There must be something eloquent and convincing I can conjure to calm her fears in one fell swoop. I’ve been trained in conflict resolution more times than I can count. But my heart is beating too fast and loud, and my throat feels as though it’s about to cease letting air through at all, and the edges of my vision are blurry, so all I can manage is a simple, unconvincing, “But … please.”

Danni’s shaking her head before I even finish. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I snatch up her hands. I hold them tightly, tethering us.

“Don’t,” I beg. “Danni, don’t.”

“I have to. I don’t want to, either, but we have to.”

“At least sleep on it.”

“Please, this is already hard, don’t make it harder.”

“Well, I don’t intend on making it easier for you to leave me.”

“Rose, I’m sorry,” Danni says, and she lets go of my hands. “If I realized, I wouldn’t have started this at all. I’m so sorry. But we’re going to be okay, okay? I—I still care about you, and we’re going to stay friends, and we don’t even need to keep the whole space thing going. Molly knows we’re still hanging out, and she’s fine with it. We can just go back to the way things were at the start of the term, and it’s gonna hurt for a bit, but then it won’t hurt anymore, and we are both going to be fine. Okay? I promise.”

But I’ve stopped listening. It’s apparent her mind is set, and I have no say in things, and my fear and hurt are already ebbing away. Loose sand through parted fingers. I’m sure Danni’s right. A week or two from now, three at the most, we will simply be something that briefly occurred. If she only wants to be friends, then we will be friends. It doesn’t much matter, really. Nothing does, in the grand scheme of things. Everything starts, and everything ends, on and on like that for eternity, and feeling any particular way about it is a waste of emotion. The only thing that ever changes is the time that elapses between the two points. And perhaps Danni is right. Perhaps shorter is better.

I might as well face this new reality without flinching. I get to my feet and gather my wet clothes in a bundle. “Do you have a bag?” I ask. “I should probably hide these as I walk back.”

She gives me a funny look and then digs around in her wardrobe for a tote bag. “Are you okay?” she asks as she hands it to me.

“Of course,” I assure her. “I understand what you’re saying. Really.”