DAXTON POV
Henry had already rewritten his hipothetical second text to Maria three times, each version coming out more desperate than the last before he deleted it and started over again.
He looked like a whiny puppy. Just like when i broke in two his precious skateboard, but we were 10.
Now we are 21, almost 22.
Watching him pace around my room like a caged lion wasn’t helping my nerves, but I forced myself to focus on something—anything—that might make me feel productive. My t-shirt drawer was already organized by color and style, but I was in there again, refolding every shirt as if my life depended on it.
It wasn’t working.
Usually, tasks like this helped me stay calm and centered. Folding shirts, arranging books, organizing my sneakers—anything with a rhythm or order. It w
