Silence stretches long and heavy.
“So what now?”I ask quietly. Done being a battlefield for my own emotions.
“Now,” Nick says, gripping my shoulder firmly, grounding me, “you learn that feeling everything isn’t a flaw.It’s a superpower you haven’t learned how to control yet.But you will.Because that’s what you do, Nate.You survive.You figure shit out.”
He starts toward the door, then stops.
“One more thing.”He pulls a slightly wrinkled envelope from his pocket and hands it to me.
My name is written across the front in Nora’s handwriting.
“I’ll head back in two days,” Nick says, voice gentle.“Take your time.”
When he leaves, the silence is deafening.I sit on the gym floor, staring at the envelope like it might detonate.My hands shake as I tear it open.
Nate,
You always made me mixtapes of my favourite moments.
So I made you one.
Track 7 is my favourite.
Leni x
Two photos fall out—one of us, back when forever felt possible in the streets of Malaga and the photo I took of her on the night of her eighteenth birthday at the gallery.
I walk to Javier’s old stereo, slide the CD in and skip to track 7.
“For Me This Is Heaven”by Jimmy Eat World fills the room, and suddenly I’m seventeen again, loving her like it was oxygen.
When Javier comes in an hour later, I haven’t moved.
“So,” he says, crossing his arms, a knowing smile creeping in.“When do you leave?”
CHAPTER11
HOMECOMING
NORA
I padinto the kitchen in my oversized tee, bare feet cool against the floor, savoring the rare quiet of early morning.Then a voice stops me—sharp, familiar, impossible not to notice.
“—and I’m telling you, if you steal my skin care lotion again, I’m hiding your PlayStation.”
Mia.
The sound of her voice drifts into me like sunlight catching dust in a quiet room, warm and familiar, with that exasperated fondness she always saves for Ollie.My chest tightens, just a little, the way it does when something you’ve missed comes back without warning.
I linger at the doorway, watching them.Ollie stands at the counter, arranging coffee mugs with the careful precision of someone who thinks the universe will unravel if a larger mug touches a smaller one.Mia sits cross-legged on a barstool, messy bun, head shaking with quiet amusement.
They look effortless, settled, intimate in a way that makes my heart pinch and swell at once.
“Well, well,” I say softly, stepping in, trying not to let my grin split my face, “look who’s still organizing the world one coffee mug at a time.Some things never change.”
Ollie spins, a smile spreading slowly across his face like sunlight.
“There’s my little-not-so-little sister,” he says, closing the distance in two strides, pulling me into a hug that feels like home, like safety.“And excuse me, don’t diss my mug organisation."
