Chapter 5: The Girl Who Wasn't Coming Back

Third-Person POV

The person who opened the door was a middle-aged man. Seeing Fynn standing there aggressively, the man instinctively took half a step back. He looked him up and down cautiously.

"Who are you looking for, kid?"

"I'm looking for Sophie Linwood," Flynn answered. "Sir, are you a friend of hers?"

The middle-aged man frowned. "Linwood? That family moved."

Flynn stiffened. "They moved? Where?"

"Abroad. The whole family of three left. It was around a few weeks ago," the man said,

"Abroad?"

The word came out so quietly that the man almost didn't hear him.

"Yeah. The previous owner mentioned it when we signed the lease. Said their daughter was going overseas for university, so the parents decided to relocate with her for a while."

Flynn stared past the man's shoulder into the house.

Everything was different.

The little ceramic rabbit Sophie had painted in middle school was gone from the entryway. The pale curtains her mother liked had been replaced with dark blinds. A pair of unfamiliar men's shoes sat beside the door.

It finally registered.

This wasn't Sophie's home anymore.

"Do you know which country?" Flynn asked quickly.

The man shook his head. "No idea."

"Did they leave a forwarding address? A phone number? Anything?"

"Kid, I just rent the place."

Flynn's face turned white.

The man hesitated before adding, "If you're her friend, didn't she tell you she was leaving?"

The question struck harder than an insult.

Flynn opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Had Sophie told him?

His first instinct was to say no.

Then something flashed through his mind.

The group chat.

A series of messages buried beneath the photographs he had sent of Juniper.

For the first time, Flynn remembered Sophie's messages clearly.

I'm not coming to meet you guys. I just submitted my application to study abroad. It was approved.

My flight's next week.

At the time, he had been trying to wrestle his phone away from Juniper. He had glanced at the notifications without actually reading them and sent impatient replies just to make them disappear.

Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, I got it.

Understood!

Flynn stumbled backward.

She had told him.

He simply hadn't listened.

The middle-aged man gave him a strange look before closing the door.

Flynn remained on the doorstep.

His phone suddenly vibrated.

Juniper.

"Where are you? Registration is tomorrow. My mom is driving me insane about packing. Come help me choose what to bring."

Normally, Flynn would have answered immediately.

This time, he stared at her message without responding.

Then he opened the old group chat.

There were hundreds of messages.

Most were from him and Juniper.

Memes.

Photos.

Arguments.

Voice notes.

Plans made without asking Sophie whether she was available.

He searched Sophie's name.

Her messages appeared between theirs like tiny interruptions.

"Are you guys still coming?"

"I saved seats for you."

"Flynn, your notes are at my house. I'll bring them tomorrow."

"Juniper, don't forget your medicine."

"Where did you two go?"

"Should I wait here?"

"Are you coming back?"

Flynn scrolled faster.

A strange chill spread through him.

He had always thought Sophie was constantly talking to them, constantly following them, constantly demanding their attention.

But looking at the chat now, he saw something entirely different.

Sophie wasn't demanding attention.

She was constantly trying to find them.

And he and Juniper were constantly leaving her behind.

His thumb stopped on the messages from the night market.

Sophie: "I'm not coming to meet you guys. I just submitted my application to study abroad. It was approved."

Flynn: "Yeah, yeah."

Sophie: "My flight's next week."

Flynn: "Yeah, I got it."

Sophie: "Well…"

Flynn: "Understood!"

Below them were twenty-seven photographs of Juniper.

Flynn's breathing became uneven.

He called Sophie.

The automated response came immediately.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

He called again.

The same response.

Again.

Again.

Again.

By the sixth attempt, his fingers were trembling.

Juniper called him.

He rejected it.

She called again.

He rejected it again.

Then she sent a voice message.

"Flynn Sadler, are you seriously ignoring me? Did Sophie finally open the door? Tell her to stop being stubborn and come help me pack too. She knows which clothes look good on me better than you do."

Flynn stared at the message.

Sophie wasn't inside.

She wasn't hiding.

She wasn't throwing a tantrum.

She hadn't been waiting for him to coax her.

She was gone.

For the first time since childhood, Flynn had absolutely no idea where Sophie Linwood was.

…

Sophie's POV

On the other side of the world, I stood before a massive glass building with a sketchbook pressed against my chest.

Students hurried around me speaking English in different accents. Some dragged suitcases behind them. Others hugged their parents goodbye. Campus volunteers held signs and directed confused freshmen toward registration.

