It was the kind of Tuesday that felt like a Monday. Loud. Chaotic. Smelled faintly of burnt toast and rugby socks. Gibsie sat with Joey, Hughie, and the rest of the lads, laughing about something dumb Johnny said—when he saw her.

Her.

Lizzie Young’s twin.

The quiet one. The one who hadn’t spoken a word since Caoimhe died. The one Gibsie hadn’t stopped noticing since they were ten and she beat him at chess without saying a word. The one whose silence cut through him deeper than anyone’s yelling ever could.

And now—

She was smiling.

Barely.

Just the ghost of it, like it surprised even her, like she didn’t mean to do it at all. A private little moment she shared with herself.

But Gibsie caught it. And everything else around him disappeared.

Then Lizzie’s voice broke the spell.

“Oh, now you smile?” she said, storming up behind her sister like she was on fire and couldn’t feel it.

The table went quiet.

Lizzie’s twin froze, lips still curved just slightly, before the guilt slammed it out of her face.

“I’ve been begging for you,” Lizzie said, eyes wide, voice shaking. “Begging for a single word. A look. Something. And now you decide to come back?”

Gibsie stood instinctively, but didn’t speak yet. He just moved a little closer, eyes flicking between the two girls.

“Do you know what it’s like to grieve two sisters when only one is dead?” Lizzie continued, louder now. “Because that’s what you did. You left me. You left me, and I—”

She cut off, like her throat was closing around the words. Her twin reached out a shaky hand, but Lizzie stepped back.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare act like you care now.”

And then Lizzie turned and ran from the lunchroom, her voice still echoing in her sister’s silence.

The girl didn’t move. Didn’t cry. Just sat there, fingers gripping the table like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

Gibsie stepped up beside her and dropped to a crouch, eye-level.

“Hey.”

She didn’t look at him.

“Y’know,” he said quietly, “I saw it. That smile.”

Still nothing.

“I’ve missed you. Even if you didn’t go anywhere.”

Her eyes shifted. Not much, just barely enough to meet his.

Gibsie offered a soft, crooked smile—the real kind, the one that didn’t come out around just anyone.

“You don’t have to talk, okay? Not to anyone. Not even to me.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small, folded packet of her favorite sweets. The ones she always used to eat when they sat across from each other in the library years ago.

He placed it on the table in front of her.

“But when you do,” he said, standing, “I’ll be here.”

And then he walked away, leaving her in the noise, the silence, and the space in between where her voice used to live.