels as though the summer never happened—as though there was never any connection between Matthew and me.

“We need to hurry,” Ayla says, her gaze fixed on the school gates ahead, leading to the outside world.

Most students stream past us, some loudly complaining that they still have one more period before they’re dismissed. It’s fascinating how teenagers despise school so much at the time, only to look back on it later with nostalgic fondness.

Hardly have we passed through the school gates when we spot Samira. She’s leaning casually against one of the pillars supporting the school’s front canopy. Without hesitation, we head straight toward her. She notices us immediately, her eyes widening in panic. It’s obvious she wants to flee—but Ayla is quicker. With a decisive step, Ayla rushes toward Samira and slams her hand against the pillar behind her.

“Where do you think you’re going, dear friend?” Ayla asks with a sarcastic undertone and an exaggeratedly wide smile. “You weren’t planning to leave without greeting your best friends, were you? The ones you ignored all summer long?”

I stay in the background, my hands clenched into fists. The anger boiling inside me threatens to take over. But I can’t let it—not when there’s a chance Samira might end up playing the victim.

“I didn’t ignore you!” Samira retorts with a nervous laugh. “You just seemed so busy, and I was waiting for the right moment to sweep you into my arms.”

She spreads her arms as if to hug Ayla, but Ayla steps back and pushes her away. “Stop lying, Samira! We’re not the kind of people who fall for your theatrics.”

Samira’s shoulders slump as she sighs and lifts her head. Her gaze meets mine. “Fine, whatever. Yes, I ignored you. I was abroad all summer and wanted to enjoy my relationship with Matthew afterward—without someone trying to guilt-trip me!”

“Are you saying I’m that someone?” I hiss, pointing to myself. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks, confused, and lets out a mocking laugh. “I understand that you’re in love with Matthew and have given your heart to him. But I fell for him too. What can I do about it? That handsome guy enchanted both of us—and I won. You can’t decide who he loves. You don’t own Matthew.”

She can’t be serious, can she? Does she honestly think these are the right words for this situation? Does she believe she’s in the right? Has she completely lost her mind?

I study her more closely. Normally, she wears her long, light brown curls loose, but today, she’s tied them back in a ponytail, with two loose strands framing her face. Exactly the style I once told her Matthew liked on me. Absolutely ridiculous. But why is Matthew letting this happen? He’s far too smart for something like this. Could it really be true that he’s fallen for her?

“How can you behave so shamelessly?” Ayla asks, horrified, planting her hands on her hips. “Do you have no backbone at all? Stealing your best friend’s true love! Are you completely out of touch with reality?”

My sister is beside herself with anger. For Ayla, any disrespect toward me is equivalent to disrespect toward herself. Our years of close bonding and my tendency to lose my composure in serious moments makes Ayla my natural protector. And honestly, she really is. Her confidence is a trait that, as I’ve often noticed, prompts many to ask her out on dates. Maybe it’s also her brown curls, which she’s worn shoulder-length for years, perfectly accentuating her green eyes.

Sometimes, I envy Ayla for her entire existence. And in the end, I’m just grateful to have met her in this life.

“She’s right, Ayla,” I say calmly, and both girls look at me in disblief. “Just because I was the first to admit that I’m in love with him doesn’t mean she doesn’t also have the right to develop feelings.”

JUNE 2016 – THE PRESENT

“For a girl your age, it’s highly unusual to give in so easily,” the investigator says, scrutinizing me with a probing look. “There’s more behind your words from back then, isn’t there?”

I nod silently. Today, I sit across from her, fully aware of the consequences of my decisions back then. “You can believe me when I tell you that I wish I had been a naïve girl who saw the good in her friend. I wish that had been the case. But back then, all I cared about was revenge against Samira. I wanted her to suffer so much, to see her brought so low. And I only wish it hadn’t come to this. I wish I hadn’t given in to my anger.”