Carys’s POV

“Thank you again for taking these shots for me. I appreciate you.”
“I can’t speak for those other people, but it was a joy to capture your beauty.”
“Lil ole me? Stoppppp.” I blush a little, laughing.
“And don’t do Michael like that. He’s cool people. Actually, he’s a good man. He went beyond his role as a realtor — really stuck his neck out for my mom and me.”
“What about the girl?” Selah asks, brows raised, her expression shifting into something almost accusing.

“Ahhhh. So that’s what this is about.” With a sly smile, I sit beside her. “You have nothing to worry about. Today was my first time meeting her. As you saw, she came with Michael.”
Selah sits up, arms folded, her brows furrowing even deeper. “Really? You’re just now meeting your best friend’s best friend?”
A part of me knew exactly who she meant, but I didn’t want to accept it. Didn’t want to say it out loud.
“What best friend?” I ask, trying to hide my annoyance.
“Really, Carys?”
“Yes, Selah. Really.”
“So you don’t know who your best friend is?”
“Maybe if I had one, I would.”
“Can you stop beating around the bush!”
“Can YOU!?”

At this point, we’re both standing, practically face to face, seconds away from a full-blown argument.

“AH-ROAR-RA.”
My whole body tenses at the sound of her name.

“Oh, now you’re quiet. So you don’t know Aurora? That’s not your best friend? Which begs the question — how do you not know her best friend? Why would y’all act like strangers? Weird as fuck.”
“You’re bugging the fuck out right now. I JUST moved back! Me and Aurora haven’t spoken since... since... SINCE I LEFT. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Mmmm, well, isn’t that convenient.”
I roll my eyes. “Man, watch out.”

I start toward my room, hoping for space, but her footsteps right behind me tell me I won’t get it.

“Going to text your bestie in private? Or better yet, Zaniyah? Tell her to lay low for a few days?” she snaps from the doorway.
“Bruh, I told you I DON’T HAVE A BEST FRIEND. ME AND AUR— ME AND HER DON’T SPEAK. What are you on, bro?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, bro.” She mocks me, practically spitting the word out.
“So now I can’t say ‘bro’? I can’t be cordial? I can’t have people I don’t associate with? What else?”
“You can’t play me like I’m stupid.”

She turns to leave, but I jump off the bed and grab her, turning her to face me.

“Hey. I’m not playing you. I like you, Selah. These last few days have been... amazing. I don’t know Zaniyah. Aurora and I haven’t talked in years. We aren’t friends. Not sure if we ever really were.”

I pull her into a hug.

“I want you, Selah. You. Can you please stop fighting with me and just listen—”

Listen. Just listen.
The word echoes in my head like a distant knock against a closed door.

I shift on the couch, tracing the seam of the cushion with my thumb.

“See how I diffused the situation with communication and not anger? Even though she came at me sideways about Aurora of all people,” I finally say. “Accusing me of... I don’t know, hiding something. Acting like I’ve been lying to her this whole time.”

My therapist — Dr. Brooks — doesn’t look up from her notepad. She just nods, humming softly.

“And?”

“And nothing. She’s bugging. I told her me and Aurora haven’t talked in years. We aren’t friends. We’re... nothing.”

She made that clear to me. Especially on that day…

“CAN YOU PLEASE STOP FIGHTING WITH ME! I JUST— I just need you to listen. I get it. You’re hurting. I’m not trying to take away from that, and if I did, I’m sorry. I just wan—”
“Yeah, you just want me to listen. You just want me to be there. You. You. You.”
“Reeses. Please.”
“NO. Don’t call me that.”

I can’t ignore the pain on her face — she looks like she’s about to break.

“What about me, huh?! What about what I want?! What about what I NEED?!”
The tears sting as they finally fall.

“Why... why did you leave me..?”
“When did I leave you?”
“Like you don’t know.” I scoff.
“Ree— Carys. Please talk to me. I’m sorry if I made you feel alone. I just... I don’t know how to be around you anymore. I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing. But lately, it feels like that’s all I do.”
“The first smart thing you’ve said all day.”
“I— I think maybe I should give you space.”
“I literally just told you I didn’t want to be alone.”
“Maybe you don’t. But I don’t think you want me around either.”

