The space between them was no longer just a few feet of carpet in a messy bedroom; it was a territory fraught with unspoken confessions and carefully avoided truths. Nina stood by his desk, Kofi sat on the edge of his bed, and the silence was a living thing, full of the ghosts of almost-kisses and bonfire games.
'Okay,' Nina thought, her heart doing a frantic, traitorous rhythm against her ribs. 'This is it. The point of no return. Say something. Say anything.' But her brain, usually a rapid-fire generator of witty comebacks and strategic plans, was completely, utterly empty.
Kofi looked at her, at the way the afternoon light from his window caught the gold flecks in her eyes, at the small, nervous way she was twisting the ring on her finger. The fear was still there, a cold knot in his stomach, but it was overshadowed by a new, stronger feeling: a profound, bone-deep exhaustion with his own cowardice.
