Chapter 08: Right Where You Left Me

The afternoon light spilt weakly through my dorm window, too warm, too soft, for how heavy everything inside me felt. I lay flat on my bed, eyes tracing cracks in the ceiling I'd never noticed before. The campus outside was alive—voices carrying through the open window, the faint thud of a basketball on concrete, laughter echoing from somewhere down the quad.

And me? I was a ghost in my own body.

My bag was still half-unpacked on the floor where I'd dropped it. Clothes spilling out, shoes kicked to the side. Like I couldn't even commit to being here, but I couldn't bear to be anywhere else.

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was the ocean. His face in the moonlight. The way his hand had lingered at the back of my neck like he didn't want to let me go. The way he'd looked right at Belly and said my name.

And then the silence after. The nod. The way it all cracked, as if it had never been real.

I swallowed hard, my chest aching, and pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes. Maybe if I pushed hard enough, I could erase the images looping behind them.

But they didn't go anywhere.

God. Why was I acting like a fifteen-year-old who just lost the love of her life? Two days. That's all it had been. Two days of chaos, of kisses, of something that felt too big for how short it lasted. I dragged a hand over my face, groaning into the quiet.

"Get your shit together," I muttered out loud, like maybe saying it would make it true.

I swung my legs off the bed, ready to stand, when a sound froze me.

A knock.

Not just any knock.

Three short raps, a pause, then two more.

My heart stuttered. The signal. The one Belly and I had come up with our first week here, when we'd joked about needing a secret code to know it was safe to open the door.

I stared at the handle, pulse quickening.

Belly. Of course, it was her.

I hesitated, fingers hovering over the knob like it might burn me. Then, before I could overthink it, I twisted it open.

Belly stood there.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, watery, her cheeks blotchy like she'd either just cried or was about to. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Just a shaky breath that made my stomach clench.

For a second, neither of us moved. We just stood there, the silence between us louder than anything she could've said.

Finally, her lips parted, her voice breaking on my name. "Steph..."

When I saw her like that, all the anger I thought I had cracked a little. I could never stand to see Belly cry. Before I could stop myself, I reached for her, pulling her into me. She clung back instantly, arms wrapping around me so tight it was like she was holding on for air.

I felt her shoulders shake against me, her breath hitching, and my chest ached. Whatever else had happened, whatever I'd overheard, in that moment she was just Belly—my friend, the girl I'd once sworn I'd protect from everything, even when I couldn't protect myself.

When she finally loosened her grip, I brushed a hand over her arm and stepped aside. "Come on," I whispered, voice softer than I meant.

She nodded quickly, wiping at her cheeks as she slipped past me into the room. I shut the door behind us, the click sealing us off from the rest of the world.

She sank onto the edge of my bed, twisting her hands in her lap. I sat beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched, waiting for her to speak. Her eyes were still glassy, her fingers twisting in her lap. Her voice came out small at first.

"Where do I even start?"

I let out a long breath, bracing myself. "Just... start somewhere."

She nodded, staring down at her hands. "Conrad was the first boy I ever loved. We... were together for a little while. And for me, it felt like a dream. I'd had a crush on him since I was little, so when he actually loved me back? God, it was everything. But after a while... I realised how different we were. Different in almost everything. And it wasn't fair—to him, or to me—to stay when I felt that way. A part of me will probably always love him, but... I don't know if it'll ever be romantic again. I realised he wasn't himsefl with me. With Jeremiah, it was different. And it took me a while to figure that out."

Her words were steady, but the guilt in her voice pressed heavy.

"Belly... I didn't know. You know I would've backed off if I did. But I just—" I stopped, swallowing hard. "I wish you'd told me. I mean, I could tell you knew something had happened between me and him—"

She cut me off quickly, shaking her head. "No, that's not it. It's not about you keeping secrets. I know you heard us this morning, and honestly, I didn't even recognise myself in that moment. I got jealous. Not because I still wanted him—not like that—but because it wasn't me who brought out the Conrad we saw this weekend. I spent years waiting for that side of him, and it turns out... it was you. And that stung. But driving here, I realised—I'm glad it was you. Really. You've been through so much, and I saw it, how hard it was for you to open up after your ex. And then I saw him open up to you. There's a maturity you two share that I... I just don't."

Her voice wavered, and then she reached for my hand. "I'm sorry for the way I acted. Really. And—look, I think you need to talk to him. Because after you left this morning, we had a conversation and... the way he spoke about you? God, Steph. You need to hear it for yourself."

I blinked fast, the pressure in my chest breaking loose. My laugh came out watery, tangled with tears. "I don't... I don't even know what to say. Except—" My voice cracked. "Do you realise we have exams in less than a week?"

She gave me a look through her own tears, half-exasperated. "What a way to change the subject."

I wiped at my face, smiling weakly. "You're forgiven. And I'm sorry too—for walking into something I didn't understand."

