Sam suddenly sits up straighter, plastering on an extra-bright smile like she's trying to outshine every fluorescent light in the Mainstage. She starts talking faster, hands gesturing animatedly as she describes the party, the music, the outfits her friends picked out, the ridiculous amount of glitter someone plans to wear.
And she sounds so...fine.
So bubbly. So perfectly okay.
But I can hear the strain beneath it — the thin, wobbly thread holding her together. The kind of over-cheeriness that feels like running from something you're not ready to look at.
My chest aches.
She thinks she's fooling me, but I've known Sam my whole life. I know her real laugh, her real sparkle, her real excitement.
And this?
This is a girl trying her absolute hardest not to crumble.
I smile at her anyway — warm, steady, the least pushy version of myself — because sometimes loving someone means giving them the space to hold their own pieces together.
And maybe that's enough for now.
Just being here beside her, sharing food, sharing silence, sharing a tiny, stubborn hope that someday she won't have to pretend anymore.
*****
When I finally get back to my dorm, it's already close to midnight.
The hallways are quiet, lights dimmed, the whole building humming with that dead-tired, post-weekend exhaustion. Sam's shoes aren't by the door, her jacket's missing from the hook — she's definitely still out with her friends.
I drop my bag on my desk, peel off my sweat-soaked rehearsal shirt, and head straight for the shower. The hot water feels like heaven on my spine, melting away eight hours of stage lights and stress. By the time I towel off and slip into one of Zach's oversized tees, all I want is my bed... and him.
I reach into my bag for my phone — and freeze.
It's dark.
Completely off.
"Oh, shoot."
I forgot to charge it. Of course I did. My brain lives in a permanent fog this week.
The battery probably died hours ago.
My stomach twists as I fumble to plug it in and mash the power button.
It vibrates weakly, screen lighting up... and then—Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
A flood of notifications fills the screen, all from one person.
Zach.
ZACH
Hey babe, game is over — we won! I WISH YOU WERE HERE!
ZACH
I miss you.
ZACH
