The silence that follows is perfect, right up until Marcus snorts, setting off a chain reaction of laughter that sends Farrah and her minions fleeing the store, their faces flushed with embarrassment.

Over lunch, in a quiet corner of a café that smells of coffee and fresh-baked bread, I find myself opening up about Claire—my former best friend who stood silent when I needed her most during the Evan situation. I carefully dance around the details of that night, but the pain still leaks through my words like water through cupped hands.

Instead of offering empty platitudes, my new friends listen. Really listen. And when Camilla pulls me into a fierce hug, followed quickly by the others, it feels like coming home after a long time away.

"If I ever see that son of a bitch again," Camilla says when she pulls back, her eyes flashing, "I'll break his face. I'll let karma take care of Claire."

I laugh, the sound wet but genuine. "Thanks, Cam."

She winks, her smile softening.

"You know what? I'm grateful to those bitches from your old school. It's like the universe cleared them out so you and I could find each other."

"Excuse me," Marcus interjects, draping an arm across my shoulders. "So we could all find each other."

Looking around at these faces that have become so dear to me in such a short time, I feel something shift and settle in my chest. It's like finding a piece of a puzzle you didn't know was missing—the kind of belonging that makes you realize how lonely you were before you found it.

48. Deaf Or Blind?

CHAPTER 48

DEAF OR BLIND?

NATE

I hardly slept last night. The thought of a two-and-a-half-hour car ride alone with Nora made my heart race with a familiar anxiety I couldn't shake. Now, as we pass familiar streets, the silence between us feels comfortable and charged, like the calm before a storm. It's this new dance we've been doing, tiptoeing around feelings neither of us knows how to handle. Or maybe it's just me, overthinking every breath, every glance.

"Would you rather be deaf or blind?" Her question cuts through the quiet, and I feel her eyes on me like a physical touch.

I laugh, grateful for the break in tension. "That's random."

She shrugs, a gesture so quintessentially Nora it makes my chest ache. "Just curious."

"Blind," I answer after considering it.

Her brow furrows, creating that little crease I've memorized a thousand times. "Why?"

I glance at her, letting a hint of a smirk play on my lips. "You see more with your eyes closed."

She turns to the window, but I catch her reflection studying me. The space between us in this car feels impossibly vast and microscopic all at once—like we're trapped in our bubble of unspoken words and missed chances.