It took two days.
Two painfully quiet, awkward, soul-squeezing days before Veronica asked Julian if they could talk.
They met behind the theater building—neutral ground. Penelope stood at a distance, watching through the window of the costume room, heart thudding like a warning bell.
Julian looked guarded. Hands in pockets. Shoulders tense.
Veronica didn't waste time.
"I looked at your sketchbook."
He blinked. "What?"
"I flipped through it," she said. "Backstage. Penelope left it in her bag. I didn't mean to—actually, I did, and that's worse."
Julian stared at her.Veronica didn't flinch. "I think someone saw me. I think that's how Lila got your words. The rumor. The 'charity project' thing."
His mouth tightened.
"I didn't tell anyone," she added quickly. "But that doesn't matter. I opened something that wasn't mine. And I'm sorry."
A long pause.
Then Julian said, quietly, "You were her best friend before you were my anything."
Veronica's eyes stung. "Still am."
"Then why didn't you trust her?" he asked, voice flat but not cold. Just tired.
"I… I don't know," Veronica whispered. "Jealousy, maybe. Not of you—of what you two have. I wanted to protect her, and somewhere in my head, that twisted into control."Julian didn't speak.
Not at first.
Then he pulled the strap of his backpack forward, took out the sketchbook, and handed it to her.
Veronica blinked. "What—"
"Page 32," he said. "That one's about you."
She opened it.
A sketch of Veronica sitting cross-legged, head tilted, mid-laugh. The caption beneath:
> Loyal to the point of ruin. But heart first, always.
She swallowed hard.
"I forgive you," Julian said softly. "But we don't forget things like this. We just decide what to do with them."She nodded, tears forming.
And in that moment, three people started learning what it really means to love:
To mess up.
To own it.
And to choose honesty anyway