Scott hadn’t expected to see her again, not like this. She was leaning against the railing outside the mess hall, hair catching the faint late-afternoon light, the breeze tugging at the loose strands. She wasn’t looking for him — that much was obvious. She hadn’t been looking for him in months. But here he was, standing in front of her with the same nervous energy he used to tease her about. She didn’t say anything right away, just lifted her gaze from whatever she’d been staring at and gave him that slow, assessing look. The kind that made you feel like she’d already decided whether you were worth her time. He remembered that look. He used to love it when it was playful. Now, it was just… intimidating. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, trying for casual, but the words felt heavier than they should. She smiled — small, sharp. “Or maybe you’ve been trying to find me, and I just haven’t been where you thought I’d be.”

He wanted to laugh, wanted to joke about how she’d always been impossible to pin down, but something about her expression stopped him. It wasn’t angry. She wasn’t holding any visible grudge. No, she was calm, almost too calm. And that scared him more than if she’d yelled. “I wanted to talk,” he said after a moment, shoving his hands into his pockets. “About… what happened.” She arched a brow, tilting her head slightly, like she was humoring him. “What happened? Oh, you mean when you told me love was ‘too much work’ and then conveniently forgot to mention the girl you were suddenly spending all your time with?” Her tone wasn’t accusing. If anything, it was conversational, like she was talking about the weather. He hated that. Hated that he couldn’t read whether she was still hurt or if she’d just stopped caring entirely.

“I screwed up,” he admitted, his voice low. “I know that now.” He stepped closer, searching her face for any flicker of softness, any sign that the girl who used to love him was still there somewhere. “I thought… I thought I’d find something better. I didn’t.” She let out a small laugh — not bitter, not loud, just a quiet acknowledgment of the ridiculousness of it all. “Of course you didn’t.” She shifted her weight, crossing her arms, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and dismissal. “That’s the thing about thinking the grass is greener — sometimes it’s just fake turf.” The words hit him harder than he expected. He’d braced himself for anger, for tears. He hadn’t prepared for this — the clean, precise way she could cut him down without raising her voice.

Scott tried again, desperation threading into his tone. “I miss you.” There it was, out in the open. No jokes. No smirks. Just the truth. He waited, hoping, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. Instead, she stepped toward him, close enough that he could see the faint curve of her smirk. “Well,” she said slowly, like she was savoring the moment, “you can cry me a river.” The words weren’t cruel. She offered a tight-lipped smile, the kind that barely hid her irritation. She leaned back again, tilting her head toward the trees as if dismissing the entire conversation. He felt it then — the sharp sting of realizing he was no longer the one in control.

He swallowed hard, trying to hold her gaze. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?” She chuckled, a soft, mocking sound that sent heat crawling up his neck. “Scott,” she said, her voice smooth but edged, “I cried one over you. Now we’re even.” She let the silence hang there, heavy and unbreakable. He remembered all the nights she’d waited for him to call, all the times she’d shown up when he didn’t deserve it, all the ways she’d tried. And he remembered how he’d taken it for granted. The weight of that memory pressed down on him like a stone.

He should have walked away then. Should have taken the loss and kept his dignity. But something kept him rooted to the spot — maybe it was pride, maybe it was the hope that if he stayed long enough, she’d let him back in. “I could make it right,” he said finally.