Emily didn't recognize herself anymore.
Not in the mirror, where her eyes looked darker each day, like bruises carved into her skin. Not in the photos on her wall—old snapshots of her laughing at bonfires and pulling silly faces with Riley. And definitely not in the quiet, ghost-like way she moved through each day, like the spirit of the girl she used to be.
Ever since the teacher's intervention, life had slowed into something almost unbearable. A week had passed since they were told to "pause" everything. Since Riley stopped dropping by her dorm just to sit on her bed. Since they last brushed fingers without needing to speak. Since they kissed and everything felt like it was finally, finally falling into place.
Now it was all splintering apart.
Emily sat on her dorm bed, her knees hugged to her chest, staring at nothing. The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds in pale streaks, dust dancing in the light. Her sketchpad lay open beside her, the corner curled up like it was trying to escape. The page was blank except for the start of a single sentence:
"I don't know how to be without her."
She hadn't finished it. Couldn't. It hurt too much to even try.
Across the room, Opal typed away on her laptop. Her earbuds were in, but Emily could tell she wasn't really focused. Every so often, Opal would glance over, concern flickering in her expression before she turned away again.
They'd been roommates for months, but they'd never been close. Coexisting, not bonding. But in the last week, even that quiet distance felt like a lifeline Emily didn't know she needed.
Opal paused her music, pulled one earbud out, and said without looking, "You didn't eat again."
Emily blinked, pulled from her fog. "What?"
"You skipped breakfast and lunch. Your tray's still by the door."
"I wasn't hungry," she mumbled.
"You never are," Opal replied, gently but firmly. "You can't keep doing this, Em."
Emily flinched at the nickname. Riley used to call her that.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
Opal didn't argue. Just went back to her screen.
Later, the two sat in silence, night pressing against the windows. The room was dim, only the soft glow of fairy lights and the hum of Emily's old desk lamp keeping the dark from swallowing them whole.
Emily lay on her side, facing the wall, earbuds in but no music playing. Just static. A distraction.
Opal finally broke the silence again. "I'm not Riley," she said.
Emily froze.
"But I'm still here."
A pause. Long. Awkward. Raw.
"I know," Emily said quietly.
"I don't need details," Opal continued, "but I do know you're not okay. And I'm not just gonna sit here and watch you rot."
Emily laughed. It was dry, bitter, hollow. "I'm not rotting."
"You're not breathing either."
That hit hard. Too hard.
She sat up slowly, dragging her blanket around her shoulders like a shield. "What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing," Opal said, her voice gentler now. "I just want you to stop pretending. I want you to feel something. Anything."
"I feel everything all the time," Emily snapped, her voice cracking. "And I hate it."
Opal moved to the edge of her bed, watching her. "You know, Riley's been keeping it together like a damn superhero."
Emily's breath caught.
"She's been doing her thing—painting, showing up to class, even smiling for the new kids. But I see her hands shake when no one's looking. I see her eyes flick to every door like she's waiting for you to walk in."
Emily's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't let them fall.
"She told me to look after you," Opal added. "Because she didn't trust herself to come here and not fall apart."
Emily clutched her blanket tighter. "Why does she care so much?"
"Because she loves you, Emily."
That broke her.
She sobbed. Quietly at first, then full-on, ugly crying into the crook of her arm. Opal crossed the room slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, and sat beside her on the bed.
She didn't touch her. Didn't offer any cheesy quotes. Just sat there, holding space.
It was exactly what Emily needed.
When the tears slowed, Emily finally spoke again, her voice raw.
"I want to talk to her."
"So talk to her."
"I can't. We promised—"
"You promised to be miserable?" Opal cut in. "To kill the best thing that's ever happened to you just because a teacher tried to protect herself?"
"She said she'd report us if we didn't stop."
"She also said she admired you. She was trying to warn you, not bury you."
Emily sniffled, wiped her face with the edge of her sleeve. "I think I hate her."
"No, you don't," Opal replied. "You're just scared she's right."
Emily let out a shaky laugh. "She is."
"So what are you gonna do?"
"I don't know," Emily said honestly. "But I miss her so much I can barely breathe."
The next day, Emily dragged herself to class, but her focus was shot. Her thoughts spun around Riley like a planet caught in gravity. Every hallway felt colder without her. Every glance from students more suspicious. She felt like a walking headline—"Lesbian Kisses Cause Chaos" or some stupid tabloid line like that.
By lunch, she couldn't take it.
She skipped out early, ducked into the art building, and found the back stairwell—the place she and Riley used to sit and talk for hours. The place where they first touched, barely brushing hands. Where they almost kissed before everything fell apart.
She sat on the steps and cried again, this time quietly, letting the stone soak her pain.
Back in the dorm, Opal noticed the time and knew Emily had vanished again.
She texted her:
"You don't have to do this alone."
No reply.
But she knew Emily read it. She always read it.
That night, Emily returned late. Her hoodie was pulled up, her eyes red. She didn't speak as she entered, just dropped her bag and collapsed onto the bed.
Opal didn't ask where she'd been.
She just said, "There's leftover ramen on the desk."
Emily blinked at her.
"Eat it before it gets cold," Opal added, flipping a page in her book. "Or don't. Your choice."
Emily looked at the cup, then slowly moved toward it. She ate in silence.
Then: "Thanks."
"Don't thank me," Opal said. "Just get your girl back."
That night, Emily didn't cry. She didn't sleep much either, but at least she ate. A small win. A necessary one.
And in the morning, she opened her phone, stared at Riley's name for a long time, then finally typed:
"Can we talk?"
Then she hit send.