This is a CrazyRickRiordanFan Challenge! you can chose ANY well known or popular song and make it into a story

e.g. Stupid Song by Olivia Rodriguo

Those stupid song writers, as if they know anything about teenagers. She thought to herself angrily as she walked home. Abruptly, she stopped and threw her phone to the floor, the glass shattering. Where's my fricking teenage dream? She screamed at the sky. Everybody should feel how I feel when somebody says his name! Tears started streaming down her cheeks. I'm a car, speeding down the boulevard without a brake and I want YOU MORE THAN ANY STUPID SONG COULD EVER SAY... to be continued.

I look forward to hearing your stories!

One makes sense on paper. The other makes no sense at all. And somehow, my heart keeps finding reasons to want them both. If you asked anyone who knew me, they would tell you that I was lucky. I had Adrian. The kind of boy mothers secretly wish their daughters would bring home. The kind of boy my friends described as a walking green flag, followed by a dramatic sigh and a reminder that they hated me for being so lucky. He remembered the smallest things I said. He noticed when my smile wasn't real. He called when he promised he would, listened when I spoke, and never made me feel like loving him was a competition I had to win. He was sensible, patient, and impossibly good to me. And the worst part? I knew it. I knew I had someone who would never deliberately make me question whether I mattered. Someone who would choose me without making me wonder if he was considering someone else. Someone who could turn an ordinary Tuesday into a memory simply by remembering my favorite chocolate. I had everything I thought I wanted. Except the one thing I couldn't explain. Because there was also Noah. And Noah was the boy I wasn't supposed to think about anymore. He was the unfinished sentence at the end of a chapter I kept pretending I'd closed. The name that appeared in my mind at the most inconvenient times. The person who could make me laugh when I wanted to cry and make me cry when all I wanted was to feel loved. With Adrian, I knew where I stood. With Noah, I was never entirely sure. And somehow, that uncertainty had become a language my heart still understood. I hated admitting it, even to myself. Adrian would hold my hand, and I'd feel safe. Noah would look at me from across a room, and I'd forget what I was supposed to say. Adrian would tell me I looked beautiful, and I'd smile. Noah would remember a stupid little thing I'd said months ago, and I'd think about it for the next three days. It wasn't fair. Not to Adrian. Not to Noah. And certainly not to me. Because how was I supposed to explain that two people could make me feel completely different things, and I couldn't tell which feeling I was supposed to trust? Adrian was the boy I could imagine a future with. Noah was the boy my mind kept turning into a thousand different futures. With Adrian, I imagined Sunday mornings, familiar places, quiet happiness, and a love that didn't require me to decode every message. With Noah, I imagined all the things that could happen if we finally stopped pretending there was nothing between us. The conversations we had never finished. The feelings neither of us had properly named. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, the timing could be different this time. Adrian was real. Noah was a question. And I was beginning to understand how dangerous it could be to compare a real person with a possibility. But understanding something and feeling it were two completely different things. One Friday evening, Adrian took me out for dinner. He had remembered that I'd been craving my favorite dessert for weeks, and when it arrived at the table, he watched me with that familiar, gentle smile.

“You're happy, right?” he asked. I looked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just seem a little far away lately.” My heart stumbled. I wanted to tell him that he had done nothing wrong. That he was wonderful. That if goodness alone could make a person fall in love, I would have fallen for him a thousand times over. Instead, I smiled.

“I'm just tired.” He believed me. And somehow, that made me feel worse. Because Adrian trusted my words. Noah had always made me question his. Yet I was the one sitting across from Adrian, keeping secrets. That night, I opened my messages and stared at Noah's name. I didn't know what I wanted from him. An explanation? A confession? A sign that I hadn't imagined everything? Maybe I wanted him to tell me that I had mattered to him in the same way he'd somehow managed to matter to me. Or maybe I wanted him to say nothing at all, so I could finally stop wondering. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then my phone lit up.

Adrian: Reached home? Text me when you're comfortable. Sleep well, okay? I read the message twice. Then I looked at Noah's name again. One boy was giving me the kind of love I had once begged the universe for. The other was making me wonder whether the love I'd always wanted was hiding somewhere inside a story that had never really begun. And I couldn't choose. Not because they were equally good for me. Not because they loved me in the same way. But because I hadn't figured out whether I was holding on to Noah because I truly wanted him, or because a part of me still wanted the ending I'd imagined with him. And I hadn't figured out whether I loved Adrian enough to choose him wholeheartedly, or whether I was choosing him because he made the safer option so easy to justify. I couldn't keep both boys standing in the doorway of my heart while I decided which room belonged to whom. They were people, not possibilities on a page. They deserved honesty. And I deserved to stop treating my own feelings like a mystery I could solve by comparing them. So I put my phone down. For the first time, I didn't message Noah. I didn't call Adrian just to reassure myself that he was still there. I sat with the silence and let myself ask the question I'd been avoiding. If neither boy knew the other existed, who would I choose? Would I still want Noah if I stopped imagining what we could become and looked only at what we had actually been? Would I still choose Adrian if I stopped telling myself he was perfect and asked whether my heart was genuinely ready to love him? I had no answers that night. Only two names, two different kinds of feelings, and a truth I was finally brave enough to face. Maybe choosing wasn't about deciding which boy made my heart beat faster. Maybe it was about deciding what kind of love I was willing to build — and whether I could offer that love honestly to either of them. I didn't choose that night. But I stopped pretending that not choosing meant nobody could get hurt. Because sometimes, the hardest part of being caught between two people isn't deciding who you want. It's realizing that before you can choose someone else, you have to be honest with yourself. And I was still learning how to do that. One boy felt like home. The other felt like a story I wasn't ready to put down. And me? I was standing between them, holding the pen, terrified that whichever page I turned, I'd have to let another one go.