I sit there, struggling to breathe, as Aurora packs up her things, leaving behind everything she brought to comfort me: my favorite drinks and snacks, a couple mangas, a gaming gift card, even some weed.

I want to grab her. Tell her to stay. That I want her here, need her here. That even if I had another choice, I’d still choose her.

Please don’t go.

She pauses in the doorway like she might turn around. But without looking at me, she barely whispers through her tears, “I’ll see you later.”

I didn’t think it was possible to hurt more than I already did. But watching her through my window, watching her walk away from me — that pain cut deeper than anything I’d felt since he— left.

My heart aches.
I love you, Aurora. Please don’t leave me.
While my mind curses her name, my heart screams for her. She’d never understand.

How could I love someone like that?
I throw myself face-first into my pillow, burying my screams and sobs.

How could I not?

“Carys?”

Dr. Brooks’s voice snaps me out of it.
My breath shudders. My once-tracing fingers now grip the edge of Dr. Brooks’s couch, nails digging into the fabric.

The soft ticking of the clock fills the space. The smell of her office — lavender and something faintly antiseptic — pulls me back fully.

“Carys,” Dr. Brooks says softly, pen paused midair. “Where did you just go?”
“Nowhere important.”
“Okay,” is all she says.

Okay? I was expecting more. Maybe even a lecture.

Dr. Brooks looks up now, her eyes calm but too sharp for my comfort. “Is that all?”

I hold her gaze for a second too long. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. I swallow hard.

“Yes.”

She writes something down, and the sound of her pen is loud in the quiet room.

The house feels even emptier now. Mom’s still away on business.
I close the door and let my forehead rest against it, the echo of Selah’s words still ringing in my head.

Aurora.

I peel myself away and stumble to my bed, tossing my phone onto the sheets. Notifications light up — a few texts from Michael, a missed call from Mom — but I don’t have it in me.

She has enough on her plate already.

I grab my tray. The old photo on my nightstand catches my eye. A picture of my dad stares back at me, but the photo hidden behind his clouds my mind.

One of those authentic photo booth pictures. Me and Aurora, years ago on one of our bestie dates. Us laughing, making silly faces, and... more.

My hand twitches, wanting to take it out, but I don’t.

I sink into the bed, pulling the pillow to my chest like it might hold me together.

I sigh before lighting my spliff. Against better judgment, I open up Flickstagram. I head to Michael’s personal page, wasting no time scrolling through his followers.

PrettyGirlZ. Nope.
Niyahs_Planet. No.
PrettyEyesNi. No.

I scroll through his posts. Maybe she’s commented on something.

BookedNBus.Z.

A pinned picture of her and Aurora sits at the top of her page.

Wow. She looks...

I hover over the tagged accounts icon.

No.

I’m fine. It’s not that deep.
It’s been years.
I don’t care.

I’m fine.

A few puffs in and I can hear sleep practically whispering lullabies in my ears.

Suddenly I’m back in that room.

Aurora stands across from me. Her outline flickers, like a forgotten sketch that never got finished.

“Reeses,” she says softly.

I flinch. “Don’t call me that.”

Her eyes look sad. So sad it makes something deep inside me ache.

“You’re always running,” she says. Her voice echoes off walls that don’t exist. “Why won’t you just... stop?”

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

Aurora steps forward. Ink drips from her fingertips, swirling around her feet like smoke.

“You act like you don’t care,” she continues, voice trembling now. “But I know you. Every line, every scar, every breath.”

I reach for her. My hand cuts through the ink and light, but she’s already pulling back.

“Is that all?” she whispers.

I shake my head violently, but she’s already fading.

“Aurora, wait—”

She vanishes, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing and an echoing, hollow silence.

I jolt upright, gasping. My face is wet — I don’t know if it’s sweat or tears or both.

The room is still. Too still.

I hug my knees to my chest, rocking slightly as I try to catch my breath.

Is that all?

The words crawl up my spine like a cold hand.

I bury my face into the pillow again, and this time I don’t try to muffle the sobs.

How could I love someone like that?

The question I asked myself years ago lingers in the back of my mind.

How could I not?