I see her anyway, in my hoodie, in my bed, blinking upat me like I’m safe. I hear the way she said Starboy, teasing and starstruck all at once.
Then the way she said it at the end.
I’m not standing here and listening to your silver tongue.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I did this. I let Isabelle start it. I let it stay a game. I let Wren be the setup and the proof and the fallout.
Someone shouts, “O’Connor, you good?” like it’s funny.
I don’t answer.
I take a step. My knee protests. My body wants to fold. I make it straighten anyway.
I’m supposed to be good at taking hits.
This one is different.
As I head for the edge of the quad, two girls pass me, phones angled down, whispering like I can’t hear them.
“I kind of feel bad.”
“No, you don’t.”
My stomach twists.
I keep walking.
Every step feels like glass.
By the time the noise thins, my hands are shaking—not from pain, but from the weight of her absence. Solid. Dragging. Pulling at my ribs.
I want to rewind. To stand in front of her dorm and say it right this time.
Saying it right doesn’t change what I did. Doesn’t change what she lost. Doesn’t change the fact that this was the first time she trusted someone.
And I broke it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Once. Twice. Then it won’t stop.
I don’t look. I know what it is—group chats, teammates,people who never once cared about my character and suddenly have opinions. I just walk, aimless.
Hours later, I stop under a budding tree at the edge of the quad and finally pull the phone out.
The lock screen is a flood.
TEAM CHAT (17)
MASON — 3 MISSED CALLS
LIAM — 1 MISSED CALL
My chest tightens.
I let the screen go dark.
