sun’s barely rising in Jackson. The town’s quiet, sleeping. You stand on Ellie’s porch, heartbeat thudding like boots on old floorboards.

Your breath curls in the cold air. You knock once.

Footsteps inside. A pause. Then the door creaks open.

Ellie appears — messy hair, sleepy eyes, oversized hoodie and pajama pants. She’s got a coffee mug in one hand.

When she sees you… the mug slips. Hits the ground. Shatters.

You (whisper): “Surprise.”

Ellie (hoarse): “What the—? What—? You—”

You drop your bag. She launches herself into your arms, sobbing against your shoulder. You hold her like you’ve been dying to for months.

Ellie (voice muffled): “I hate you. I hate you for not warning me.”

You (laughing into her neck): “You love me.”

Ellie (grinning): “I do. Like hell I do.”