She squeezed me tight, hugging me like she was trying to press the apology into my skin. Then she pulled back, her grin crooked but determined. "So, here's the deal. We nail our exams. And then? We spend the summer in Cousins. Because I heard a little bird say you don't have any plans."

I hesitated, searching her face. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Her smile only widened. "I'm certain. It's settled. Now go grab the books, lady. We've got studying to do."

I hesitated, chewing at my lip before blurting it out. "Belly... are you sure you're comfortable with... me and Conrad?"

Her eyes softened instantly, no hesitation in her voice. "I couldn't be more sure. Especially since it's you."

The certainty in her tone knocked the breath out of me. She meant it. There wasn't bitterness anymore, just trust.

When she said it, I felt something loosen inside me. A weight I hadn't even realised I was carrying finally eased.

I knew I'd been dramatic, storming off, packing my things like the world was ending. Just as much as Belly had been impulsive, letting jealousy twist her words this morning. But sitting here with her, hearing the vulnerability in her voice—it reminded me why she mattered to me in the first place.

We'd both been immature. And now, we both knew it.

Still, beneath the calm, Conrad's voice echoed through me. The way he'd said that I made him feel different, like the walls he'd built didn't matter anymore. I held onto that—not as something broken, but as a thread. Fragile, maybe, but real. A thread that could still lead somewhere.

...

The days blurred into a rhythm that almost felt normal again. Classes, late-night study sessions, scribbled notes scattered across my desk. Belly and I buried ourselves in textbooks, quizzed each other until our brains ached, and laughed when we both blanked on the easiest answers. We FaceTimed with Jere once or twice, his grin filling the screen as he teased us about turning into hermits. Steven and Taylor sent texts too—memes, updates, little check-ins that made me feel like I hadn't completely walked out on them that morning. It was almost like nothing had changed. Almost.

Because with the one person who hadn't left my mind once, there was nothing. No word. No message. No call. I didn't even have his number, and he didn't make an effort to reach me either. It was like we'd existed in a bubble, and once it popped, he vanished with it.

I never asked Belly about him again. But sometimes, when I caught myself staring too long at my notes, drifting somewhere else entirely, I'd feel her eyes on me. Quiet, knowing. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

...

By the time the sky outside faded into deep purple, I forced myself to set up for study mode. If nothing else, I could at least control this—papers, flashcards, highlighters in colour-coded lines, pretzels in one bowl, M&Ms in another. Two water bottles side by side, like I was preparing for battle.

It was ridiculous, maybe, but the ritual helped. If I laid everything out neatly, if I filled the room with snacks and the smell of sugar, it almost felt like normalcy.

Still, my thoughts betrayed me. Every time my hand brushed another flashcard, I heard his voice. Every time I straightened a pen, I saw his face tilted toward mine in the dark. Why say those things if he didn't mean them? And if he did mean them, why disappear? Why let the silence stretch between us until it felt like proof that I had imagined everything?

I laughed under my breath, low and bitter. "Pathetic," I muttered, shaking my head. Two days, and he was still in every corner of my mind like I'd carved space for him without meaning to.

I shoved a highlighter across the desk, forcing my focus back to the books. "Exams, Steph. That's all this is. Exams."

I dropped into the chair, trying to convince myself the buzz in my chest was just nerves, not the ghost of him still haunting me. Not the memory of his hand on mine, or his voice when he said I'd gotten past his walls.

I glanced at the clock. Belly was late—of course she was. Probably raiding the vending machine or stopping to gossip in the hall. Typical. I smiled faintly to myself, shaking my head as I lined up another flashcard.

The knock startled me. Three short raps, a pause, then two more. Our knock.

Finally. Belly.

I stood, crossing the room quickly, already picturing her messy bun and frazzled smile, the way she'd collapse dramatically onto the bed before cracking open her notes.

I twisted the handle and pulled the door open.

And froze.

The breath caught in my throat, my pulse stuttering violently.

Because it wasn't Belly standing there.

It was Conrad.

For a second, I didn't move. Couldn't. My brain scrambled for an explanation that wasn't real, like maybe I was overtired and hallucinating him into existence. But no—he was right there. Real. Solid. His shoulders filled the frame of the doorway, the faint shadows from the hall light cutting across his face.

Every thought I'd buried this week—all the what-ifs, all the why-did n't-he's, all the stupid, aching questions—came rushing back at once, crashing against my ribs so hard I thought I might actually fold in half.

I hadn't let myself imagine this. Him showing up. Him finding me. Him standing here like nothing and everything had changed. And now, faced with the reality of it, I didn't know what to do.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the door, the wood grounding me as the world tilted. My lips parted, but nothing came out at first. Just air. Just disbelief.

Finally, barely a whisper, the only word I could manage slipped free.

He didn't flinch. His eyes stayed on mine, steady, unreadable. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, palm open toward me.

"Walk with me?"