The next day, Penelope woke up with the scent of grass in her hair and Julian's words still echoing in her head—ghost stories that haunt people.
She hadn't told anyone about the letters. About how she'd rested her head on his shoulder. About the way her fingers had almost brushed his, but hadn't. On purpose.
Maybe.
At lunch, Veronica leaned across the table, eyes sharper than usual.
"You're slipping," she said.
Penelope blinked. "Excuse me?"
Veronica didn't smile. "You're different. Distracted. You haven't answered the group chat in two days, and Callie said you bailed on the movie night."
Penelope felt her chest tighten. "I've just been busy."
"With him," Veronica said, like it wasn't a question.
Penelope hesitated. "Yeah. Kind of."
Veronica looked at her for a long time. Then: "Be careful."
"Of what?"
"Of forgetting who you are just because someone makes you feel seen."
Penelope stared at her. "You don't even know him."
"I don't have to," Veronica said, picking at her salad. "You're already doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The disappearing thing. You go quiet. You float. You start rewriting the story in your head before you even know how it ends."
Penelope folded her arms. "So I'm not allowed to like someone?""You're allowed to love someone," Veronica said, softer now. "I just don't want you to lose yourself doing it."
It landed like a punch wrapped in silk.
Because she knew Veronica meant well. She always had.
But love—whatever was growing between her and Julian—wasn't neat. It didn't follow the rules. It couldn't fit in the box her friends had made for her.
So Penelope did what she always did when things got too close.
She changed the subject.
But deep down, she heard it.
Not just Veronica's warning…
But the sound of something beginning to crack.