Chapter 1: The Empathy Twist

I finally had Derek’s lips on mine, the world shrinking to the heat between us—until he doubled over, clutching his stomach like he’d just been punched by a ghost. He rolled off the bed and hit the floor hard.

Suddenly, my vision was flooded by a cascade of chat bubbles:

[Bro, karma just hit him with a period cramp. I’m wheezing.]

[Dude, instant empathy mode! Who knew hormones could trigger plot twists?]

[This is funnier than my TikTok feed, I swear.]

This wasn’t my first rodeo with these weird comments. But it never got less surreal.

I’m the childhood friend. The 'main girl' is the new transfer student.

Watching Derek curled up, face pale and twisted in pain, I murmured, "Let’s just forget about us."

1

I’d finally managed to get the guy I’d crushed on since third grade into bed. Weekend, his house, Maple Heights—just us and a thousand unspoken hopes.

His kisses burned with a kind of desperate heat, lighting up every nerve. My heart practically did cartwheels.

But then Derek’s skin went ashen. He hunched over, clutching his stomach like it was about to explode, and tumbled off the bed.

My brain stalled. I checked my foot, then sniffed my hand, half-expecting something gross. Nothing—just a faint whiff of vanilla body wash. My heart pounded anyway.

I rushed to his side. "What’s wrong?"

Derek was kneeling, his voice all shaky. "I don’t know, it feels like someone’s drilling into my gut. It hurts so bad."

Panic hit me like a slap. "Is it appendicitis? I’ll call 911!"

My heart leapt up into my throat. The blue glow of my phone screen flickered off my glasses as I scrambled for the number, already picturing ambulances screeching down our quiet street. All I could hear was Derek’s ragged breathing and the drone of a neighbor’s lawnmower through the window.

Just as I was about to dial, a barrage of comments filled my vision:

[Bro, the guy’s getting his period for real!]

[He messed around and found out—literally. Main girl triggers the pain, side girl gets the drama!]

[Late periods are the devil. This dude’s about to get a crash course in cramps.]

[Empathy twist is S-tier. Wait till the real main couple gets going.]

My hands froze. I set the phone down and headed to the kitchen. I made a mug of hot cocoa—cinnamon sprinkled in, just like my mom did when I was little and cramps had me curled up on the couch.

The kitchen was silent except for the hum of the fridge and the tick of the clock. Derek’s groans floated down the hallway, mixing with the sweet scent of cocoa powder. I wondered if this was what fate felt like—sudden, unfair, and out of my hands.

I brought the cocoa upstairs. Derek sat on the floor, shivering, but he took the mug and drank. Color crept back into his cheeks.

"Melissa, what did you put in this? Why is it sweet? And… it doesn’t hurt as much now."

But my heart felt like it had been dropped into an ice bath. I wanted to scream or laugh or just smash the mug on the floor. Instead, I just watched him sip, wishing I could hate him.

The comments lit up again:

[Whoa, the side girl’s not dumb. She caught on to the empathy thing!]

[She must’ve checked main girl’s Insta story just now.]

[Side girl’s making cocoa—still shooting her shot. Thirst alert!]

[Let him live! Practice rounds only make him better for the main girl.]

As class president, I had everyone’s numbers in our group chat. I opened my phone. Sure enough, transfer student Aubrey had just posted a story:

[My period came early. Hurts so much I almost passed out T_T]

She’d replied to her own post:

[Suddenly I feel warm~ Stomach pain’s gone. Someone who never drinks hot stuff must have caved for me. So stubborn but so sweet~]

It hit me like a slap: the cocoa I gave Derek worked on Aubrey, too. The comments were right. They really did have some freaky physical empathy.

"Melissa, put your phone down. Aren’t I better looking than your screen?" Derek said, managing a weak grin, trying to pick up where we’d left off.

I dodged him. Just picturing another girl sharing his heartbeat made my skin crawl. How was this any different from a threesome?

"Derek, let’s just forget about us," I said, voice cold as the tiles under my feet.

The air between us felt thick and heavy, like the weight before a summer thunderstorm. My chest tightened. What was the point if someone else was always in the room—even if only in spirit?