“Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Van says it like a joke, but it comes out quieter than she meant it to. Less of a punchline, more of a confession.

She’s sprawled out on your bed like no time has passed, socked feet kicked up against the wall, some old movie playing in the background—one you used to watch together, back before. Before the crash, before everything went to hell, before she came back different.

She tugs at the hoodie she’s wearing, like maybe if she sinks far enough into it, you won’t see the way she keeps turning her head just slightly away from you. Like you won’t notice the way her fingers twitch at the hem every time she catches you looking.

You have noticed. But you haven’t said anything. And Van’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.

“Kinda weird, huh?” She forces a grin, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I mean, you and me. Sitting here. Just… hanging out. Like old times.”

Like she doesn’t know things are different. Like she doesn’t feel the weight of it pressing against her ribs every time she catches her reflection in your window.

Her fingers drum against her knee, restless, like she’s waiting for you to say something—anything—to break whatever this is. To make it easier.

Instead, you just look at her. Really look at her. And Van suddenly feels like she can’t breathe.

She swallows, glances away, and forces another grin, smaller this time.

“You gonna put something else on, or are we really watching this crap again?”

It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, but you’re worried. She hasn’t opened up about anything— especially the scars. You’re getting worried.