By the time the food arrived, the table was a mix of half-told stories, sauce packets, and overlapping laughter.
I poked at my fries. Ate maybe three.
Tiana and Jamie were fully locked in chaos-mode—trading stories about summer tech camps, social engineering pranks, and one particularly aggressive school debate club meltdown where someone cried over Oxford commas.
But then Jamie slowed down.
Just a little.
And the tone shifted.
"You know," he said, wiping his hands with a napkin, "when Raven first moved to Australia, he didn't talk much."
Tiana glanced over. "Wait, really?"
"Oh yeah," Jamie said. "He'd respond, but he never started conversations. Just kind of… observed. Took everything in. Always had this look like he was planning an escape route. We used to call him Ghost Boy for the first month."
I turned slightly toward Raven.
He didn't look embarrassed. Just still.
Jamie kept going. "But then one day, I saw him helping this kid in the dorm's shared kitchen. The kid was younger—real mess, couldn't open a can of beans to save his life. Raven didn't even speak at first. Just took the can opener, did it for him, and said, 'Try again. Slower.' And I swear, that moment flipped a switch."
I stared at Raven, who was suddenly very interested in the condensation on his cup.
Jamie smiled faintly. "From then on, everyone trusted him. Not because he was loud. Because he watched people. Paid attention. Remembered things."
Tiana looked impressed. "I'd kill for mysterious quiet credibility. I'm just loud and concerning."
Jamie bumped her shoulder. "You're iconic."
But I wasn't listening anymore.
Because Jamie had said the word remembered.
And that word had already been following me around like a ghost ever since Raven brought up my sketchbook.
He remembered.
That one time I accidentally left it out in the living room, pages open to a half-finished drawing of a boy with a closed mouth and dark eyes.
He remembered what it meant to me.
He remembered it four years later.
And he never said anything until now.
Why?
Why say it now?
Why bring it up so casually and then drop it like it wasn't pressing its hand right down on the center of my chest?
I wanted to ask.
But I didn't know how.
And Raven?
He hadn't looked up once during Jamie's story.
His posture was relaxed. Casual.
But his knuckles were pale where he gripped the edge of the table.
I realized something then, quiet and sharp.
I didn't really know him.
Not the way I thought I did.
Not the way I used to, when I was fourteen and he was the tall, unreadable boy who smelled like winter and disappeared when the room got too quiet.
I thought I had him filed under "complicated-but-kind."
But now?
There were new tabs.
Grief.
Anger.
Memory.
And somewhere, deep in my gut: Maybe.
Maybe there was more.
Maybe I was supposed to find out.
And maybe I wasn't ready.
________
After everyone had decimated their burgers and the neon lights had stopped feeling charming and started feeling like a visual assault, Raven paid the bill (like it wasn't a big deal, like he hadn't just been quietly tracking everyone's meal without asking).
We filed out of The Rave into the warm, late afternoon light. That golden hour glow that turns everything too soft, too movie-like.
Jamie stretched his arms overhead. "That was better than I expected. Didn't think fake neon and fries would feel like a spiritual experience."
"It was the company," Tiana said. She was beaming. Actually beaming.
I narrowed my eyes. "You're suspiciously bubbly."
"Shut up," she whispered, elbowing me. "He likes coding and sarcasm. Let me have this."
We climbed into the car in the same formation: Jamie in front with Raven, Tiana and I in the back.
But something about the return trip felt… different.
Quieter.
Jamie still cracked jokes—low, effortless things about the menu, the sauce packets in his hoodie pocket, how Raven once mistook parmesan for coconut flakes. Tiana responded with her usual wit.
But Raven didn't say much this time.
His hands on the wheel were calm, but his jaw was tight. Not visibly. Not if you didn't know him.
But I did.
I watched him in the mirror again.
Wondered what he was thinking.
Wondered if he was… distant now.
Or if I was just feeling everything too much.
We pulled up to Tiana's house first. Jamie hopped out before she did.
He walked her to the door.
Like… full-on walked her.
I watched from the backseat as they said something that made her cover her mouth laughing. He leaned a little closer, said something else. She flicked him playfully on the chest. He grinned.
And then he said goodbye.
No hug. Just a look.
But the look was enough.
She shut the door behind her and he jogged back to the car with a smirk like he'd just landed a perfect round in a video game.
"She's fun," Jamie said, slipping back into the front seat. "Smart. Way too quick for me."
