The days blurred together after that conversation.
Erica avoided Nicole like second nature—ducking behind pillars when she caught a glimpse of her, pretending to be absorbed in her phone whenever they passed in the hallway. She sat near the windows now, even in classes they used to share, pretending the sky had more to offer than old memories.
She needed space.
Not just from Nicole, but from everything.
From the ache in her chest. From the questions that kept spinning in her mind like broken records. From the ghost of who they used to be.
Everywhere she went, there were reminders.
The old vending machine they used to race to. The worn-out seat under the library stairs where they used to steal a few minutes between periods. Even the smell of rain made her pause—how many times had they stood together under a shared umbrella, laughing at how wet their shoes got?
It was like trying to move on in a world that refused to forget.
So Erica carved out quiet moments where she could. Places she could sit and just exist without anyone asking how she was doing or offering empty encouragements like "you'll be okay."
That evening, the courtyard was nearly empty. The sky had dimmed to that purplish-blue stage just before night. A soft breeze stirred the petals of the dying flowers in the nearby planter. Erica sat on the low stone bench, arms wrapped around her knees, her school bag resting beside her like a forgotten thought.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
And then—
"I thought I might find you here."
That voice.
Soft. Familiar. Hesitant.
Erica opened her eyes slowly.
Nicole stood a few feet away, hugging her jacket to herself, her hair slightly messy from the wind. She looked like she'd hesitated coming closer, like she wasn't sure if she should even be here.
"I know I hurt you," Nicole said quietly, her voice barely rising above the rustling leaves. "I'm not expecting you to forgive me. But I… I don't know how to fix this."
Erica didn't answer right away.
She looked away, focusing instead on a fallen leaf near her foot. Yellowed and brittle, already breaking at the edges.
"You can't," Erica said after a while, her voice flat but not cruel. "That's the thing, Nicole. You broke my heart. And I don't know how to put it back together with you still in my life."
Nicole's breath caught audibly, and she stepped closer, like she couldn't help herself. "Then what do we do?"
Erica sighed through her nose, leaning her head back to look up at the sky. It was a soft wash of violet and blue, stars still hiding. It reminded her of all the late nights she used to spend texting Nicole until they both fell asleep mid-conversation.
She missed that.
God, she missed it.
But she couldn't live on memories anymore.
"We let go," she said finally.
The words felt like shards in her mouth.
Nicole flinched, like the sentence physically struck her.
She took another step, her voice breaking. "But I don't want to."
Erica looked at her now. Really looked. At the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. At the slight tremble in her lip. At the way she kept wringing her hands, like she didn't know what to do with them anymore.
"Neither do I," Erica admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But wanting something doesn't mean we get to keep it."
Nicole's shoulders fell, like something inside her gave out.
"I thought I could fix this," she said, voice cracking. "If I just showed you how sorry I am. If I just—if I just stayed."
"You think showing up is enough?" Erica's voice was calm, but the anger simmered underneath. Not rage—just the deep, tired ache of disappointment. "You think just being here erases everything?"
Nicole shook her head. "No. I just— I don't know what else to do."
There was a pause. Heavy and still.
Erica finally stood up, her hands clenched at her sides.
"You were my person, Nicole. The one I thought would stay no matter what. And when things got messy—when I got messy—you ran."
"I was scared," Nicole whispered, eyes shining.
"So was I," Erica said, louder now. "But I stayed. I fought. Even when I was hurting, I stayed for us."
"I know," Nicole said, tears now sliding down her cheeks. "I know. And I hate myself for not doing the same."
Erica stepped closer, not out of forgiveness, but out of the desperate need to be heard.
"I didn't need you to be perfect," she said, her voice trembling. "I just needed you to choose me. Even when it got hard. Especially when it got hard."
Nicole looked down, tears dripping onto the pavement. "I failed you."
"You did," Erica whispered. "But I failed myself too… because I let you be my whole world."
They both stood in silence then, the wind brushing past them like a third presence. A quiet reminder of how time kept moving, even when hearts did not.
"I miss you every day," Nicole said suddenly. "Even when I try not to. Even when I try to move on."
Erica closed her eyes for a beat.
"I miss you too," she admitted.
Nicole looked up at her, hope flickering like a candle.
"But we're not good for each other right now," Erica added, firm but soft. "We keep reopening wounds that haven't even healed."
"So that's it?" Nicole asked. "We just… walk away?"
Erica nodded slowly. "We walk away. Not because we don't care. But because we do."
Nicole let out a shaky breath, brushing at her eyes. "That hurts more than anything."
"I know," Erica said. "But maybe we need to hurt. Maybe we need to lose each other… to find ourselves again."
She turned to pick up her bag.
Nicole took a step forward, desperate. "Will I ever get another chance?"
Erica looked over her shoulder, eyes wet but steady.
"I don't know," she said. "And that's the truth. I'm not promising anything. I need to learn how to stand without leaning on you."
Nicole nodded slowly, her arms crossed over herself, like she was holding her own heart together.
"I'll be here… if you ever look back."
Erica didn't respond. She simply gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, then walked away, her footsteps fading into the evening air.
Nicole stood in the courtyard until the sky turned black.
Until the last bit of light was gone.
And for the first time in a long time, she realized that love… sometimes wasn't about holding on.
It was about knowing when to let go.