If he's not with them...
Then where is he?
CHAPTER thirty-nine
CAROLINE
For the last two days, I haven't seen Zach—not around campus, not in the dining hall, not even a passing glimpse of his shadow anywhere.
He still texts me, technically. But compared to before, when his messages came in faster than my notifications could keep up—now it's... sparse. A "good morning," a meme or two, and that's it. The silence between each text feels longer than it should.
It's stupid, I know. Two days isn't that long.
But after weeks of him showing upeverywhere—grinning, teasing, finding excuses to see me—it feels... off.
He'd told me once that he couldn't go a day without seeing me. I remember how my heart practically did cartwheels when he said it, how the words sat warm and dizzy in my chest for hours afterward.
And now—nothing.
Just a weird emptiness where his presence used to be.
Like I got so used to the sunlight, I forgot what shadows felt like.
I drop onto the edge of my bed with a sigh, my chest tight and annoyingly achey. Maybe I've just been too happy lately, too naïve. Reality probably decided to show up and knock me back down a peg.
See? You got comfortable, Caroline.
You let your guard down—and now look at you.
Another sigh slips out, this one heavier.
I glance at the pile of clothes spread across my bed—the chaotic mess of potential outfits I've been trying to pick from for our date.
Which is tonight.
Our date... which I've been stupidly, pathetically excited about all week—counting down like it's Christmas morning or the season finale of my sanity—that may or may not even be happening.
He texted earlier—just a quicksee you later.
That was it. No time, no details, no plan.
What the hell doeslatereven mean?
Seven? Eight? Next year?
My thumb hovers over my phone, tempted to text him and ask, but I stop myself.
I don't want to sound clingy. Or needy. Or like the girl who can't chill for five minutes without spiraling.
But what am I supposed to do—just sit here and wait?
It's already almost five.
"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
I hate this—this restless, twitchy feeling in my chest, the way my thoughts won't shut up long enough to let me breathe.
I grab one of the dresses from the bed and hold it up in front of the mirror.
