The sun is high now, warm on my face and mocking me with how bright the world still is. There should be storms and rain and fury from the fucking skies, notthis.Not beauty. I turn away from the tree, from the paths we took. From the place where we used to beus.
I walk on.
And I don’t look back.
Chapter 12
Nine Months Later
Thehousingofficesmellslike old paper and burnt coffee, the same as it always has. The woman behind the counter slides a new keycard toward me with a polite smile that doesn’t reach hereyes. “You’ll be in a new building. The plumbing has to be redone, so we’re vacating your current dorm for this semester. Hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“Where will I be?” I ask, only half paying attention.
“Stratton Tower,” she answers. “Room 316.”
My stomach takes a nosedive, and all of my attention is now zeroed in on the keycard as I accept it with numb fingers.
“Stratton? 316?” I repeat.
She nods, already turning back to her computer. “Yep. Your new roommate has been notified someone will be moving in.”
I don’t remember walking out. One second I’m standing at the counter, the next I’m outside in the bright January sun with the keycard clenched in my fist so hard the plastic edges bite into my palm.
Nine months.
It’s been nine fucking months since he looked at me like I’d ripped something vital out of his chest, and then walked away without another word.
He blocked my number that same afternoon, and refused every attempt I made to talk. Every text or call from a different phone was ignored, and every note I slid onto his desk was tossed in the trash without so much as a glance. After a week he moved to a different practice schedule, changed his routes across campus, and disappeared from every place we used to overlap.
By the end of the semester he was a ghost.
And I let him go.
What else could I do?
I walk across campus now, traveling the same paths we used to take together. Everywhere I look brings back a new memory that seems like another life. Self-preservation is a funny thing, though, and instead of trying to forget, I plead with my mind to hold on to them.
The quad is fuller than it was last year, or maybe I’m just emptier. There are new freshmen, new energy, and new stories starting.
My story feels like it ended before it could ever begin.
I think about staring at him across the room at the party that night. The way his eyes found mine through the crowd, the way the loneliness in his shoulders vanished the second he saw me. The way he laughed, high and ridiculous and so unlike him, and the way he looked at me on the porch like I was the only thing keeping him upright.
That one night changed everything.
It changed the way I breathe when I’m alone in my room. The way I flinch when someone says his name in passing. The way I still check our old thread every few weeks, even though I know he’s blocked me.There’s nothing new waiting for me, but I search for it anyway.
I reach Stratton Tower too soon, and climb the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last. My heart is loud in my ears, and my stomach is in knots.
I stop in front of 316, and the hallway is quiet. Afternoon classes are in session, so most people are gone. He might be gone, too. I have a keycard, but I can’t bring myself to use it.
My hand lifts, knuckles hovering an inch from the wood, but I hesitate.
What if he slams the door in my face?
What if he doesn’t open it at all?
What if he does, then looks at me the same way he did in the commons, like I’m the person who broke him?
