PART 1 OF 3

The Day I Reunited With My Superstar Ex-Best Friend

When your childhood soulmate becomes a celebrity stranger, can you ever get them back?

Chapter 1: The Turkey Sandwich Incident

It all went down the day after Thanksgiving, which felt cosmically unfair because it was supposed to be a good day. Sky had the morning shift at the diner, so I had our tiny apartment to myself. I’d already planned it out: leftover turkey sandwich, extra cranberry sauce, that perfect ratio of stuffing to meat. I was going to binge-watch something mindless and forget about my terrible week at work.

I made it halfway down the block before someone’s newspaper smacked me square in the face.

My sandwich hit the pavement. And there he was, grinning up at me from the front page—all perfect teeth and artfully tousled hair. Ryland Pierce, in yet another headline I didn’t ask to see.

I stared at my ruined lunch, then at his face on the crumpled newspaper. My stomach churned. One, because my sandwich was now street food. Two, because even after three years, seeing Ryland still felt like swallowing glass.

I hated him. God, I hated him so much.

And my day was about to get worse.

“Excuse me, dear. Which one do you think she’ll like more?”

I looked up to find an elderly woman holding two Ryland Pierce action figures in my face. Not dolls. Action figures. Because apparently, twenty-three-year-old pop stars needed plastic versions of themselves.

“It’s for my granddaughter,” she explained cheerfully. “The silver jacket Ryland, or the gold jacket Ryland?”

I blinked at them. They were identical except for the microscopic color difference in their tiny jackets.

“They look the same to me.”

Her face fell like I’d just insulted her entire bloodline. “They are not the same, dear. The golden one makes his eyes look more blue. And the silver makes his hair look glossier.”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I said through gritted teeth: “They’re just stupid figurines. He’s not going to jump out of the box and do a private concert in your shopping cart.”

The woman gasped. Someone behind me muttered something about respect. My phone started buzzing—my boss, again. I grabbed my ruined sandwich from the ground, tossed it in a nearby trash can, and rushed back to the office before I said something that would get me arrested.

Chapter 2: You Can’t Escape Him

By evening, I needed ice cream. Not wanted. Needed. The kind of day I’d had required at least three scoops and possibly some emotional crying into a waffle cone.

The new parlor on Fifth had decent reviews, and more importantly, it was close. I walked in and immediately stopped.

Blocking the entire entrance was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ryland Pierce, arms spread wide like he was welcoming me into his domain. His smile was blindingly white. His hair was perfect. He looked like he’d never had a bad day in his privileged, traitorous life.

Something inside me snapped.

“Get out of my way.”

I shoved the cutout. It didn’t budge. Those things are sturdier than they look.

“Ma’am?” A teenage employee appeared, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Does this thing really need to be right at the entrance? I’m trying to get ice cream, not join a cult.”

“It’s part of the Ryland Pierce summer sweets campaign,” she said defensively. “We get a bonus if we sell enough triple scoop sundaes. It’s marketing.”

“I don’t care if this gets you a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory. Get this thing out of my face. It’s terrifying.”

“Ma’am, I can’t just—”

I grabbed the cutout and threw it to the floor. The satisfying crack of cardboard should have been enough. Should have been. But I kept going—stomping, tearing, ripping his smug face into pieces while a small child screamed and the manager shouted something about calling security.

By the time I stopped, I was breathing hard, my shoes were covered in glitter from his jacket, and Ryland’s face was confetti.

I didn’t get ice cream. I got booked for vandalism.

Chapter 3: Hi, I’m Eva, and I Have a Problem

Hi. I’m Eva Richardson, I’m twenty-three years old, and I hate Ryland Pierce with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

But I get it. You’re probably thinking: Who cares? He’s just another celebrity. Why does some random girl have such a vendetta against a pop star she’s never even met?

Except I have met him. I’ve known him since we were seven years old, building blanket forts and sharing earbuds on the school bus. Ryland Pierce wasn’t always a superstar. He used to be Ryland, my best friend, the boy who knew all my secrets and promised we’d face the world together.

