The last bus rolled toward me, its yellow headlights dim in the night.
I got on, took the window seat in the back row, and watched the city slide backward through the darkness. Neon signs blurred into dotted lines.
When I got home, my mom was already asleep.
The kitchen light was still on, and a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon sat on the counter, still warm.
I sat on the little kitchen stool and ate it spoonful by spoonful.
That night, I slept more deeply than I had in years.
No more dreams about forgotten applications.
No more dreams about Ethan and Lila walking away from me side by side.
The next morning, I was woken by the doorbell.
I rubbed my eyes and opened the door.
Ethan's mother stood outside with a bag of fresh bagels in her hand. They were my favorite.
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