Soft light spilled through the dorm room window, washing everything in pale gold. The walls, once cheerful with their rainbow of sticky notes and snapshots, looked quieter today—less like a scrapbook, more like a space in transition.

Livi lay awake in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She hadn’t cried again—not since the night before. But her chest still felt sore, like she'd been wrung out and only now was learning to breathe again.

A faint breeze moved through the room, rustling the paper corners of her pinned-up notes. Her eyes wandered across the familiar scribbles:

"Spring photoshoot 📸"
 "Bunny café with Hikari"
 "Grad countdown (Don’t forget cap!)"

Her gaze paused on one:

“Keep everyone close. No matter what.”

It wasn’t a plan. It was a plea.

She sat up slowly, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, and rubbed the sleep from her face. The room was quiet. The kind of quiet that could either feel peaceful… or lonely.

Livi stood and padded barefoot to her desk. She picked up her phone, staring at the group chat—her fingers hovering, uncertain.

Then she swiped out and opened her contacts.

Mom.

She hit call.

Her mother picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said, her voice warm and already knowing. “Did you sleep okay?”

Livi hesitated. “Kind of. Not really.”

A pause. “Want to talk about it?”

Livi sat back in her chair, curling one leg up. “It’s everything. School ending. Graduation. My friends. I had a breakdown last night.”

“Oh honey…” her mom’s voice softened instantly. “I’m glad you called.”

Livi’s throat tightened. “I feel like I’ve spent the last four years trying to hold everything together. Every hangout, every trip, every little thing—it’s like if I stopped organizing, it would all fall apart.”

Her mom didn’t interrupt.

Livi continued, quieter now. “But I’m scared that when we graduate, I’ll fade from everyone’s lives. That they won’t need me anymore.”

“Liv,” her mom said gently, “what if they don’t love you for the plans? What if they just love you?”

Livi blinked.

Her mom went on, “You’ve always been the planner—even as a kid. Birthday parties, sleepovers, family trips. You used to write checklists for your stuffed animals.” She chuckled fondly. “But that was never what made people love being around you. It was your heart. Your joy. The way you light up a room just by walking in.”

Livi closed her eyes, tears threatening again—but not painful ones. Just ones that made her feel seen.

“You don’t have to prove your worth by holding people together, Liv,” her mother continued. “If those friendships are real—and I believe they are—they’ll survive because you all want them to. Not because you scheduled them.”

There was a pause.

Then, softly:
 “Did you tell them how you’ve been feeling?”

“No,” Livi whispered. “I think I just tried to… schedule around it.”

Her mom let out a soft laugh. “That’s so you. But maybe next time, you just let someone in.”

“I did,” Livi said after a moment. “Hikari. She showed up last night. I didn’t even ask. She just knew.”

“That’s a real friend, baby. The kind that doesn’t need reminders. Just time.”

Livi smiled gently. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime,” she said. “Oh—and your sister says hi. And wants to FaceTime you with the bunny later.”

Livi laughed. “Tell her I’m free tonight.”

They said their goodbyes, and Livi sat for a long moment after the call, the phone resting against her chest.

Then she stood.

She walked over to the wall and slowly began peeling off a few sticky notes—only a few. Not everything. Just the ones that felt like burdens, not memories.

She paused at the one that read:

“Spring schedule: picnic, museum, café, rooftop sunset”

She smiled, then stuck it on the inside of her notebook instead.

Still hers. Just… quieter now.

Next, she picked up a pen and opened a fresh page in her planner.

At the top, she wrote:

“Moments I want to remember, even if they’re unplanned.”

Then, in gentle script beneath it:

●      When Hikari held me while I cried

●      Dylan falling asleep during the movie night

●      Sora’s quiet half-smile when no one else is watching

●      Ren giving me the last piece of chocolate and pretending he didn’t

●      Mina’s laugh echoing off the karaoke walls

●      The rooftop — all of us, together

She stopped, reading it over. No checkboxes. No deadlines. Just memories. Ones that mattered.

Her phone buzzed once with a new message.

Hikari:

Still thinking about our talk. I’m proud of you.
 Let’s just be, yeah?

Livi smiled and replied:

Yeah. Let’s just be.

She closed her planner, leaned back in her chair, and watched the light shift across her walls.

Not every part of her was ready.

But a little more of her was willing to let go.

And maybe… that was enough for now.