Hannah’s words don’t register at first. They hang in the air, impossible and wrong, like hearing a foreign language that I’m somehow expected to understand. My brain scrambles to make sense of them, to find another interpretation.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice eerily steady despite the sudden rush of blood in my ears. My heartbeat pounds so loudly that I’m sure she must be able to hear it, a desperate drumming against my ribs.

“It’ll be better for both of us if we just end this now.” Fresh tears spill down her cheeks, carving shiny paths down her flushed skin, but her jaw is set, determination clear in her features despite her obvious distress. Her fingers twist together in her lap, her knuckles white with tension.

The room seems to tilt sideways, the floor shifting beneath me. I blink, trying to ground myself, to make sense of what’s happening. This morning, everything between us was fine. Better than fine. And now…

“Where is this coming from?” My voice sounds distant to my own ears. I lean forward, trying to bridge the gulf she’s created between us. “Hummingbird, whatever is wrong, we can work through it. Just talk to me. Please.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” She wraps her arms around herself as if trying to hold something in, fingers digging into her sides. Her gaze drops to the floor, as if she’s unable or unwilling to meet my eyes. “I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” I move closer, desperation rising inside me. The scent of her jasmine and orange blossom shampoo hits me as I shift, making this surreal conversation even more painful. “I don’t understand. What changed between yesterday and today? Did someone say something to you? Is your dad really that pissed about us dating?”

She shakes her head, her plush lips pressed tightly together as tears cling to her eyelashes. “Nothing changed. This is just… this is just how it has to be.”

“That’s bullshit.” The words escape before I can stop them, my voice sharper than I intended. I shove a hand through my hair, struggling to understand, to find a some kind of steady footing in this conversation that’s rapidly slipping away from me. “Hannah, look at me. Whatever this is about—your dad, school, Aaron—we can handle it together. That’s what couples do.”

“It’s not about any of that.” Her voice is hollow, emptied of the warmth and life that usually fills it. A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t move to wipe it away. “Please, Declan. Just go.”