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One tiny, ordinary mark. Proof that time passed here. That days happened. That he existed beside me in morning light and pool water, and now I’m supposed to walk through those doors like it’s not a huge mistake.

“Well,” Clint says.

“Don’t start with well.”

“What should I start with?”

“I don’t know. Something less devastating.”

He looks at the doors. “Welcome to airport.”

A laugh breaks through me, and it hurts.

“Better.”

Neither of us speaks after that. The silence is terrible because it’s full of everything we’ve already said and everything we promised not to say. Six months. Springtime. Love and distance and a promise neither of us can say we’ll keep with true certainty.

A lot can change in six months. I’ve learned that the hard way.

A lot will have to change, and I’ll have to make it happen if this is going to work.

I reach for the luggage handle. Clint’s fingers tighten before he lets go.

“Text me in six months with that invite,” I say.

His jaw shifts. “Yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I’ll answer.”

His eyes come back to mine. “You better.”

A group of tourists pushes past us, talking too loudly. One of their bags bumps my ankle. Nobody apologizes. The world continues to be rude in the middle of important moments.

Clint steps closer once they pass.

“I want to beg you to stay right now.”

Clint’s face breaks a little.

I try to smile. I want to reassure him. I want to be the adult. I blink hard, but it’s useless. The tears come anyway, fast and humiliating.

“Truth? I kinda want you to.”

His breath catches and for one second, I think he might do it. Say stay. Say please. Don’t give me a choice, and I swear I’ll do the wrong thing right now.

Instead, he reaches for me. I go into his arms so quickly it feels like falling. My face presses into his neck. He smells like sun and salt and the good soap from the house. His hand spreads between my shoulder blades, holding me like he wants to remember the shape of me.

I hold him back. Too tight, probably.

This is goodbye.

“I hate this,” he says into my shoulder.

“I know.”