Chapter 41

Rowan stood in the hallway long after Lila walked away.

She didn’t know how long, seconds, maybe minutes but the bell had already rung again, the building shifting into after-school quiet. Lockers slammed in distant echoes. Somewhere, a janitor’s cart rattled past.

Rowan didn’t move.

Her chest felt tight, like something essential had been pulled out and left behind in the space between them. Lila’s words replayed on a loop, sharp and relentless.

I don’t want to matter quietly.
I want to be chosen.
I deserve more than almost.

Almost.

The word lodged itself under Rowan’s ribs, pressing inward every time she tried to breathe.

She dragged a hand down her face and finally forced herself to walk. Her legs felt heavy, uncooperative, like they didn’t trust her anymore. Like they knew she’d hesitated when it mattered and were punishing her for it.

Outside, the late afternoon sun washed the school in gold. Normally, Rowan loved this hour, the calm after the chaos, the sense of something earned after a long day. Today, it felt wrong. Too bright. Too indifferent.

She crossed the parking lot without really seeing it, keys clutched tight in her fist. When she reached her car, she leaned forward, forehead resting against the cool metal of the door.

She exhaled shakily.

You didn’t say no; she told herself weakly. You didn’t deny her.

But the excuse rang hollow even inside her own head.

She hadn’t said yes either.

And Lila had seen it. Rowan knew she had. Knew it in the way Lila’s eyes had dimmed, the way her shoulders had squared like she was bracing herself against something inevitable.

Rowan slid into the driver’s seat but didn’t start the car.

Instead, she stared at the steering wheel and thought about all the moments she’d convinced herself she was protecting.

Her team.
Her reputation.
Her future.

All those neat little boxes she’d stacked her life into.

And Lila, bright, impossible Lila, who didn’t fit into any of them.

Rowan had always thought love, real love would feel like certainty. Like clarity. Like knowing exactly what to do.

No one had warned her it would feel like standing on the edge of something enormous, knowing that jumping might change everything and staying still would destroy it anyway.

She drove home on autopilot, the radio off, her mind loud with everything she hadn’t said.

At home, her mom called out a distracted hello from the kitchen. Rowan mumbled something back and escaped upstairs before she could be asked how her day was. She kicked off her shoes, dropped her backpack by the door, and collapsed onto her bed.

The ceiling stared back at her.

Her phone buzzed once.

Her heart leapt before she could stop it.

But it wasn’t Lila. Just a team group chat lighting up with memes and practice reminders. Rowan muted it without reading anything.

She rolled onto her side and pressed her face into her pillow.

“I’m such an idiot,” she muttered.

The words came out raw. Honest.

Because she knew the truth now, in a way she hadn’t let herself admit before.

She loved Lila.

The realization didn’t feel sudden. It felt old like something that had been growing quietly for weeks, months maybe, threading itself through her without permission. The way Rowan looked for Lila in every room. The way her mood shifted depending on whether Lila smiled at her. The way her chest felt too full whenever Lila laughed like she meant it.

Love didn’t arrive with fireworks.

It arrived with fear.

And Rowan had let that fear speak louder than her heart.

She squeezed her eyes shut, replaying the moment in the hallway, the way Lila had asked when she would ever be enough.

Rowan’s throat tightened.

“You are enough,” she whispered to the empty room. “You’re everything.”

But it didn’t matter now. Not if Lila wasn’t there to hear it.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling again, jaw clenched.

She’d spent so long telling herself she was being careful. Responsible. Strategic.

But maybe she’d just been cowardly.

Her phone buzzed again.

This time, she didn’t look right away. She was afraid, afraid it would be Lila, afraid it wouldn’t be. Afraid of what she might say. Afraid of what she wouldn’t.

Finally, she picked it up.

Lila: I think I need some space tonight.

Rowan’s chest caved in.

She typed back immediately, then erased it. Typed again. Deleted. Her fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard.

I understand.
Too distant.

Please don’t.
Too desperate.

I’m sorry.
Too small.

She let the phone fall back onto her chest, blinking rapidly.

Space.

Lila was right to ask for it. Rowan knew that. She’d pushed and pulled and hesitated until something beautiful had turned brittle.

Still, the thought of that space, of not hearing Lila’s voice, not seeing her smile, felt unbearable.

Rowan sat up suddenly, heart pounding.

No.

She couldn’t do this passively. She couldn’t wait and hope and pray Lila would come back if she didn’t prove, really prove that she meant what she felt.

She grabbed her phone again.

This time, she didn’t overthink it.

Rowan: Okay. I’ll give you space.

Her chest hurt as she typed the next part.

Rowan: But please know this—what you said today stayed with me. All of it.

She paused, then added:

Rowan: You matter to me more than I’ve ever let myself say out loud.

She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send.

The dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Then finally:

Lila: Goodnight, Rowan.

That was all.

Rowan lay back down; phone clutched to her chest like it might anchor her.

Goodnight.

Not goodbye. But not reassurance either.

She closed her eyes, letting the weight of it settle.

For the first time, Rowan didn’t feel confused about what she wanted.

She felt terrified she might have waited too long to say it.

Tomorrow, she decided.

Tomorrow, she would stop hiding behind almosts and maybes and fear.

Tomorrow, she would choose.

Because if there was one thing she knew now—without hesitation—it was this:

Lila wasn’t something she could afford to lose.

And if loving her meant being brave,

Rowan was done pretending she wasn’t capable of that.