You don’t do love anymore.

You’ve done the heartbreak thing. The almost-relationships. The girls who liked the idea of you but not the intensity. The ones who said you were “too much” or “too sensitive” or “too complicated.”

So you learned.

Love is inefficient. Unreliable. A waste of emotional energy.

That’s what you tell yourself. Especially now. Especially because the girl you’re thinking about is dead.

Maddie has her body back. The chaos has settled. Janet is no longer pretending to be someone else.

She’s just… Janet.

A spirit. A girl who never got to finish her life. And somehow that’s worse.

Because now when you look at her, you’re not looking at stolen skin.

You’re looking at her. You try not to linger when she drifts too close.

You try not to notice the way her voice softens only when she talks to you.

You absolutely do not acknowledge the way your stomach flips when her hand brushes yours — because you can touch her.

That’s the problem. You can touch her. Most people can’t.

When your fingers lace with hers, she’s solid. Cool, but real. There’s pressure. Weight. Choice.

Which makes it dangerous.

“A living girl can’t fall for a dead girl,” you mutter to yourself one afternoon, pacing behind the bleachers.

From the other side, you hear Rhonda scoff. “Oh please.”

“I’m not,” you insist.

“You stare at her like she’s the last song on earth,” Rhonda says flatly.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. Because your heart will not shut up.

It pounds whenever Janet laughs. Tightens whenever she looks distant. Softens when she gets that quiet, vulnerable expression like she’s still surprised someone wants her around.

And you hate that part the most. Because she looks at you like you’re a miracle.

Janet, for her part, is confused.

She doesn’t understand why you pull away when she steps closer.

She doesn’t understand why you blush and then immediately act irritated.

One night, she corners you gently near the auditorium doors.

“Did I do something?” she asks. Her voice isn’t sharp. It’s careful.

“No,” you say too quickly.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You won’t look at me.”

You look everywhere except her face. “I’m alive,” you blurt out.

Janet blinks. “Yes. I’m aware.”

“And you’re—”

She smiles faintly. “Dead. Also aware.”

“It’s not supposed to work like this.”

“What isn’t?”

Your chest tightens. “This.”

She steps closer. “You think I don’t feel it?” she says quietly.

That stops you cold.

“I died before I figured out who I was,” Janet continues. “Before I figured out who I wanted. And then I spent all that time fighting for control.”

Her hand hovers near yours. “Now I know.”

Your pulse is unbearable. “You deserve someone alive,” you whisper.

Janet tilts her head. “You deserve someone who chooses you.”

She reaches forward. Takes your hand. Solid. Intentional. “You think I wouldn’t?” she murmurs.

Your brain is screaming no no no don’t fall again- But your heart?

Your heart is already gone.

And the worst part?

You don’t want it back.