Pov of the Fat Friend

Chapter 1

I’ve always hated the word fat.

Not because it wasn’t true—because it was always said like a verdict.

At 5'4", with wide hips, a soft stomach, and thighs that touched no matter how much I pretended otherwise, I’d learned early where I stood. One-eighty on the scale. Thick. Heavy. The “curvy friend,” if someone was being polite. The fat one, if they weren’t.

Books never judged me. Food didn’t either.

That’s probably why I loved both so much.

Sixth year of college and I still hadn’t finished. Not because I couldn’t—because I didn’t want to. My parents paid the tuition, paid the rent, paid everything. They’d stopped asking questions years ago. As long as I was “enrolled,” they were happy. And honestly? I was happier sleeping in, reading until noon, and ordering takeout than sitting in some lecture hall pretending I cared.

Everyone else had moved on.

Everyone except me.

Sara was my opposite in every way. Tiny, 5'3", all smooth curves and perfect proportions, bright blonde hair that always looked styled even when she swore she’d “just rolled out of bed.” Green eyes that people noticed immediately. The kind of girl who never had to wonder if she was being looked at, she knew.

She lived with Carl now.

Carl, who made no effort to hide how he felt about me.

Not to my face, of course.

Behind my back was his favorite place.

I didn’t know everything he said, just enough. Snide comments. “Let herself go.” “How does Jack even…” followed by laughter. Everyone laughed except Jakub. Jakub always went quiet.

Carl was 5'7", lean, and had that permanently smug look of someone who thought he’d “won” life just by landing a pretty girlfriend. To him, I wasn’t just fat—I was embarrassing. A cautionary tale.

Which was ironic, considering Jack.

Jack was mine.

Six-two. Three hundred pounds. Big in every sense of the word. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a soft belly he never tried to hide. He spoiled me relentlessly—food dates, surprise deliveries, little gifts just because. He looked at me like I was something precious, something indulgent, something to enjoy.

And that terrified me.

Because I never felt like I deserved it.

When we all got together—rare now—it was usually at Sara and Carl’s apartment. Jakub would drive in from his place. Brooke would visit when she wasn’t traveling, which was… not often. When she was gone, Jakub seemed different. Quieter. Watching more than talking.

Watching me.

I noticed it the last time we all went out to eat.

I ordered more than everyone else. I always did. An appetizer I pretended was “for the table,” a full entrée, dessert even though I swore I was full. My stomach pressed warmly against the edge of the table by the end, heavy and satisfied, my jeans tighter than when I’d arrived.

Carl smirked when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Jakub didn’t.

His eyes lingered—not judging, not amused. Curious. Almost… appreciative. When I caught him looking, he didn’t look away immediately. Just lifted his glass, took a sip, and smiled faintly.

My cheeks burned hotter than the food ever could.

It was impossible not to think about the past then. About that night years ago, when we were all drunk and younger and less careful. Jakub and me, pressed too close, laughter turning into something heavier. His hand on my waist. My mouth on his. The way it hadn’t felt wrong.

We never talked about it.

Especially not after Brooke.

Especially not after Jack.

Still, when I leaned back in my chair, full and sluggish and painfully aware of my body, I felt Jakub’s attention like a physical thing. Not hungry. Not predatory. Patient.

Jack noticed too. Later, when we were alone, he kissed my temple and told me I looked cute when I was full. Said it like it was a fact, not an opinion. Like my softness was something to be cherished, not tolerated. I laughed it off. I always did.

But lying in bed that night, stomach still heavy, mind racing, I wondered why Carl’s words hurt… and why Jakub’s silence felt louder than any insult.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the insecurity and the excuses, I felt it— That something about me changing… growing… was being seen.

Whether I was ready for that or not.