I didn't expect him to come.
I told myself that over and over — whispering it while curling my lashes, while zipping up my gown with trembling hands. Told it to Luna as she pinned my hair, her silence louder than any warning. Told it to Sally when she squeezed my shoulders and asked if I was okay.
I told it to the mirror.
And still, every time a door creaked or a shoe clicked against the floor, my heart betrayed me — lifting, waiting, hoping.
He wasn't coming.
Because if Eddie Thompson was anything, he was a ghost wrapped in skin. He haunted. He vanished. He hurt in beautiful, confusing ways.
And maybe that was what I needed.
Still.
"He begged us yesterday," Sally said, straightening my collar.
I didn't look up. "Who?"
"You know who." Her eyes flicked to mine in the mirror. "Five minutes. That's all he asked for. Said he'd take any insult, any slap, just to say what he needed to say."
My voice was flat. "He's a disaster."
Luna smirked. "You mean, your disaster."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm serious. He's impulsive. He lies. He's chaos with dimples."
But my heart said otherwise. It always did.
Graduation hit like a sugar rush. Glitter and sweat and names echoing through microphones. Applause sharp enough to slice through the air. Smiles stretched too tight, photos snapped in the pause between emotional breakdowns.
My name was called. The cheers rang. My parents waved from the crowd like I'd just been crowned something sacred.
And yet… I felt hollow.
Like joy was knocking, but no one answered.
It's a strange kind of sadness — to have everything you worked for in your hands, and still feel like something's missing.
No. Someone.
The Thompsons stood across the courtyard, murmuring with my father. I wandered closer, pulled by something wordless.
"He's leaving today," Mr. Thompson said, his voice steady but distant. "Took the job in Europe. Said it's time to grow up."
And there it was. The blow. The breath stolen.
He was leaving. For real.
My lungs didn't know how to expand after that.
I spun on instinct, like the pain was something I could outrun.
But Sally stepped in front of me.
"You're not running now," she said. "You've done enough of that."
Damon appeared beside her, quiet and unreadable. "You sure you want this with me?"
"I told you I did."
"I know," he said, almost sadly. "But I think you were trying to convince yourself more than me."
I looked down.
He handed me a slip of paper. Folded once. Nothing fancy. Just coordinates to heartbreak.
"That's where he is. He left it behind, just in case."
I took it with numb fingers.
"You don't hate me?" I whispered.
He shook his head. "No. But I'm too old to play consolation prize."
Pause.
"I wanted to be the next chapter. But maybe I was just the comma between sentences."
He walked away without waiting for a response.
And I drove like someone who didn't know if she was chasing closure or catastrophe.
The airport was cold and humming with life, full of strangers going somewhere. I checked every terminal. My eyes scanned every hoodie, every slump of shoulders that might've been his. At one point, I saw someone — same frame, same posture — and my heart skipped.
But it wasn't him.
Of course not.
He was always one step ahead of my grief.
I left before the tears could build.
The school was nearly empty when I returned. Twilight draped everything in a purple hush. Somewhere in the distance, people laughed. The afterglow of celebration. But not mine.
I wandered without thinking, feet moving before I gave them direction. And somehow, they took me to the old courtyard — the one where whispers lived, where memories left their fingerprints.
And that's when I saw him.
Sitting on the edge of the bench. Head bowed. Like a prayer no one believed in anymore.
I froze.
"I made it to the gate," he said. "Was ready to leave. Had the boarding pass. The plan. The escape. But I couldn't."
I moved toward him slowly, heart loud in my chest. Sat at the far end of the bench like we were still pretending we hadn't ruined each other.
"This is where I first saw you," he said. "New Year's Ball. You were crying. Alone. I remember thinking — whoever made her cry, I hope they burn."
I laughed, thin and bitter. "You became him."
He looked at me then. "Yeah. I did."
Silence.
The kind that isn't empty — just heavy.
"I told myself I hated you," I whispered. "That I was better off."
"You should've been," he said softly.
"You lied to me."
"I lied because I thought the truth would drive you away."
"It did."
He looked down again. "I didn't think the real me was worth loving."
My breath hitched.
"You're in everything," I admitted. "Every playlist. Every streetlight. Every mistake I make when I'm tired and sad. I tried moving on, Eddie. But you're in the marrow."
He reached for my hand like it might disappear if he moved too fast. Our fingers brushed.
"You didn't tame a nerd, Maya," he said. "You tamed something wild. Something that didn't know how to be seen until you looked at me."
My eyes burned.
"You didn't fix me," he added. "You showed me how to break better."
I leaned in.
The kiss was not perfect. It wasn't scripted. It didn't taste like the movies.
It tasted like regret and longing and two people trying to find their way back through the dark.
And somehow, it was enough.
When we broke apart, the world was still.
I rested my forehead against his. "Loving you felt like drowning. But letting go felt worse."
He smiled — soft, broken, radiant.
"I'm not going anywhere this time."
And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.
In that quiet, half-lit corner of a school we were leaving behind, I finally understood something:
I hadn't tamed a boy.
I had unraveled a soul.
And in doing so, I'd found mine too.
So yeah, dear readers, that's how I ended up talking to the psycho nerd of my class—and somehow, against all logic, we stuck together. Wild, right?