Some walks feel longer than they are.Not because of the distance—but because of everything left unsaid between the steps.
They didn't plan it.
Ethan just… didn't take the usual exit.
And Claire just… happened to take the same one.
They ended up outside the school gates, side by side, the sun hanging low and sleepy over the rooftops.
"You still take the old route?" she asked.
"Yeah," Ethan said. "Shortcut's too loud this time of day."
"Right. And you hate crowds. Still allergic to them?"
"Only mildly," he said. "Doesn't cause swelling. Just emotional damage."
Claire snorted. "You're such a drama king."
"You're the one who used to fake sprained ankles just to make me carry your bag."
"It was character development."
They turned the corner. Same old bookstore. Same broken fence. Same familiar silence that didn't feel uncomfortable.
Claire walked a little slower now.
"You remember that time we tried to build a study fort in the library?"
Ethan nodded. "We got kicked out for using the fire escape blankets."
"You called it structural innovation."
"Still stand by that."
Claire smiled, but didn't look at him.
"You've changed."
He glanced sideways. "That again?"
"No, I mean it in a good way. You're... more aware now. Of people. Of what they think. That used to be my thing."
"You saying I stole your whole personality?"
"I'm saying I liked the old you who didn't care about fitting into anyone's checklist. Even hers."
He hesitated. "It's not like that."
Claire stopped walking. He did too.
"I'm not asking you to pick me, Ethan. I'm just saying... don't let someone else narrate your life like it's already been outlined."
There it was again. That quiet sting behind the honesty.
And yet—no pressure. No demands. Just her, standing there like she always had. Like she never left.
Ethan looked up at the sky.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted.
Claire tilted her head. "That's why I'm not mad."
He blinked. "You're not?"
She shrugged. "She's got the binder. I've got the memories. Guess we'll see which one lasts longer."
He tried not to laugh—but failed.
They resumed walking, steps slower now, as if they weren't quite ready to go home.
When they reached the old crosswalk, Claire stopped again. Pulled out her phone.
She typed something.Sent it without hesitation.
"She sees potential. I saw you."
Sometimes, the person who walks beside you isn't trying to win—they're just hoping you'll notice they never stopped walking.