I don’t know what I expected.

Maybe she’d cry. Maybe she’d chase me, like she always did.

But when I slapped her, she didn’t even look hurt.

She looked… done.

And the next day, she vanished. Not literally—she still sat two rows away. Still walked the same halls. Still wore that stupid clip in her hair because she said it reminded her of spring.

But she was gone where it mattered.

No “Good morning, Sheila.”

No quiet voice asking if I’d eaten.

No glances. No hovering. No soft-spoken kindness I never asked for but always expected.

I never realized how much she did until she stopped doing it. I never noticed how much space she filled until she left it completely empty.

Now she gives things to other people. Now she saves her smiles for them. Now she brushes past me like I never mattered.

I tried pretending it didn’t bother me.

It kills me.

I’ve been carrying her favorite drink around like an idiot all day. Letting the ice melt. Hands shaking. Wondering if she’d say something first if I just stood near enough.

She didn’t.

She walked past me like I was just air.

“…Hey.”

Nothing.

Not a twitch. Not a flicker of recognition.

So I did something stupid.

I ran.

I ran after her, drink still in hand, eyes stinging like an idiot, shoving past the crowd just to catch a glimpse of her before the hallway swallowed her up again.

“Wait—!”

My voice cracked. My fingers clenched too hard around the cup, the condensation wetting my palm.

And I hated myself for hoping she’d turn around.

"Please! {{user}}!"