We grew up in Millbrook—a tiny nothing town upstate where everyone knew your business and nobody left unless they had to. For me, music was an escape. When Dad lost another job and Mom’s anxiety got bad, when there wasn’t enough money for groceries and Sky and I had to pick up extra shifts, I’d put on my headphones and disappear into someone else’s world.

But for Ryland, music wasn’t an escape. It was the destination.

For years, Ryland talked about making it big. He played at every open mic, every school talent show, every dingy bar that would let a seventeen-year-old in the door. He posted videos online that got a few hundred views. He sent demos to labels that never responded.

His mom worked two jobs to support them after his dad left. Money was tight. But Ryland never stopped believing.

And me? I loved him for it. Not just as a friend—though I told myself that’s all it was. I loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about music, the way he could turn the worst day into something bearable with a stupid joke and a smile. I loved that he saw something beyond Millbrook when I couldn’t even see past next week.

I never told him. I was too scared of ruining what we had.

Chapter 4: When Everything Changed

Right after high school graduation, Ryland started playing at this little cafe downtown—The Grind House, which smelled like burnt espresso and broken dreams. It was the kind of place where poetry slams happened on Tuesdays and nobody tipped well.

But one night, someone from a music label happened to be passing through town. They heard Ryland sing an original song about leaving everything behind, and just like that, his life changed.

Within a month, he’d signed a contract. Within two months, he and his mom had moved to LA.

I was happy for him. I swear I was. Even though it felt like someone had ripped my heart out and I couldn’t breathe right for days. Even though the night before he left, we sat on that garage roof one last time and he promised—again—that nothing would change between us.

“I’ll call you every day,” he said. “You’re coming out to visit as soon as I get settled. This is just the beginning, Eva. For both of us.”

For a while, he kept that promise. We texted constantly. He’d send me voice notes of new songs he was working on, asking for my opinion like my thoughts actually mattered to his career. He’d video call at weird hours because he forgot about the time difference, laughing about how surreal his new life was.

Then, slowly, the texts got shorter. The calls got rarer. He stopped asking about my life and only talked about studio time, producers, meetings.

I told myself he was just busy. That fame took adjustment. That he’d come back around.

Then one night, about eight months after he’d left, I was scrolling through social media and saw him on some red carpet. He was surrounded by beautiful people in designer clothes. A blonde with legs for miles had her arm through his, laughing at something he’d said. He looked happy. Confident. Like a completely different person.

Like he’d never needed me at all.

I called him that night. He didn’t answer. I texted. No response. I tried again the next day, and the day after that. Nothing.

After two weeks of silence, I finally got a text: “Hey, things are crazy right now. I’ll call you when I can.”

He never did.

That was three years ago. And I haven’t heard from Ryland Pierce since—except through every billboard, every magazine cover, every radio station that won’t stop playing his music.

He became a superstar. And I became the girl he left behind.

Chapter 5: Sister Knows Best (Unfortunately)

The police let me off with a warning after the ice cream incident, mostly because the manager decided pressing charges against someone who looked like they were having a mental breakdown wasn’t great for business.

Sky picked me up from the station, and she didn’t say a word until we were back in the car.

Then: “You shredded a cardboard cutout in front of a five-year-old.”

“It was blocking the entrance.”

“Eva.” She pulled into traffic, her jaw tight. “This is getting out of hand.”

“I just wanted ice cream—”

“You traumatized a child and got banned from an ice cream parlor. And this isn’t the first time. You go feral every time someone mentions his name. You have a playlist called ‘Songs I’d Sing If Ryland Didn’t Abandon Me.’ You bought a dartboard with his face on it.”

“That was therapeutic.”

“You’re still in love with him.”

The words hit me like a slap. I stared at her, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I’m not—that’s not—”

“Eva.” Her voice softened. “You cried for three months straight when he stopped calling. You’ve never seriously dated anyone because you compare them all to him. You can’t move on because you never got closure.”

I slumped in my seat, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t love him. I just… I liked him. A medium-sized amount.”

“You cried enough to sink the Titanic when he left.”

“Okay, maybe a medium-to-large amount.”

