“Is that going in your app?”
“Everything goes in the app. It’s all material.”
He laughs, pulling me closer. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I’ll visit. You’ll visit. We’ll make it work.” I turn to face him fully.
“I love your brain,” he murmurs, then kisses me soft and sweet.
When we finally pull apart, the sun is lower, painting everything golden. Students are starting to gather for evening activities, summer session beginning its own rhythm.
“Want to get dinner?” Ethan asks. “Somewhere that isn’t the dining hall? I’m thinking we deserve a real restaurant.”
“As long as Greg can come,” I say, patting the monstera’s pot. “He’s part of this love story too.”
“Obviously. He’s the real hero here.”
We stand, Ethan taking Greg while I gather my things. As we walk down the path, I don’t look back at the bench. It’s served its purpose—evolved from a monument to my heartbreak to just a nice spot where good things happen sometimes.
As we walk toward dinner and whatever comes next, I think about Harper deleting photos and starting fresh. About Ethan heading to San Francisco and me staying here to finish what I started.
None of it follows the algorithm I thought I needed. But maybe that’s the point.
The best love stories aren’t about finding your perfect match. They’re about choosing to keep writing together, even when you don’t know how it ends.
EPILOGUE
The house smells like Troy's famous fajitas.
I'm curled into Ethan's side on the sagging couch at their house, watching our friends sprawl across the living room for what's probably the last time.
Tomorrow, they graduate. Tomorrow, everything changes.
It's only been six weeks since Ethan and I got back together, six weeks since I finally let myself into this circle properly. Before, I was just Ethan's tutee who occasionally appeared.
Now, I'm part of the group text that fires off at least fifty messages a day.
Six weeks of inside jokes and movie nights and being folded into something I didn't know I was missing.
Six weeks that feel like six years and six minutes all at once.
“I can't believe you're abandoning Greg,” Alex says from where she's tucked against Freddie's chest on the floor. She's been designated Greg's official caretaker after Ethan nearly killed him, and she takes the responsibility seriously. “I promise to look after him.”
“He was a good friend, but I don’t need him anymore,” Ethan announces, squeezing my hand. “You’re my little plant now, aren’t ya, Pip?” He ruffles my hair and I roll my eyes.
“That makes no sense.” Tara laughs, threading her fingers through Alfie's hair. They're sharing the ancient armchair, her legs draped over his lap while he pretends to read some astrophysics journal but keeps getting distracted by her proximity.
“I’m going to miss it here,” Alfie murmurs, not looking up.
A scratching at the back door interrupts him. Before anyone can move, Baxter—the golden retriever from next door—has somehow materialized in the living room, making a beeline for Alfie.
“How does he keep getting in?” Troy asks as Baxter attempts to climb into Alfie's lap despite being seventy pounds of dog.
“No idea,” Alfie says way too quickly, but he's already scratching behind Baxter's ears in that specific spot that makes the dog's leg twitch.
“Sure, you don't.” Tara grins. “Just like you have 'no idea' why there's a bag of premium dog treats hidden behind your telescope.”
“Those could be for anyone,” Alfie protests, but Baxter is now fully sprawled across him, tail wagging so hard it's threatening Tara's drink.
