The next morning, Penelope walked through the halls like a ghost wearing her own skin.
Every glance, every passing face felt blurred, muted—like the world was holding its breath, waiting for her to decide whether to shatter or stand.
She didn't expect anything in her locker.
But there it was.
A folded piece of sketchbook paper, edges frayed, taped gently to the inside door. No name. But she knew the handwriting. She knew it like her own heartbeat.
She opened it slowly. Penelope,
I don't disappear because I want to. I disappear because it's the only thing I learned how to do when things get close.
You make me feel like I exist in a way that terrifies me. I don't know how to handle being seen without wanting to run.
But I never meant to hurt you. And I'm sorry.
I just need to know if you're still willing to stay... even when I'm not easy to stay for.
—JPenelope read it twice. Then a third time.
Then she folded it neatly and tucked it into her notebook, like something she wanted to carry close.
She didn't know where he was. But she knew what he needed.
Not space.
Not answers.
Not even forgiveness yet.
He needed someone to stand still when everything else spun.
That afternoon, she walked to the old greenhouse behind the school—the place he once said was his "thinking spot." She sat there alone, arms crossed, waiting.
And when the sun began to dip and the world turned golden—
Julian appeared.
No words.Just him. Looking at her like he didn't know how he got so lucky.
She didn't speak either.
She just reached out and took his hand.
This time, he didn't flinch.