Everything was unfamiliar.

And for the first time, unfamiliarity felt exciting instead of frightening.

"Nervous?" Mom asked.

I nodded honestly.

"Very."

Dad adjusted the strap of my bag.

"Good. That means you're doing something new."

I looked up at the building.

The university's school of art and design occupied three floors.

Art.

Even thinking the word made something inside me ache.

I hadn't allowed myself to take art seriously in years.

When I was twelve, my teacher had entered one of my paintings into a national youth competition without telling me.

I won second place.

For weeks afterward, I had dreamed about art schools, exhibitions, illustration, and animation.

Then Flynn began talking about the country's top universities.

He was brilliant at mathematics and science.

I wasn't.

But I wanted to stand beside him.

So I put away my brushes.

I spent years forcing myself through subjects I didn't love because Flynn once asked me to keep up with him.

Now I wondered why I had never asked whether he would have followed me.

I already knew the answer.

He wouldn't.

Not for me.

Mom touched my shoulder.

"Sweetheart?"

I blinked.

"Sorry."

"Thinking about them again?"

I didn't lie.

"A little."

Mom didn't tell me to forget them.

She simply said, "That's okay. You've known them almost your whole life. Leaving doesn't erase memories overnight."

I looked down at my sketchbook.

"I feel stupid."

"For loving people?"

"For loving them more than I loved myself."

Dad's expression softened.

"Then maybe university is a good place to learn something besides art."

"What?"

"How to put yourself on your own list."

My eyes stung.

This time, I smiled instead of crying.

Registration took almost two hours.

When the staff member handed me my student card, I stared at the photograph.

SOPHIE LINWOOD.

School of Art and Design.

For years, every important decision I made had contained an invisible question.

Would this keep me close to Flynn?

That question was gone.

I slipped the card into my wallet.

Outside, Mom and Dad offered to take me to lunch.

"You guys go ahead," I said.

Mom looked surprised.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"There's somewhere I want to go first."

The campus art supply store smelled like paper, paint, wood, and possibility.

I walked slowly between the shelves.

My fingers brushed over watercolor sets.

Charcoal pencils.

Canvas boards.

Brushes.

When I reached the professional paints, I stopped.

Years ago, I had saved for months to buy a set just like them.

Then Flynn needed an expensive reference book before an academic competition.

I spent the money on his book instead.

He had hugged me and called me the best girlfriend in the world.

At the time, that had felt better than any paint set.

Now the memory only made me tired.

I picked up the paints.

Then a new sketchbook.

Then brushes.

At the register, my hands trembled slightly as I paid.

It felt ridiculous.

I had crossed an ocean without crying.

Yet buying paint nearly broke me.

Outside, I sat beneath a tree and opened the sketchbook.

The first page was painfully white.

For several minutes, I didn't know what to draw.

Then I looked toward the campus entrance.

Students were arriving.

Parents were leaving.

Suitcases rolled across the pavement.

Planes crossed the pale sky far overhead.

My pencil began moving.

I drew a girl standing at a fork in a road.

Behind her were two distant figures.

Ahead of her was an enormous open sky.

I didn't realize I was smiling until a voice beside me said, "That's beautiful."

I looked up.

A girl about my age stood there holding three enormous canvases and looking as if they might crush her at any moment.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I wasn't trying to snoop. I'm just lost, and then I saw your drawing."

I instinctively moved to help her with the canvases.

"Which building are you looking for?"

"Visual Arts Residence."

I checked my campus map.

Then I laughed.

"That's my residence too."

Her eyes lit up.

"Seriously? I'm Hazel."

"Sophie."

"First year?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. Please tell me you're as terrified as I am."

I looked around the enormous campus.

A week ago, terror would have been the right word.

Now?

"A little," I admitted.

Hazel shifted the canvases.

"Good. We can be terrified together."

I smiled.

Together.

For once, the word didn't mean Flynn and Juniper with me trailing several steps behind.

I closed my sketchbook and stood.

"Come on. I think I know the way."

As Hazel and I walked toward the residence hall, my old phone number remained disconnected thousands of miles away.

I didn't know Flynn had finally gone looking for me.

I didn't know he was standing outside my empty childhood home repeatedly calling a number that would never connect.

And even if I had known, I wasn't sure it would have changed anything.

For years, I had been the one asking them to wait.

The one trying to catch up.

The one searching for two people who never noticed how far behind they had left me.

This time, I didn't turn around.

I had finally found a road that belonged to me.