Sky sighed, pulling up to our apartment. “Look, all I’m saying is you clearly have some unresolved trauma with Ryland. And if you don’t start unpacking that, you’re going to turn into one of those people who yells at strangers on the subway.”

“I already do that.”

“My point exactly.”

Chapter 6: Trying to Move Forward

After that conversation, I really did try to let go. Sky and I had already moved to New York for better job opportunities—I landed a position as an assistant at a lifestyle magazine, and she started bartending at a place that actually paid well.

I got a dramatic haircut. I went to therapy twice before deciding I couldn’t afford it. I even tried dating.

The dates were… fine. Objectively, some of these guys were great. Smart, funny, attractive. But somehow, every single conversation found its way back to Ryland.

Date number three, a software engineer named Marcus, literally put down his fork mid-meal and said: “You know, you’ve mentioned this Ryland guy five times in the last twenty minutes. Is he, like, your ex or something?”

“No! He’s just—we were friends, and he—it’s complicated.”

Marcus paid for his half of dinner and left.

After that disaster, I gave up on dating and threw myself into work. My boss, Veronica Chen, was a force of nature—sharp, demanding, and constantly chasing the next big story. I spent most of my time following her to events, taking notes, and praying I didn’t spill coffee on anyone important.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine. My life. My fresh start.

And then, one perfectly ordinary Thursday afternoon, everything fell apart again.

Chapter 7: The Golf Club Encounter

Veronica had opened an upscale golf club in Westchester—the kind of place where memberships cost more than my yearly rent. She’d invited me along to help manage the launch event for a magazine feature.

I was in full professional mode: clipboard, sensible heels, hair pulled back. I was coordinating with photographers, making sure the catering was on schedule, and generally trying not to mess anything up.

That’s when I saw him.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating. Sleep deprivation from pulling all-nighters for this event, maybe. Lack of food. But no—there he was, walking across the pristine lawn in expensive sunglasses and a polo shirt that probably cost more than my entire outfit.

Ryland Pierce. In the flesh. Twenty feet away from me.

My brain short-circuited. Every angry speech I’d rehearsed for three years evaporated. My carefully constructed walls of resentment crumbled.

I ditched my clipboard and followed him.

He walked around the corner of the clubhouse, moving with the easy confidence of someone who belonged everywhere. I trailed behind, my heart hammering so hard I could barely hear anything else.

He disappeared into the men’s changing room.

I stood outside for five minutes, my mind racing. What was I doing? What would I even say? “Hey, remember me? You destroyed my life, but cool golf swing!”

But I’d come this far. And maybe—maybe—this was the universe giving me a chance for answers.

I pushed open the door.

The changing room was empty except for him, standing in front of a locker, his back to me. For a second, I just stared. He’d changed since I’d last seen him in person—taller, broader through the shoulders, his hair longer and professionally styled. But it was still him. Still Ryland.

“Oh my god,” I breathed. “It really is you.”

He turned around, and our eyes met.

And that’s when something inside me broke.

Three years of anger, hurt, and grief collided with the stupid, stubborn part of my heart that had never stopped loving him. Before I could stop myself, I closed the distance between us and threw my arms around him.

“I thought I was going to punch you the next time I saw you,” I said into his shoulder, half-laughing, half-crying. “I had a whole speech planned. But I’m just—I’m so happy right now. I’ve missed you so much.”

For one perfect second, it felt like coming home.

Then two strong hands gripped my arms and pulled me away from him.

Security. Of course he had security.

“Guys, wait—I know him,” I said quickly, looking back at Ryland. “Tell them. Tell them we know each other.”

Ryland stared at me. Not with recognition. Not with anger. With nothing. Like I was a complete stranger who’d just assaulted him.

“Tell them what?” he said coldly. “I have no idea who you are.”

Explore More Romance Stories:

• Second Chance Romance: When the Past Comes Knocking
• Childhood Friends to Lovers: 10 Emotional Tropes
• The Psychology of Celebrity Crushes and Lost Love
• Moving On After Betrayal: A Guide to Healing

Share Your Thoughts: Have you ever had someone from your past reappear in your life? What would you do if your first love pretended not to know you? Drop a comment below!