I shook my head and walked past.

Two steps later, I turned back.

"How much?"

"A dollar."

I fished out the money and took a bunch. The roses were drooping, petals browning at the edges, but they still smelled sweet.

The old man pocketed the bill with a grin. "For your boyfriend?"

I looked down at the flowers in my hand.

"No," I said. "For me."

I walked to the other side of the overpass, held the bouquet up against the glow of a streetlamp, and took a photo.

Wilted roses, a November night, blurred streetlights.

I opened social media and posted the photo.

No caption.

After posting, I scrolled down and saw something Valentine had shared three hours ago. A group photo with his crew. He was in the middle, and Rosalie was leaning against his shoulder, her eyes curved into happy little crescents.

Caption: Old friends reunion.

I stared at those two words for a long time.

Old friends.

Oh. So she was an old friend.

Then what was I?

I kept scrolling, looking for some trace of myself. I scrolled for a long time. There was nothing. He had never once posted about me.

The only thing even remotely connected to me was from my birthday last year. He'd posted a photo of a dish I'd cooked.

Caption: Dinner.

Not even my shadow made it into the frame.

I put my phone away and walked down the overpass steps.

The wind had stopped. It felt like rain was coming.

I stood at the curb waiting for the bus. Fine threads of rain began to drift down, thin and cool against my skin.

My phone lit up again.

Not a call. A text.

Unknown number, but I knew who it was the second I saw it.

"Don't do this. Come home and we'll talk."

I stared at that word. Home.

The apartment we rented together. The curtains I'd picked out. The sheets I'd chosen. The dishes I'd bought. The pothos plant I'd kept alive on the windowsill. He called it home, but he spent half the month sleeping somewhere else.

I deleted the message.

Another one came through.

"She's really just like a little sister to me. I don't think of her that way."

Deleted.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? I didn't even finish my drink before I ran out. It's raining."

Deleted.

"Can you just say something? Anything?"

Then the last one.

"It's been ten years. You're really just going to walk away?"

I stared at that line. Rain dotted the screen, blurring the words.

Ten years.

Yeah. Ten years.