You sit in silence, your suitcase in the backseat, a playlist playing that’s way too sentimental. Ross keeps his eyes on the road like if he looks at you, he’ll fall apart. When he pulls up to the terminal, he helps you with your bag. You hug him tight. Too tight. “Text me when you land,” he says. You nod. Start walking. But he calls out after you— “I was gonna tell you I love you.” You turn around. “But you’re already leaving.”