I did it.
I actually fucking did it.
41
PIPER
The bench doesn’t belong to ghosts anymore.
I arrive early, partly out of habit and partly because I want a moment alone with this place that’s seen so many versions of me. The girl who came here with Miles, desperate to be chosen. The girl who came here with Ethan, learning to reclaim spaces. And now, just me—someone who’s finally comfortable in her own story.
Spring has fully surrendered to summer, the oak trees heavy with green. I settle onto the worn wood and breathe in air that smells like possibility and fresh starts.
My phone buzzes. Without thinking, I open Instagram, scrolling through the usual pre-graduation chaos. Everyone’s posting about finals being over, about summer plans, about?—
I stop scrolling.
Harper’s latest post fills my screen. A group of girls laughing at what looks like a wine bar, Harper in the center with her head thrown back in genuine joy.
The caption reads‘My girls are all I need’
Every photo of Miles has vanished from her feed. Their couple’s vacation, their dinner, that New Year’s Eve kiss—alldeleted like they never existed In their place, there are pictures of Harper doing pottery, karaoke, and running and just being happy with her life.
She looks free.
I double-tap the photo without hesitation, then type a comment
“You look radiant!”
We’ve been texting occasionally since our conversation about Miles. Not close friends exactly, but two women who helped each other escape different versions of the same trap. There’s solidarity in that.
I put my phone away.
The trees rustle overhead, and I tip my face up to catch the filtered sunlight. Somewhere in the distance, campus tour groups are probably telling wide-eyed high schoolers about traditions and statistics.
None of them mention that the real thinking happens in moments like this—learning to sitalonewithout feeling lonely.
“Sorry, I’m late!”
Ethan’s voice breaks through my meditation. He’s jogging up the path, hair still damp from a post-gym shower, wearing the Nebula Arcade t-shirt they sent him after he signed his offer. Greg is tucked under one arm, because, of course, Ethan brought him for our bench celebration.
“Marcus called with more details about the move,” he says, slightly breathless as he drops beside me. “They’re helping me find roommates near the office, and there’s this whole onboarding program?—”
“Ethan,” I interrupt, smiling. “Breathe. Tell me everything, but slowly.”
He sets Greg between us and takes my hand, our fingers interlacing naturally. “Right. Breathing. It’sjust—it’s really happening, Pip. In three weeks, I’ll be living in San Francisco, working at my dream studio.”
“Because you earned it,” I remind him. “Your game, your choices, your talent.”
“Our choices,” he corrects. “I wouldn’t have fixed that ending without you.”
“You would have. Maybe differently, but you would have found your way.”
He studies my face. “When did you start giving others credit?”
“Somewhere between failing Creative Writing and passing it with a B+.” I grin. “Speaking of which, want to hear about my new project?”
“The amazing app you’ve been secretive about? Obviously.”
