Jasmine didn't tell her she was going to do it.
She just walked up to Zariah that morning, her expression tight and serious, and said, "Come with me."
Zariah followed, heart already pounding. Jasmine didn't talk. She led her past the cafeteria, down the art hallway, and stopped at the guidance counselor's office.
Zariah froze.
"No," she whispered.
Jasmine turned to face her. "You don't have to say anything. I will."
"Jasmine, please," Zariah begged, panic rising fast in her throat. "You said you wouldn't—"
"I said I'd give you time," Jasmine said, voice cracking. "But that time ran out the moment you said you didn't know if you'd try again."
Zariah backed up. "Don't do this."
"I have to."
The door opened behind them.
"Everything okay out here?" the counselor asked gently.
Zariah turned her face away, eyes stinging.
Jasmine's voice shook. "She needs help."
Zariah's breath hitched. The walls she'd built—the lies, the fake smiles, the silence—they all buckled. Right there in the hallway. Her knees nearly gave out.
She ran.
Out the doors. Across the courtyard. Behind the gym. Her safe place.
Jasmine didn't follow this time.
Zariah collapsed in the grass, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe. Her chest caved in, like something inside her had finally shattered.
She wasn't mad at Jasmine.
She was mad at herself—for being broken, for being silent, for letting it get this far. For needing someone else to do what she couldn't.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
She didn't hear footsteps until someone sat beside her.
Not Jasmine.
The counselor.
"I'm not here to force anything," she said softly. "I'm here because someone who loves you is scared. And now… I am too."
Zariah didn't speak.
The counselor offered a tissue. "You don't have to say everything. Just start somewhere."
Zariah's lips trembled. Her hand gripped the grass like it might ground her.
And then—quietly, almost inaudibly—she whispered, "I don't want to die. I just… don't know how to live like this."
The counselor nodded. "That's a start."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Zariah didn't feel entirely alone.