She told herself she wouldn’t look for him. Her mother had reminded her before she left for Tommen that morning — “You’re promised something better now. Keep your chin up and remember that, darling.”

So she clung to Sean’s arm, the “good boy” her parents approved of. He was clean-cut, polite, with a tie knotted too tight and a future mapped out in neat lines — nothing like Patrick Feely.

She almost made it to her locker before she saw him.

Patrick was leaning against the far wall, bag at his feet, a girl laughing too loud at something he barely said. She had her hand on his arm, her body turned into him like she owned that space now — the space that used to belong to her.

She didn’t mean to stop walking. Sean’s words — something about his father offering her dad a job — trailed off when he felt her freeze beside him.

Patrick looked up at that exact moment.

Their eyes locked across the crowded hall. She felt it like a slap — that rush of heat and ache that hadn’t faded, no matter how many times she lied to herself.

Patrick didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word. The girl at his side tugged at his sleeve, trying to pull his attention back to her, but his gaze stayed pinned to the only thing in the hall that mattered.

Her.

For a heartbeat, she wanted to run to him — just like old times, when he’d wait outside her house in the rain because he hated knocking on her door. But Sean shifted closer, his hand tightening on hers like a collar, and Patrick’s jaw twitched.

No one said a word.

And then the bell rang, loud and sharp, and she let Sean tug her away. She didn’t look back — but she knew Patrick stood there, watching, with a new girl clinging to his arm and a storm raging behind his eyes.