"She likes you," I said, immediately regretting the honesty.
Jamie grinned wider. "I know."
Raven snorted softly.
We drove the next few blocks in easy silence.
Then Raven pulled up in front of our house.
He didn't park.
Just idled.
I reached for my seatbelt, suddenly unsure what to say.
Jamie turned around to me. "Later, Dali. Thanks for the sarcasm and secondhand fries."
"Don't spend all your charm points in one place," I replied, trying to sound normal.
Then I looked at Raven.
He met my eyes briefly.
And just said, "I've gotta head out with Jamie for a bit. Might be home late."
"Cool," I said, voice far too casual. "Coolcoolcool."
He nodded.
And that was it.
No teasing.
No lingering glances.
Just… nothing.
I climbed out.
Shut the door behind me.
Watched them pull away.
And for the first time all day, I felt completely alone.
________
The house was dim when I walked in. Golden light from the kitchen. A flicker of TV from the living room. Dishes stacked neatly in the drying rack.
Home.
Comfortable, familiar, normal.
Which would've been great—if I felt even remotely normal.
Jayden was sprawled across the living room floor, game controller in hand, his character on-screen surrounded by explosions and very aggressive background music. His expression was intense. His posture? Chaotic noodle energy.
"Hey," I said, dropping my bag near the stairs.
"You're late," he muttered, not looking up. "I thought you ditched us for your new college crew."
"I did. We started a band. It's called Emotionally Repressed & The Misunderstood."
"Sounds like a cult."
"Only on weekends."
He finally looked up. "You wanna help me beat this boss? I've died five times. It keeps spamming fireballs."
I was tired. My brain was full of half-finished thoughts and microexpressions I couldn't decode. But I nodded.
"Sure. Let me guess—you're under-leveled and overconfident."
He handed me the second controller. "I prefer the term 'optimistically reckless.'"
For the next forty-five minutes, I threw myself into the game.
Which was a terrible idea.
Because every time I wasn't actively dodging something or casting spells, my brain wandered.
Back to the car.
To Tiana and Jamie.
To Jamie's stories.
To Raven not saying goodbye.
Not even a "see you later."
Not even a second glance when I got out.
And yeah, I shouldn't care.
He's not obligated to say anything. He said he'd be home late. He didn't owe me more.
But…
He always said something.
Even if it was sarcastic. Even if it was just a head nod or a muttered insult about my hoodie.
Tonight? Nothing.
Jayden whooped as we finally cleared the level. "Boom. Take that, Lava Slug King. Who's under-leveled now?"
"Still you," I said, grinning a little. "But congrats on the petty victory."
He paused the game. "You okay, by the way?"
I blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He shrugged. "You're kinda… twitchy."
"I'm always twitchy."
"Yeah, but usually it's funny twitchy. Right now it's, like, nervous breakdown twitchy."
I sighed and leaned back against the couch. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Jayden looked unconvinced but nodded anyway. "If Raven annoys you again, just unplug his headphones when he's editing stuff. He hates that."
"Noted."
Eventually, he drifted off into another game, and I retreated upstairs.
I brushed my teeth with the lights off.
Just didn't feel like dealing with mirrors tonight.
My room felt colder than usual.
Or maybe that was just me.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my phone. I wasn't planning to text him. I wasn't. There was nothing to say.
And he was probably still out.
With Jamie.
Laughing. Talking. Being normal.
And maybe that was what bugged me the most.
He seemed normal.
Totally untouched by the shift I felt.
Did he feel it?
Or had I imagined the way he looked at me lately?
The little pauses. The tension.
The almost-laughter.
The hand brush.
The sketchbook memory.
I pulled my blanket up to my chin and stared at the ceiling.
I tried not to imagine him walking through the door downstairs.
I tried not to wonder what time he'd get back.
I tried not to count the hours since we left the restaurant.
I tried not to think at all.
But thinking is what I do best.
So I played the greatest hits of the night in my head like a cursed jukebox:
Jamie: "Some things stick."
Tiana: "He likes you. I know."
Raven: "I won't be home for a while."
What did that mean?
Was it an excuse?
Was it a hint?
Or was it just… nothing?
My chest ached in that stupid, slow, quiet way—like I'd swallowed a whole paragraph I didn't get to say.
I turned on my side.
Wrapped myself tighter in my blanket.
Closed my eyes.
And tried to forget how much his absence felt like noise.