Chapter 3: The Girl Next Door

Rachel is my childhood sweetheart. She’s gentle and radiant, the kind of girl-next-door you see in rom-coms but never actually meet.

On the first day of high school, she stood on the gym stage in a white dress, violin tucked under her chin, while the principal fumbled with the mic and freshmen snapped blurry photos. Her graceful silhouette left the whole auditorium mesmerized—even the chaperones whispered in awe.

Everyone called her White Moonlight—like the kind of crush you never forget, even after graduation.

Beautiful but out of reach, shining on everyone but impossible to hold onto. It became an inside joke among the guys. Someone would see her in the hallway and mutter, “There goes our White Moonlight.” She never knew about the nickname, but it stuck.

And I was the one every guy envied. I’d catch the jealous glances at my locker, the whispers, and pretend not to notice. Truth was, I felt just as lucky as they thought I was.

Rachel was quiet and slow to warm up, always just acquaintances with everyone else.

Except for me. Our conversations could last for hours, or we’d just sit on the porch swing in silence, watching the streetlights flicker on as dusk settled.

Our families were neighbors and visited each other often. When we were little, Rachel’s parents were always busy, so she’d spend afternoons at my house, showing up with a backpack and a big grin, always bringing some random book or board game.

Classmates liked to joke, "You’re so lucky, getting close to the moon before anyone else. Don’t forget to invite me to your wedding someday."

I always thought I was special.

I thought Rachel and I were meant to be.

Until Jason showed up. That one transfer—a new face in a sea of the familiar—changed everything.