A month had passed. Two months remained until graduation, and yet, it felt as though Anna had been living in an entirely different world, one where Ryan existed only as a sharp ache behind her ribs, a shadow brushing the edges of every thought, every moment.
The corridors of the university were alive with the kind of energy that always came near the end of term: students laughing, rushing between classes, professors trying to grade papers before the term ended. But Anna moved through it all like a ghost, her eyes fixed firmly ahead, her steps measured, careful not to meet his. Not Ryan. Not Mr Gill.
She had been avoiding him deliberately. Every day since the hospital, every fleeting moment he had tried to approach, every soft attempt at conversation he had made—she had shut it down. Ever
