Chapter 293 Chapter 293

Chapter 293 Chapter 293
Mariah

Three months later.

Graduation was close now.

Close enough that everything felt different—even if no one was saying it out loud.

You could feel it in the way teachers talked like we were already halfway gone. In the way people said “after graduation” instead of “next year.” In the way everything suddenly felt temporary… like we were all just standing at the edge of something, waiting to jump.

And if I’m being honest?

This year changed everything.

Not just the drama.

Not just the rumors.

Us.

Because Jessa isn’t the same girl she was at the start of the year.

Not even close.

And… neither am I.

We were sitting on her bed, her laptop open between us, notes scattered everywhere like we were actually trying to study.

We weren’t.

I flopped back dramatically onto her pillows.

“This is weird.”

She didn’t even look up.

“You’ve said that three times.”

“I’m processing.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am not being dramatic,” I argued, staring at the ceiling. “I am having a completely reasonable reaction to the fact that everything is about to change.”

She finally glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

“You color-coded your planner for finals.”

“That’s organization.”

“That’s stress.”

“Same thing.”

She snorted softly, shaking her head.

And that—right there—hit me more than anything.

She didn’t shrink when she laughed anymore.

Didn’t glance around like she was checking who was watching.

She just… laughed.

Like she didn’t care.

Like she didn’t have to.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, studying her.

“You’re different.”

She paused, fingers resting on the keyboard.

Then—

“Yeah.”

No hesitation.

No deflection.

Just… yeah.

“You’re just gonna agree with that?” I asked.

She shrugged lightly.

“I’ve changed.”

“That’s such a calm way to say that.”

“What do you want me to do? Make a speech?”

“I wouldn’t hate that.”

A small smile tugged at her lips—but it softened instead of fading.

Because this time, it wasn’t something she was trying to hide.

It was just… there.

Real.

“We both have,” she added.

I made a face.

“Don’t include me in your emotional growth speech.”

She laughed.

“Too late.”

I sat up fully now, crossing my legs on the bed.

“It’s still weird though.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve always been…” I gestured between us. “Right there.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

Same lunch table.

Same classes.

Same everything.

If something happened, we didn’t text about it.

We just looked at each other.

And knew.

Now?

Now there was space.

Not a lot.

But enough.

Enough to feel it.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna turn around in the hallway and you’ll already be there,” I said.

She smiled a little.

“Sometimes I am.”

“Not the same,” I muttered.

“I know.”

That word again.

I know.

Like she understood exactly what I meant without me having to explain it.

I picked at a thread on her blanket.

“This is the part no one talks about.”

“What part?”

“This part,” I said. “Where nothing’s wrong, but everything’s changing anyway.”

She leaned back against the headboard, watching me.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to,” she said.

I sighed.

“I liked when everything was simple.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Was it ever simple?”

I thought about that.

All the drama.

All the gossip.

All the fights we’d survived.

“…Okay, fair,” I admitted.

She smiled.

“But it was familiar,” she said.

“Yeah.”

That was the real word.

Familiar.

Safe.

Predictable.

“And now it’s not,” I said.

“No.”

We sat in that for a second.

Then I looked at her again.

“But you’re not the same.”

She met my gaze.

“I know.”

“You don’t second-guess everything anymore.”

“Not everything,” she said. “Just… normal amounts.”

I smirked.

“Progress.”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t let people get to you like before.”

She shrugged.

“They still try.”

“Yeah, but you don’t let it stick.”

That was the difference.

She didn’t absorb it anymore.

Didn’t carry it around like it meant something.

She just… let it go.

And honestly?

That might’ve been the biggest change of all.

“I think I just got tired,” she said after a second.

“Of what?”

“Letting other people decide how I feel about myself.”

That hit.

Because yeah.

That used to be her.

And now?

Not anymore.

I nodded slowly.

“Good.”

She smiled softly.

“Yeah.”

Silence settled again—but this time it felt… steady.

Not uncertain.

Not heavy.

Just real.

“We’re not going to be five minutes apart anymore,” I said.

“No,” she agreed.

“And that’s weird.”

“Yeah.”

“And I don’t like parts of it.”

“Same.”

I nudged her knee with mine.

“But just so we’re clear—I’m still your biggest fan.”

“I know.”

“And I’m still going to show up if someone says something stupid.”

“I expect nothing less.”

“And I’m still going to judge your outfits.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You already do.”

“Exactly.”

She laughed again.

And this time, I didn’t feel that tightness in my chest.

Because yeah—things were changing.

But not in a way that meant losing each other.

Just… growing.

“I didn’t lose you,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” I said.

She held my gaze.

“We’re just… not the same as before.”

“Yeah.”

And maybe that was okay.

I leaned back on her bed again, staring at the ceiling.

“Still weird though.”

“Yeah.”

“Still don’t like it.”

She nudged my arm.

“But it’s not bad.”

I glanced at her.

And for once?

I didn’t argue.

“No,” I said.

“It’s not.”