The irony of my answer hits me as I steal another look at her. Sunlight dances through her hair, painting it in shades of honey and gold, and I realize how cruel it would be to never see her like this again. She's been a constant presence in my mind for the past year, like a song I can't stop humming, a dream I can't shake off when morning comes.

Because that's what Lenora Wells is—a dream that feels too real, too close, too everything.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask when the silence stretches too thin.

"Yeah," she whispers, still fixed on the passing landscape.

"You sure?"

She hesitates, then turns to me with a question burning in her eyes. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course." I keep one hand steady on the wheel, the other gripping the gearshift like an anchor.

She takes a deep breath that seems to pull all the oxygen from the car. "Did you ever think about me? Over the past year, I mean. When we went all those months without speaking. Did you ever…"

Her voice trails off as she fidgets with her bracelet—a nervous habit I've watched her perfect since we were kids.

"You know what, forget about it," she backtracks. "It's stupid and⁠⁠—"

"Why?" I cut in, keeping my voice carefully neutral even as my pulse thunders.

She frowns. "Why what?"

"Why would you think it's stupid to ask?" I focus on the road ahead, but my mind replays every moment I spent trying to forget her and failing spectacularly. Just like I'm failing at this whole 'just friends' charade I foolishly thought I could maintain.

The silence thickens until it feels like we're swimming in it. She draws a shaky breath, and when she speaks, her voice carries a vulnerability that breaks something in me. "Maybe it's just… being back here with you. The other night, it made me forget about everything else that's happened—all the time we spent apart. I… never mind. Ignore me. I don't know what I'm trying to say."

Her words hang between us like suspended stars, and I grip the wheel tighter, trying to anchor myself to something solid. The confined space of the car suddenly feels electric, charged with everything we've left unsaid. She's close enough to touch, yet the distance we've carefully constructed feels like an ocean.

"There wasn't a day that went by I didn't, Leni." The confession falls from my lips before I can stop it, honest and raw.

She freezes beside me, and when I risk a glance, the look in her eyes threatens to unravel every carefully constructed wall I've built.

"Maybe we tried to forget for a reason," she whispers, but her voice wavers with uncertainty.

"Maybe," I reply, swallowing hard against the truth trying to claw its way out of my chest.

But we both know we never really tried.