The line between us

Jay and Malik weren’t friends. They were the friends.

Everyone in school knew it: the duo, the boys, the ride-or-dies. They met back in fourth grade; the day Malik punched a kid twice his size for calling Jay “library boy.” Jay had no idea who Malik was, but from that moment on, they were inseparable. Summers were spent sleeping over, biking around town, trading jokes and half-eaten snacks. Their families became each other's families.

Jay’s parents worked late. Malik’s mom treated Jay like one of her own. Some weekends, Jay didn’t even go home. He didn’t need to.

They were seventeen now. Almost done with school. Almost out.

“I swear, once we graduate, we’re outta here,” Malik said one afternoon. They were sitting on the roof of Malik’s garage, feet dangling over the edge. “L.A., New York, I don’t care. Somewhere loud.”

Jay grinned. “You just want to get famous.”

Malik leaned back, hands behind his head. “I’m telling you, bro. You and me? We’re gonna run something. Big.”

Jay didn’t know what that meant. Malik always talked big. It was one of the things he loved about him.

They talked about getting an apartment together, splitting rent, chasing music, or maybe just working dumb jobs and living free. Every day felt like a countdown to something better.

Jay never thought anything could break them.

That summer, most nights bled into mornings. They'd cruise around in Malik’s beat-up blue Civic, music rattling the speakers, windows down, no real destination. Just movement. Just freedom.

Then one night, Jay woke to his phone buzzing. It was 2:12 a.m. Malik.

“Yo. Come outside.”

Jay threw on a hoodie and sneakers. No questions. That’s just how it worked.

Malik was parked a block down. Music low. Headlights off.

Inside, Malik was jittery. He kept checking his mirrors.

Jay looked at him. “Everything cool?”

“Yeah,” Malik said too fast. “Just… got something to take care of.”

They drove for a while. Through side streets. Past the edge of town. Past where streetlights stopped working. The quiet out there wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind that pressed on your chest.

Malik finally pulled over in front of an old warehouse. He popped the trunk.

“Need you to hold onto something.”

Jay followed him to the back. Malik pulled out a duffel bag—heavy—and handed it over.

“Just for the night. Don’t open it.”

Jay stared at the bag. “What’s in it?”

Malik didn’t answer. Just looked at him like that should’ve been enough.

Jay hesitated. Then nodded. “Okay.”

That was it. No big drama. Just trust.

They drove back in silence. Malik dropped him off with a grin and a fist bump.

“You always got me, right?”

Jay bumped back. “Always.”

He carried the bag upstairs. Stuffed it in his closet without looking.

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. Eyes wide open. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but he didn’t know why.

At 4:37 a.m., Jay picked up his phone.

He didn’t think. He just... called.

Fifteen minutes later, two unmarked cars rolled up outside Malik’s house.

Jay sat in the dark and listened as everything happened three doors down. The raised voices. The crash of the front door. The muffled shouting. He didn’t cry. He didn’t move.

The bag was gone by sunrise.

At school, it was chaos.

People were shocked at first. Malik? No way. Then came the stories. That he was running something for older guys in the neighborhood. That he got caught with serious weight. That it was felony stuff. That he might be gone for years.

Jay kept his head down. Said nothing. Played it quiet.

Malik didn’t come back. He didn’t call. He didn’t message.

But one day, two weeks later, Jay got a letter.

It was short. Handwritten.

“I get it. You were scared. You were always the careful one. Smart. Thought things through. It’s okay.”

No name. No signature.

Jay read it a dozen times. He folded it and hid it under his mattress.

He never wrote back.

People thought he was falling apart because Malik was gone. His teachers gave him space. His parents offered kindness he didn’t deserve. But he wasn’t mourning Malik.

He was mourning himself.

He became cold. Quiet in the wrong way. Not thoughtful—just numb. He lashed out at friends. Picked fights with people who didn’t deserve it. Ignored his family.

He wasn’t angry at them.

He was angry at himself.

He didn’t mean to betray Malik. Not really. He just panicked. The bag. The weight of it. The silence. The way Malik looked at him like it was normal.

He didn’t want to be dragged into it.

He wanted to protect what he had. His chances. His future.

And in that panic, he made a choice.

One call.

One address.

And everything changed.

People still talked about Malik sometimes. Someone said he got jumped in lockup. Said he was keeping quiet. Said he was getting out in a year. Or three. No one really knew.

Jay walked the halls like a shadow now. The same faces passed by, but no one saw him anymore.

He used to laugh until he couldn’t breathe. He used to dream big, run fast, smile easy.

Now, he didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t feel much of anything.

Some nights, he lay awake and whispered the same words to the ceiling.

“Thank you for your report.”

Over and over.

Like a curse. Or maybe a prayer.