Eli didn't sleep that night.
His grandmother's words looped in his head like a scratched recording.
"Your mother didn't want to believe what your father said. But he told her to get rid of you. That's why he left. You were born, and everything got colder."
He didn't cry. Crying would have been easier.
Instead, he stared at the ceiling and imagined what his life would look like if he'd never been born. Would his mother be happy? Would she have married someone else? Would she still talk to mirrors the way she does when she thinks no one's looking?
By the time morning came, he felt hollowed out — like grief had pulled every thought from him and left just enough to move his body.
At school, he barely spoke.
He avoided eye contact. Even Mia.
Especially Mia.
She'd texted the night before.
"Please talk to me. I don't care how messy it is."
But Eli didn't want to give her a piece of him when he didn't know which piece was real anymore.
He didn't expect her to confront him at school.
He definitely didn't expect her to wait in the dim stairwell behind the library — a space most people forgot existed.
"We need to talk," she said as he walked past.
He froze.
"I'm not in the mood, Mia."
"Too bad."
Her tone was sharp but low. She stepped into his path, forcing his eyes to meet hers. There was no softness in her expression this time. Only fire.
"You've been distant for weeks. I thought maybe it was school stress, but you've shut me out so hard, I barely recognize you anymore."
"Because maybe you were never supposed to," he said bitterly. "Maybe this version of me isn't someone people are meant to know."
Mia stared at him.
"Then why let me in at all, Eli? Why ask me to care if you were always planning to disappear behind those walls again?"
"Eli."
He wanted to leave but paused mid-step.
"I'm not in the mood, Mia," he said, turning his face away.
"Then make room for the mood," she replied, stepping forward. "Because I'm not leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on."
He sighed, his voice dry.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
The silence stretched between them like an unspoken dare.
"You know," Eli began slowly, "you think you know someone — even yourself — until a part of your life cracks open and everything you believed turns into noise you can't quiet down."
Mia tilted her head slightly, unsure where he was going.
"Something happened, didn't it?"
He met her eyes — but didn't answer.
"Eli, you've been off for weeks. You don't text back, you barely speak. I've had to guess where your head is because you won't let me in."
His voice was barely above a whisper now.
"Maybe some places aren't safe to walk into, even with good intentions."
"So that's it? You're just going to shut down and expect me to accept it?"
"No," he said quietly. "I'm saying… I'm not ready to open that door."
Outside the stairwell, a group of students passed. A few slowed, glancing through the glass slit in the door. One of them whispered, "Is that Eli?"
"You always do this," Mia said, her voice now tight. "You pull away when things get heavy. Like you'd rather drown than let someone pull you to the surface."
Eli turned to her sharply.
"Maybe I've been underwater longer than you think."
There was a beat of stunned silence. Not anger. Not sarcasm. Just… exhaustion.
"I didn't know," she whispered. "But I would've stayed anyway."
"And I didn't want you to," Eli said, softer now. "Because I didn't want to risk breaking something that still looked whole from the outside."
Mia stepped back, wounded but not angry.
"You don't have to tell me everything. I just want to know if you still want me here."
His eyes faltered, like her question punched the breath from his ribs.
"I don't know what I want."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay. But when you do… I'll still be around."
And just like that, she walked away, leaving Eli standing alone on the stairwell steps — words trapped on the tip of his tongue, too scared to leap.