"Rassi, you don’t get to choose who lives or dies, fate already did," Phoebe declared, holding a worn-out script in one hand, the other dramatically stretched toward the ceiling as she paced across their dorm room. "You just get to live with the aftermath!"
She spun, overacting with flair right in front of the dresser like it was center stage.
gan clapped slowly from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, munching on a granola bar. "Okay, drama queen. Remind again, are you acting or processing your own trauma?"
"Both," Phoebe replied with a wink, flipping her curls like she was in a shampoo ad. "Thank you, audience. I’ll be here all day. Literally."
rlina smiled from her bed by the window, her legs tucked under her. The sun filtered in, catching dust motes in the air, and for a mont, everything felt still. Peaceful, even.
It had been three days since she t Conor Lesnar. Three long, nauseating days. gan and Phoebe had both asked, carefully and quietly, if she was okay. She’d said she didn’t want to talk about it.
Phoebe had hugged her. gan had nodded in understanding.
She hadn’t lied. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not the part where he said he wasn’t responsible for her mom’s death. Not the part where he admitted to having her an affair with her mom.
That part—God. That part made her feel like she was drowning. Her throat clenched, and sotis she caught herself gasping for air in the silence.
She couldn’t even say it out loud.
Conor Lesnar. Her mother.
Affair.
What kind of woman had her mother truly been? And what did that make her? A daughter unraveling her own sanity for a mother whose affection ca wrapped in secrets and sha?
’Maybe Phoebe was right,’ she thought bitterly. Maybe her mom was really just that desperate lady hooking up...
She tucked the ache away like a letter she wasn’t ready to read again. Today wasn’t about pain. It was about Phoebe, and her play.
That was the only thing rlina was going to focus on. She was going to cheer her friend on, show up, and have fun. Nothing else mattered tonight.
The Belford Theatre Hall was buzzing with chatter and perfu and velvet seats. Phoebe’s na was on the glossy playbills in bold letters: Starring Phoebe Johnson as Rassi.
rlina, Louis, and gan walked in together, scanning for empty seats. Keith waved them over near the middle row. He was already seated, an empty chair beside him.
"Hey," rlina said, sliding into the row behind Keith with gan and Louis.
"Hey," Keith called over his shoulder. "Tonight’s gonna be insane. I heard she made soone cry during rehearsals."
"That’s kinda her brand," gan laughed, flipping open her bag of Skittles.
rlina settled in, fidgeting with her phone. The lights hadn’t dimd yet. She looked around—and then she saw him.
Craig.
Her heart skipped like it had just tripped over itself.
He was walking down the aisle slowly, hands in his pockets, as if he had all the ti in the world. As if he wasn’t the reason her pulse had just taken off in a sprint.
He looked the sa, effortlessly put together—casual, yet undeniably sharp. Seeing him now, after three long days, sent a quiet ache through her chest, like ti had stretched endlessly between them, making this mont feel both familiar and painfully distant.
She hadn’t spoken to Craig since that night at the construction site. Not a word.
Not even after he sent that Instagram ssage, she hadn’t replied. Not because she didn’t want to. She did. Desperately. But every ti she thought about him, a knot tightened in her chest. Embarrassnt, confusion, the ache of sothing she couldn’t quite na. So instead of answering, she avoided him. She avoided everything.
The truth was, she couldn’t bear to face him. Not after everything Conor had said. Not with the weight of that letter revelation still stuck in her mory.
Conor claid he hadn’t told Craig about the affair. Or the letter. If that was true—if there was still a piece of this ss Craig didn’t know—then she needed it to stay that way. She couldn’t bear the thought of him looking at her differently. Not now. Not after everything.
And then their eyes found each other.
His gaze was as steady as ever, yet the air between them was charged with sothing new.
The noise in the room faded. The laughter, the rustle of programs, gan whispering beside her—it all dissolved into a soft murmur in the background. It was just him now. Him, and that look.
Her lips parted. She mouthed a silent ’hi’ so soft it felt like a secret.
His face held its usual calm, but his eyes shimred with a brief, restless spark. Like he’d been waiting for this mont too, but didn’t know what to do with it.
He returned the silent greeting ’hi’ His voice too fragile to speak aloud, like saying it might break the spell.
rlina inhaled, slow and shaky, fingers curling around her popcorn. Why did this feel so intense? So intimate? They were just two people mouthing words in a crowded theatre. It shouldn’t have felt like a confession, like a secret they weren’t ready to share with the world?
He finally looked away, sliding into the seat beside Keith. Then the lights dimd.
Halfway through the performance, Louis nudged her during a codic monologue. "Why is this lowkey better than Netflix?"
She laughed. "Because Netflix doesn’t yell at you live on stage."
He leaned closer. "Rassi’s got rage issues. And fabulous hair."
She snorted, and just as she leaned back, her tub of popcorn slipped from her lap and tumbled to the floor—followed by her phone clattering loudly against the tile.
"Oh—shit!" she whispered, lunging to catch it.
Heads turned—Keith’s included.
And then Craig’s.
His eyes locked on her and Louis for a heartbeat longer than necessary, revealing a storm of emotions he refused to na. He caught her laugh, caught Louis’s smirk, and then abruptly looked away, like he’d burned himself.
rlina’s cheeks flad, but it wasn’t just embarrassnt. It was the weight of Craig’s gaze, the way it unsettled her, stirred sothing she didn’t want to admit.
She tucked her phone back into her lap and forced herself to look ahead like nothing had happened, but deep inside, her heart was racing.
Why did it feel like she’d stepped into a quiet tension only they could feel?
After the show, everyone gathered outside the theater entrance. Phoebe bounced toward them, glowing.
"Guys, I am so emotionally drained and also starving. How did I do? Wait—don’t answer that. I know I crushed it."
"You crushed it," gan grinned.
"I cried," Keith added.
"I laughed," Louis said. "And almost choked on popcorn."
Phoebe gasped. "You guys are actual angels. You all ca. I love you. Group hug?"
"No," Craig said imdiately, stepping back a little. "Absolutely not."
"I second that," Keith nodded.
Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. But I do want to say thank you, and I’m feeling generous, so—dinner at Barsea? My treat. Let’s celebrate."
"Ooh," gan said. "Say less."
Louis sighed. "I’m gonna have to say no. I’ve got this stupid project due first thing tomorrow. Wish I could."
Phoebe nodded, then turned to rlina. "You’re fine if he leaves, right?"
rlina opened her mouth. Then closed it. "Um... yeah. Louis is actually my ride, so I think I have to go too."
Phoebe’s smile faltered, just for a second.
rlina noticed and quickly added, "But gan can stay. Keith or Craig could probably drop you off, right?"
Craig spoke up before anyone else could.
"I can also drop you off," he said quietly, his voice steady but with a tinge of hesitation beneath it, as if offering more than just a ride. "I an...if that’s the only problem."
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