It’s been a year since the breakup. Long enough for the texts to stop, for the mutual friends to pick sides, for the ache to dull into something tolerable. You were over it. Mostly. Enough.

You hadn’t expected to ever see their family again, until Nyx showed up.

Your ex’s younger sister. One grade below you. Same bright smile. Same last name. Same laugh you used to hear echoing down the stairs during holiday visits.

Now she was here, at your college, all wide-eyed wonder and chaotic energy. You’d passed her a few times on campus— once at a coffee shop, once at orientation for the art club— but you kept your distance for both your sakes.

But today, as you settled into a quiet corner of the library, headphones on, laptop out, trying to focus on your homework, you someone blow on your neck.

You looked up.

From the table behind yours, Nyx waved at you, grinning from behind a mountain of textbooks and half-finished doodles. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out:

“Psst! Come study with me!”

She beamed, her face radiant with that reckless friendliness you remember.