I can’t listen to music without hearing Aris’s chirps in my head. I can’t drive past our favorite restaurants without trying to figure out what Korie would be in the mood for.
I can’t sleep. Can barely eat. And I’ve lost count how many times I type the same message to Korie only to delete it.
I miss you.
I don’t know if hearing it right now would feel comforting or suffocating.
That uncertainty is fucking brutal.
By the third day, I can’t sit still anymore, so I go climbing.
The gym smells like chalk and rubber flooring, familiar enough that my body settles into routine automatically. I start on an easy route without really paying attention, climbing mostly on instinct.
Halfway up the wall, I reach automatically to the right, hand straining—except the hold isn’t there. My fingers scrape uselessly against the smooth surface before my foot slips.
My stomach lurches in the split second of free fall before the harness catches, and adrenaline spikes through me. I swing slightly away from the wall.
“You overshot, Coach,” somebody calls from below.
I look down to see Jeremiah, a brilliantly talented climber from our youth camps. He’s the one kid I don’t mind.
“Yup. Thanks for that, Miah.”
I almost laugh at myself. Overreaching. Again.
Just like that, I remember Korie laughing the first time we climbed together. We were eight and killing time during our summer break at a gym very similar to this one.
Korie had been terrible at first. All stubborn determination and shaky legs while refusing help every time I offered it—because of course they did.
When we advanced to the next group, they’d stood below me with their hands raised instinctively, even though the harness made it unnecessary.
“You know the rope’ll catch me, right?” I called down.
“Don’t care. You’re moving too fast.”
“Am not.”
“Are so. You’re going to miss a hold.”
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you get up here and show me how it’s done then?”
Korie’s exasperated yet fierce expression is one they still give me today.
The memory hits hard enough that I have to grip the wall tighter for a second. We have always pushed each other—always.
I lower myself back down instead of finishing the route.
“You done already?” Ellis asks from nearby.
“Yeah, not feeling it today.”
She studies me with that same knowing look she’s given me the last few weeks, like she’s wondering where all the joy disappeared to. “Is everything okay, Holden?”
Nope.“Yeah.”
Voices nearby catch my attention, where a father is on his knee talking to his son, still in climbing gear. “Be honest. Do you still want to do this?”
Something about it sends another memory slamming into me, just as painful as all the others.
