Our hands intertwine, and the universe tips sideways. It's more than touch—it's collision, sending shockwaves through my system. Her skin against mine feels like fate, like no matter how broken the path, we were always meant to find each other.

Again and again and again.

"Want to get out of here?" My voice comes out rough with need.

She hesitates, eyes darting between me and the evidence of my almost-breakdown, before nodding. I grab the bags of pills and hand them to her.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me from myself."

Again.

The Mustang's engine rumbles through the night, a steady heartbeat beneath our unspoken words. The pull between us is magnetic, impossible to ignore.

"I have your birthday present," I say softly when we stop.

"Nate, you didn't have to⁠⁠—"

"It's nothing, really. Just… close your eyes. Hold out your hands."

She complies, trust written in every line of her body. My heart stumbles at the sight—her vulnerability is a gift I'm not sure I deserve. I place the CD in her waiting hands.

"Nora's Mixtape #17," she reads, her smile blooming like sunrise. "I can't believe you remembered."

Her fingers trace the handwritten track list. Since we were six, this has been our tradition—me capturing our summer in songs, curating melodies that preserved our moments together. More often than not, the music said what I couldn't.

“Nora, I remember everything about us."

She puts the CD in and hits play. Aerosmith's "Angel" fills the car with guitar riffs slow as heartbeats. While Steven Tyler's raw voice pours emotion into the space between us, each note draws us closer, binding us together in ways that feel inevitable. Her soft sigh catches in my chest.

"This," she smiles.

"Is your favorite song?"

Her smile softens, and something cracks open inside me. Every buried feeling surfaces at once, truth hitting like a thunderbolt: I'm in love with this girl.

Wholeheartedly.

We keep driving and of all the moments I've had where I've allowed myself to just be, this has to be one of my favorite moments.

All because of her.

"Do you ever think about the future, Nate?" she asks out of nowhere.

The honest answer is no. I stopped dreaming past tomorrow long ago, learning to exist in single moments, surviving one breath at a time. Hope was more dangerous than any drug—it could kill in countless ways.

"I think learning how to just be in the single fleeting second that exists is more important than stressing about a future that doesn't exist yet."

She looks up through her lashes, beautiful enough to stop time. "You're right. There's no going backwards, but maybe it's not so bad to dwell on the past, as long as it brings you closer to the truth. So you can move forward." She turns to look at me.

"I don't know how to do that. I've made a lot of mistakes."