LIA
I woke up Saturday morning in the emotional equivalent of pajama pants and mismatched socks—rumpled, half-sorted, and desperately hoping yesterday didn’t ruin everything.
My phone screen still had the last text from Ethan:
> Ethan: you won’t lose me
I stared at it like it was a warm blanket.
We had plans to study that afternoon—just us, before Maya and Lucas showed up. I didn’t know if “study” would mean flashcards or awkward silence or a post-argument make-out.
(Okay, maybe I hoped it would include a little of that last one. Minus the awkward.)
I brushed my teeth. Put on my “smart but approachable” hoodie. Packed snacks I’d picked out just for him—sour candy, spicy chips, and strawberry gummies.
Because nothing says sorry I nearly imploded like snacks that say I know your t
