Confession and Heartbreak.

Alpha, his voice tight with a vulnerability that surprised even him, took Ciara's hand. "Ciara," he began, his gaze intense, "I...I…" Ciara, her eyes widening with apprehension, responded softly, a tremor in her voice. "You can always talk to me, Alpha. We're friends, close friends. But you're making me nervous."

He abruptly released her hand, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "If I don't say it now, I'll regret it forever." "Just… tell me what's wrong!" Ciara's anxiety was palpable. He moved closer, his proximity a suffocating pressure, his gaze unwavering. Finally, he stopped inches from her face, the air thick with unspoken tension. "Ciara Arthur," he said, using her full name, a formality that underscored the gravity of the moment, "I… I like you. No, I love you. I've harbored this feeling for far too long. I love you."

The confession hung between them, heavy and unexpected. Ciara's reaction was a potent cocktail of shock and confusion. "You can't love me, Alpha. You just… can't. We're friends. That's it. That's all it should ever be!" A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, a sound as sharp as shattered glass. She turned to leave, her escape thwarted by Alpha's sudden embrace and a kiss that landed like a bombshell. The kiss, brief and intense, was followed by a stinging slap from Ciara.

Her eyes, a tempest of anger and disappointment, blazed. "Don't ever speak to me again Alpha, what exactly was that for?" She said as she wipes her lips with her hands rapidly. This friendship… it's over. At least until you get this… infatuation… out of your system." She stormed off, leaving Alpha speechless, his pleas for reconciliation lost in the wake of her departure.

He sank to the floor, a picture of desolation. His hands buried in his hair, he felt the sting of regret, a bitter taste in his mouth. His phone buzzed – Fred, his friend, checking in to know how the meeting with Ciara went. The third call in as many minutes. The irony wasn't lost on him.

Alpha's self-recrimination was a relentless tide. "What have I done?" he whispered, the words lost in the echoing silence of his self-inflicted despair. The weight of his impulsive confession pressed down on him, heavy as a millstone. His actions, a reckless gambit, had irrevocably altered the landscape of his friendship with Ciara, leaving him adrift in a sea of regret.

"Knock, knock! It's me!" Ciara announced, bursting through the door like someone who was going to faint the next moment if the door wasn't opened . Ariel, radiating pure, unadulterated glee – you could practically see the sunshine emanating from her – flung the door open. "Girlfriend!" she squealed, engulfing Ciara in a big and tight hug. Ciara went in.

"So, spill the tea, darling! The meeting – or should I say,"the date"? – I saw what you did right there, thanks for mentioning me to Alpha, and let's just say, you totally slayed!" Ariel chirped, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Ciara, attempting a nonchalant shrug that fell a little flat, replied, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But don't forget you owe me big time! Enough about that – what's the lowdown on Maureen? She's probably off gallivanting with Ben, right?" Ciara's mind, however, was a whirlwind of thoughts about her own clandestine encounter with Alpha. "He kissed me!" she thought, her heart skipped a beat but she tried to act as cool as possible . "This is so wrong Ciara"

Ariel, ever the pragmatist, winked. "Sweet Princess Maureen's spending the night at Ben's, her ride or die. One less person to bother about, huh?" They both erupted into laughter.

"Just a quick reminder," Ciara said, her tone shifting, "my precious meatballs are still owed to me, remember?"

"Of course, baby!" Ariel headed for the kitchen, her mission to retrieve the aforementioned meatballs.

"Don't even think about stalling!" Ciara insisted, her voice laced with playful menace.

Ariel, one hand on her hip, stood her ground. "Not until you give me the full, juicy deets on you and Alpha. Come on, spill! I'm sure Alpha said something about me after you ended the call."

Ciara groaned. "Seriously, Ariel? I'm beat! Can't this wait till tomorrow?"

"No way, girl! We've got two classes tomorrow. You'll pull some crazy excuse, and poof! Tomorrow will be gone, then the next day, and before you know it, we'll be knee-deep in finals!"

With that, Ciara, fueled by a desperate craving for meatballs, leaped up and started chasing Ariel around the house, a chaotic game of tag unfolding before her very eyes. It was a whirlwind of giggles and near-misses until, finally, exhausted but triumphant, Ciara snagged her meatball bounty. Victory was sweet. And meatball-flavored.

The clock ticked past midnight, each second a hammer blow against Ciara's already frayed nerves. Sleep, that elusive balm for weary souls, remained stubbornly out of reach. Tossing and turning, she muttered a frustrated whisper into the darkness, "Why. Why can't I just…erase this?" Her fist connected with the pillow, a small, pathetic rebellion against the turmoil brewing inside.

The kiss. That ill-fated, earth-shattering kiss with Alpha, her best friend, hung heavy in the air like the cloying scent of overripe fruit. She couldn't shake it, couldn't bury it under a mountain of self-recrimination.

The sheer audacity of it all! And, to make matters infinitely worse – she'd actually enjoyed it. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a cold wave of guilt washing over her. Alpha was practically a brother; and then there was Ariel, pining for him with the unwavering devotion of a lovesick Labrador. This wasn't just a misstep; it was a catastrophic, Shakespearean tragedy unfolding in her own life.

Just as she'd finally surrendered to the relentless assault of her own anxieties, her phone buzzed, a jarring interruption in the symphony of her self-flagellation.

A message from Alpha. The luminescent glow of the screen illuminated his words: "I'm so sorry, Ciara. I didn't mean to cross the line. Please forgive me." A broken-hearted emoji punctuated the digital apology.

Ciara's breath hitched. The air seemed to thin, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest with the force of a thousand bricks.

With a sigh that spoke volumes of her inner conflict, she let the phone slip from her grasp, the cool glass a stark contrast to the burning inferno of her emotions. Her eyelids fluttered closed, but sleep remained a distant, unattainable dream, the tumultuous sea of her feelings far too tempestuous to allow for any respite.