MELODY
...

The weekend disappears too fast, slipping away like something I was never meant to hold onto in the first place.

Now I’m standing at the edge of the driveway, arms crossed tight over my chest, watching Steph shove her bag into the trunk like it’s no big deal. Like the past two days didn’t change anything.

Like she isn’t leaving me behind.

It’s colder this morning. The kind of cold that sneaks into your bones, making everything feel sharper, meaner. Or maybe that’s just me.

Steph leans against the cab, staring down at her phone, pretending to check something. She’s stalling. So am I.

"You really have to go?" I ask, kicking at a loose rock on the pavement.

She exhales, tilting her head back like she’s watching the sky instead of answering. "Yeah," she finally says, shoving her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. "You know I do."

I don’t know that. I don’t know anything except that I don’t want her to get in that car and drive away.

"One more day wouldn’t kill you," I try, my voice light but not really.

Steph smiles, but it’s small. A flicker of something she doesn’t let last. "I wish I could, Mel. You know I do."

I hate how easily she says it. Like wishing is supposed to mean something. Like wanting to stay is the same thing as choosing to.

She takes a step closer, our shoes almost touching. "Are you mad?"

I shake my head, but I don’t say anything. I don’t trust my voice not to crack.

Steph watches me for a second, then reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don’t want to leave like this."

Then don’t, I want to say. But I don’t. Because this isn’t a movie. This isn’t some big, dramatic moment where she changes her mind and stays and we run around town laughing like idiots and pretend nothing outside of this weekend matters.

Because it does matter. And she’s already halfway gone.

"Mel," she says, softer now.

I meet her eyes, and suddenly, it’s like all the air in my chest is gone.

Because I know this look. Because it’s the same one she had last night, when we were tangled up in my sheets, her fingers tracing slow circles on my back like she was memorizing me. Like she already knew she wouldn’t have another chance.

I step forward before I can stop myself. Just enough to close the space between us.

Her breath catches.

And then she’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s desperate. Like she’s trying to make up for something before it’s too late.

I grab the front of her hoodie, pulling her closer, and she lets me. Kisses me harder. Her hands slide up my arms, over my shoulders, down my back, like she’s trying to pull me inside her.

I wish she could.

The car is behind her. The whole world is behind her. But here, right here, it’s just us. Just the heat of her mouth, the way she sighs against me, the way she presses in like she needs this as much as I do.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. All I know is that when she pulls away, I can already feel the loss like a weight in my chest.

"I don’t want to go," she whispers.

I swallow hard. "Then stay."

It's unreasonable because she has nothing here.

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head, because we both know it isn’t that simple.

"I’ll visit again soon," she says, like a promise.

I don’t believe her. Not really. But I nod anyway, because what else is there to do?

She pulls me into a hug, burying my face in her neck. "I’ll miss you."

I don’t say it back. I don’t need to. She knows.

And then, just like that, she’s gone.

The car disappears down the road, and I stand there, arms wrapped around myself, the cold finally sinking in.

I tell myself this isn’t the end. That people come back. That this doesn’t have to be a goodbye.

But I know better than that.

I know what it feels like to watch something slip away.

I stand in the driveway long after Steph’s cab disappears down the road, the cold seeping into my skin like it’s trying to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

It’s quiet now. Too quiet. Like the whole town is holding its breath, waiting for me to admit something I’ve been trying to ignore.

I don’t want to be here anymore.

The thought presses down on me as I turn back toward the house, shoving my hands into my pockets.

I smell like Steph and I don't want it to wear off.

The screen door creaks when I push it open, and the familiar scent of coffee and cinnamon fills the kitchen. Mom’s sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around her mug, like she’s been waiting for me.

"She gone?" she asks, not looking up.

I nod, dropping into the chair across from her. "Yeah."

Mom watches me for a second, then sighs. "You okay?"

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "No. Not really."

I expect her to press, but she doesn’t. She just waits, sipping her coffee, giving me space to say what I need to say.

So I do.

"I think I don’t want to be here anymore," I admit, my voice low. "I just… I don’t know, Mom. I feel like I don’t fit here."

Mom doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tell me I’m being dramatic or that I need to toughen up. She just tilts her head, listening.

I rub my hands over my face, my words spilling out before I can stop them. "Basketball’s not the same. Not since—" I stop, swallowing hard.

Mom’s eyes soften. "Since the injury."

I nod, looking down at my hands. "It’s like… I don’t even know why I should play anymore. I used to love it. Now I just feel like I’m going through the motions but it’s not the same. Nothing is."

Mom’s quiet for a moment, tapping her fingers against her mug. "You know, when I was your age, I felt the same way."

I blink, caught off guard. "You did?"

She nods. "After my mom passed, everything felt off. Like the world was moving forward, but I was stuck. I kept trying to force myself to feel normal, to love the things I used to love. But I couldn’t. And it took me a long time to realize that was okay."

I stare at her, something in my chest loosening just a little. "So what did you do?"

Mom shrugs. "I stopped pretending. I let myself feel what I needed to feel. And eventually, I figured out where I was supposed to be." She leans forward, her eyes locking onto mine. "That’s the thing about change, Mel. It’s uncomfortable. But it doesn’t mean you’re lost. It just means you’re growing."

I exhale slowly, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. "But what if I don’t know what I want?"

Mom smiles, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "Then you take your time figuring it out. You don’t have to have all the answers right now."

The knot in my chest doesn’t disappear, but it eases. A little.

I let out a breath. "Thanks, Mom."

She squeezes my hand once before letting go. "Anytime, baby."

And for the first time in a while, I feel like I’m not as alone in this as I thought.

^°^