The dorm building was half-empty now. Finals were over. The halls felt hollow without Tru’s playlists bleeding through the walls, without the scent of cranberry tea, without the blond dork “accidentally” falling asleep on my shoulder.
I tried to read and failed. Tried to text him but backspaced six drafts. Checked his location, felt pathetic, and checked again anyway.
At nine, I FaceTimed him, but there was no answer. I didn’t leave a voicemail, just hung up before it rang through.
Instead, I laced up and jogged to the park. The air was thick with June heat, heavy enough to swallow sound. My legs ached from drills, but I kept going, lap after lap, until the ache turned into something else.
After the fifth lap, I sat on the bleachers and texted:
You okay?
No reply.
I tilted my head back. The stars looked farther away than they did yesterday. My throat tightened with something dangerously close to grief. Tru said it was just a summer. Said he wouldn’t disappear.
But I didn’t know how to do this without him here to prove it.
By the time my breathing evened out, my thumbs hovered over the phone again, ready to text something else—something needy, something stupid. I didn’t send it.
I just sat there, staring at the screen until the battery blinked low and my eyes burned. Eventually, I let my head drop, the metal bleacher cool against my spine.
By the time I got back to the dorm, my legs were jelly and my lungs burned. I showered, dropped into bed, and prayed exhaustion would knock me out before the worry did.
No such luck.
The second I closed my eyes, it caught me—the panic, the missing, the fear.
And then I was walking the halls of our high school.
Lockers clanged. Sneakers squeaked. The air smelled like dust and pencil shavings. I passed the lab, the gym, and the stairs where we used to eat lunch when it rained. Everything looked washed out, devoid of color and life.
Then I heard it—Tru’s laugh. Clear. Close. It tugged something deep inside me.
I followed it past the art room.
He stood in front of our freshman lockers, wearing a denim jacket, with long bangs and his tongue between his teeth as he flipped through his sketchpad. I didn’t need to see the page to know it was me.
“Tru?” I said.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t hear me.
I stepped closer. “Hey. I miss you.”
Still nothing. I reached out, touched his shoulder.
He turned slowly, smiling like it hurt. “You said you’d follow me anywhere,” he whispered.
“I meant it.”
“But you didn’t.” His voice fractured. The hallway blurred behind him, color dripping like wet paint. “You never came.”
I grabbed his wrist, desperate. “Wait—Tru, I’m trying.”
He shook his head. “Trying doesn’t always mean enough.”
Then he started to fade—first the color, then the shape—until all that was left was light.
“No—wait?—”
