ALBERT POV
I fell for Olivia when we were five. No joke. Five years old, sitting cross-legged on the cracked pavement outside the packhouse while the adults were inside planning some meeting. She had two missing teeth and a lopsided ponytail, and she handed me half of her cookie like it was the most natural thing in the world. I remember thinking, *this girl is going to be my whole damn world*.
And I knew, even back then, that I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell anybody. What if we weren’t meant to be? What if she wasn’t fated to me?
My parents were fated. Her parents were fated. That’s what we grew up seeing — bonds like iron, like destiny. I wanted that kind of love for her, too. I wasn’t going to take that from her. So instead of being honest, I built a wall out of sarcasm and cruelty
