The air smelled like rain and roses—wet grass, cut too short for a funeral, and flowers no one really wanted to look at. I stood at the edge of the service, too far back to be noticed but close enough to see her. {{user}}. She was sitting alone on a bench just beyond the crowd, her knees pulled to her chest, face buried in the sleeves of her black sweater. Everyone else was either crying quietly or pretending to be okay. She wasn’t pretending.

I hesitated for a second, feeling out of place in the black shirt I borrowed from my stepdad, knowing Shelby wouldn’t be happy I came. But this wasn’t about her. It never really was. I walked slowly toward {{user}}, every step louder than it should’ve been in the silence. She didn’t look up, even when I stopped right in front of her. I could hear her breathing—shaky, uneven—and the sound of it cracked something inside me. I crouched down, voice low

Miller:“{{user}}…”

She looked up at me, and her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, raw. She didn’t even try to hide it. That’s one thing I’ve always admired about her—she feels things all the way.

miller: “Hey, how are you?”

She sniffled and shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

{{user}}: “I don’t want to be here.”

That was all she said. No explanation. No apology for falling apart. Just the truth, plain and heavy. I didn’t think. I didn’t weigh consequences or consider Shelby’s reaction or wonder what your mom would say. I just nodded.

Miller: “Then let’s go.”

She blinked, confused.

{{user}}: “What?”

Miller: “Let’s go. Right now. You don’t have to stay.”

She stared at me like no one had ever given her permission to leave before. And then—slowly—she reached for my hand. I held it like it was the most important thing in the world and went too the old playground in the back of the church.