The silence of my room felt like a physical weight after the charged air outside. I didn't even turn on the main light, opting for the small desk lamp that cast a soft, amber glow over my notebooks. I dropped my bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Then, the vibration started.
Bzz-bzz. Bzz-bzz. Bzzzzzzzz.
My phone was a frantic heartbeat against my mattress. I didn't have to look to know who it was. I reached out, the screen illuminating my face with a harsh, clinical white.
Ionique: Dary are u home?
Ionique: I can't stop thinking about it.
Ionique: Like was I too obvious? Did I make it weird for everyone?
Ionique: I feel like such an idiot for saying it in front of u guys.
Ionique: But did u see his face? He was so nice about it which actually makes it WORSE.
Ionique: I wish he'd just been mean so I could be mad at him.
I sighed, my thumbs hovering over the glass. I felt for her—I really did. That raw, exposed feeling of putting your heart on a table only for someone to politely hand it back to you is a specific kind of ache. I wanted to be the friend she needed, the one who validated her and offered the right words of comfort.
Me: You weren't an idiot. You were brave. Most people never say anything at all.
I hit send, but before the message even registered as "read," three more popped up.
Ionique: But do u think he knew before?
Ionique: Luka said it was fine but Luka is always nice.
Ionique: Dary, do u think there's a chance he'll change his mind once school starts?
I stared at that last question. Do you think there's a chance?
My mind flashed back to the gate. The way Steph had looked at me when we were alone on the bench. The way he had walked me home despite the thirty-minute bus ride waiting for him in the opposite direction. And that awkward, hovering half-hug—the hesitation that felt more intimate than a real embrace ever could have.
A cold prickle of guilt washed over me. I was Ionique's friend. I had hugged her while she cried. I was supposed to be on her team. But how could I tell her that the boy who just rejected her had spent the last forty minutes tracing the path to my front door?
I felt like a traitor in my own skin.
Every time my phone buzzed with another confession of her heartbreak, I felt the memory of Steph's presence more vividly. It was a strange, uncomfortable duality: mourning a loss with my friend while secretly guarding a beginning I wasn't even sure was real.
"I want to see you off first," he had said.
Why? If he was so worried about things being awkward with Ionique's parents, shouldn't he have been worried about being alone with me, too? Unless... it wasn't awkward with me.
I rolled onto my side, ignoring the latest string of texts. I thought about Class 9B. On Monday, we wouldn't just be "accidental nearness" anymore. We would be a shared reality. I thought about him sitting at a desk, maybe looking toward the door when I walked in.
I felt a small, terrifying spark of hope, and immediately tried to douse it. It was too messy. Between Ionique's texts and the lingering scent of the night air, I realized that the "space where something almost lives" was getting crowded.
I finally typed back a short, neutral reply to Ionique, telling her to try and sleep. Then, I turned my phone face down.
In the dark, I didn't think about the rejection or the bus station or the texts. I only thought about the moment he leaned in, and the silent, invisible vector that now pulled me toward a Monday I wasn't prepared for.