Chapter 39

Lila didn’t sleep that night.

She lay on her back staring at the ceiling, watching the slow sweep of headlights bleed through the thin gap in her curtains, the orange glow stretching and shrinking like it was breathing with her. Her phone rested face-down on her chest, heavier than it should’ve been, like if she picked it up, she might tip something delicate out of balance.

Rowan had stayed.

Not for long, just long enough, but long enough to matter.

That fact circled her thoughts endlessly, soft but relentless. Rowan hadn’t run. She hadn’t deflected. She hadn’t made excuses and disappeared like everyone else who’d ever gotten scared of wanting Lila too much.

She stayed.

Lila curled onto her side and pulled the blanket tighter around herself, pressing her knuckles against her mouth to quiet the ache building behind her ribs. She replayed the porch light scene in fragments: Rowan’s voice cracking when she admitted fear, the way she’d looked almost startled by her own feelings, the way she’d stopped herself mid-word.

I lo—

The almost haunted Lila.

Not because Rowan hadn’t said it but because she’d wanted to. Because Lila had seen it in her eyes before the panic surged in and rewrote the ending.

I like you. I like you a lot.

It hadn’t felt like a lie. It had felt like restraint.

And somehow, that hurt more and meant more at the same time.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, breathing through the mess of it. She was used to certainty. Used to knowing where she stood, even if the answer wasn’t what she wanted. With Rowan, everything existed in this aching in-between where hope and fear lived right on top of each other.

She trusted Rowan.

That realization settled slowly, heavily.

Trust wasn’t something Lila gave easily. It usually arrived after months of proof, consistency, reassurance spoken clearly and often. With Rowan, it had slipped in sideways, through late-night conversations, stolen glances across gym bleachers, the way Rowan always watched to make sure she got home safe without ever making a big deal of it.

Trust showed up in the smallest moments.

And now Lila had to decide what to do with it.

She wasn’t angry anymore. Hurt, yes. Still bruised around the edges. But anger required certainty, and what she felt now was complicated, an ache threaded with hope she didn’t quite trust yet.

I don’t need perfect. I just need you to stay.

She’d meant it when she said it. Still did. But staying wasn’t just proximity. Staying meant choosing her in daylight, not just under porch lights and whispered apologies. Staying meant standing beside her instead of hovering close enough to touch but far enough to retreat.

By the time the sky began to lighten, pale blue bleeding into gray, Lila had talked herself in circles a hundred times. She finally drifted into sleep just as her alarm went off, exhaustion pulling her under.

School the next day felt… altered.

Not dramatic. Not explosive. Just heavier, like the air itself knew something had shifted and didn’t quite know how to carry it yet. Lila moved through the halls on muscle memory, greeting people, laughing at the right moments, leading practice like she hadn’t spent the night stitching herself back together.

She didn’t look for Rowan.

That was intentional.

If Rowan wanted to find her, she would. If Rowan was serious about staying, she wouldn’t hide behind timing or fear or convenience.

Lila focused on keeping her posture steady, her expression calm. Inside, she was a tangle of nerves. She hated how much she cared, how deeply Rowan’s choices now echoed through her body.

She felt Rowan before she saw her.

It was instinctive, the same way you feel someone staring before you turn your head. Rowan was leaning against the lockers near the gym, arms crossed loosely, posture casual in that carefully constructed way she used when she didn’t want to be read.

But Lila could read her.

Rowan’s eyes found her instantly, softening with something like relief, unguarded, immediate. The sight of it made Lila’s chest tighten painfully.

She approached slowly, heart thudding, every step deliberate. When she stopped in front of Rowan, neither of them spoke at first. The hallway hummed around them, lockers slamming, laughter bursting and fading, the ordinary chaos of school—but it all felt distant, muffled.

“Hey,” Rowan said finally.

“Hey,” Lila replied.

The word carried weight now.

Rowan shifted slightly, like she wasn’t sure where to put herself. “Did you sleep?”

Lila almost laughed. Did you stop thinking about me? would’ve been more honest.

“A little,” she said instead.

Rowan nodded. “Me too.”

They stood there, quiet but not awkward. It was different from before, less charged, more fragile. Like something newly mended that needed careful handling.

“I meant what I said,” Rowan added, voice low. “About staying.”

Lila studied her face. Rowan looked tired, but open. Not defensive. Not braced for impact. That alone felt like progress.

“I know,” Lila said softly.

Rowan hesitated. “I also know I didn’t say everything.”

Lila’s breath caught before she could stop it.

“You didn’t,” she agreed. “But you didn’t lie either.”

Rowan exhaled, relief flickering across her expression like she’d been holding her breath all night. “I don’t want to rush something I care about.”

That word—care—settled deep in Lila’s chest, warm and cautious.

“I don’t want to beg someone to choose me,” Lila said quietly.

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want you to.”

They held each other’s gaze, something unspoken threading between them, an understanding that this wasn’t over, wasn’t fixed, but wasn’t broken either.

“I need time,” Lila said honestly. “Not space. Just time. To see if your actions catch up to your feelings.”

Rowan didn’t hesitate. “They will.”

The certainty in her voice made something fragile bloom inside Lila, hope threading through the cracks she’d tried to seal shut.

“Okay,” Lila said.

Rowan smiled then, small, careful, restrained in a way that felt respectful rather than distant. “Okay.”

As Lila walked away toward her next class, she felt lighter than she had in days. Not settled. Not safe.

But steady.

And for now, that was enough.