Riley didn't fall apart.
Not in the way people expected, anyway.
She woke up that morning just like any other, brushed her teeth, tied her hair up into a messy bun, and pulled on her oversized hoodie. The air felt heavy, like it carried all the unspoken things from the night before—but she pushed through it, forcing her limbs into routine.
She refused to let heartbreak win.
That wasn't to say it didn't ache. It did. A quiet, constant kind of pain—like a paper cut she kept brushing against all day. But Riley had grown up with silence, with longing, with things she couldn't say out loud. She was used to wearing calm like armor.
So she painted.
And she sketched.
And she showed up.
In art lab, she stood in front of the large easel near the back wall, her headphones in, eyes half-lidded as her fingers moved like they had a mind of their own. Charcoal smeared her knuckles, blue and black ink staining her wrists. Her strokes were slower now, deliberate. She wasn't just making art—she was speaking through it. Screaming into it.
Each piece was laced with emotion. One canvas cracked with cold colors—icy grays, sharp whites. Another bled in soft violets and midnight blues. Her teachers noticed. A few peers asked questions. But Riley didn't offer explanations.
She never really had to.
By Wednesday, she'd fallen into a rhythm.
Morning coffee. Class. Art. Sketchbook. Music. Repeat.
She nodded at people when they spoke, even answered when necessary. Small talk with classmates, a few "yeah"s and "not really"s thrown in the mix. She didn't go out of her way to be seen, but she didn't hide either. There was something powerful about still being here—like resilience without the noise.
And she was always watching.
Her eyes followed Emily in the hallways, in the cafeteria, sometimes across the courtyard when neither of them could sleep. She didn't reach out, but she didn't disappear either.
She stayed visible. Calm. Present.
For Emily.
One night, while Opal sat cross-legged on the floor painting her nails neon green, Riley finally spoke.
"Can you… just check in on her? Every now and then?"
Opal looked up, surprised. "Emily?"
Riley nodded. "Just… be near. I don't know if she has anyone else."
"You want me to spy on your girl?" Opal teased, but her tone softened when Riley didn't smile.
"Not spy. Just… care."
Opal nodded slowly. "You really like her, huh?"
"I think I love her," Riley admitted, voice a whisper.
Silence settled.
Then Opal smiled. "Okay. Consider it done."
That night, Riley returned to her sketchpad and drew Emily. Not from memory, but from feeling.
A girl sitting in sunlight, wrapped in shadows. Eyes too heavy for her age. A mouth that wanted to smile but didn't know how.
She didn't title it.
Some things didn't need names.