She didn’t decide to pull away. That was the thing she’d tell herself later, the small dishonesty she’d allow herself that it wasn’t a decision, just a drift, the kind of distance that happens gradually enough that you can pretend you didn’t create it.
Monday, she didn’t text him good morning, which had become, without either of them naming it, a small ritual.
Tuesday, she took the long way to her afternoon class, the route that didn’t pass anywhere near the gym.
Wednesday, when he came into the café, she was polite. Professional. The version of herself she’d been in when she first met Noah competent, contained, giving nothing away. He ordered his coffee and she made it and there was none of the back-and-forth, none of the lingering, and when he left he looked, for the first time since
