Chapter 7: Too Late to Notice

Third-Person POV

Flynn and Juniper's first week of college looked nothing like either of them had imagined.

For years, the three of them had talked about university as if it were simply the next stage of the same life.

Different classrooms, different schedules, maybe different majors—but Sophie would always be somewhere nearby.

Flynn had been so certain of it that he had never bothered asking what Sophie actually wanted.

Now, every ordinary moment seemed to expose the space she had left behind.

On Monday morning, Flynn overslept.

He woke to Juniper pounding on his dorm room door.

"Flynn! Get up! We're going to be late!"

He opened his eyes and instinctively reached for his phone.

No message from Sophie.

That shouldn't have surprised him.

Still, he stared at the empty notification screen.

In high school, Sophie had called him every morning before important exams.

"Flynn, wake up."

"Flynn, did you bring your calculator?"

"Flynn, don't forget your admission ticket."

He used to groan and tell her she worried too much.

Sometimes he deliberately ignored the first call because he knew she would call again.

She always did.

Now nobody called twice.

"Are you alive in there?" Juniper shouted.

Flynn dragged himself out of bed.

They arrived late.

The professor didn't let them enter.

Juniper stood outside the lecture hall staring at the closed door.

"This professor is insane."

Normally Flynn would have laughed.

Instead, he remembered Sophie standing outside his house before every major exam, carrying breakfast because she knew he would forget to eat.

"What?" Juniper asked.

"Nothing."

The next day, Juniper realized she had forgotten an assignment.

"Sophie has the—"

She stopped halfway through the sentence.

Flynn looked at her.

Juniper's expression changed.

"I was going to say Sophie has the notes."

Neither of them spoke.

Sophie had always had the notes.

Sophie had always remembered deadlines.

Sophie had always carried tissues, medicine, chargers, pens, candy, and whatever else either of them might need.

They had treated her preparedness like some funny personality quirk.

Only after she disappeared did they understand how often they had depended on it.

On Wednesday afternoon, Flynn bought a bottle of juice from a vending machine.

His hand automatically reached for the flavor Sophie liked.

He froze.

Then he bought it anyway.

The bottle remained unopened on his desk until the following morning.

By Friday, Juniper had stopped joking about Sophie coming back.

That evening, she sat cross-legged on Flynn's dorm room floor while he searched international university websites again.

"Nothing?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Maybe she didn't go to art school."

"Maybe."

Flynn sounded exhausted.

Juniper watched him close another university admissions page.

"Why didn't we know where she applied?"

Flynn looked at her.

"Because neither of us asked."

Juniper's lips tightened.

"She asked me where you applied."

Flynn went still.

"What?"

"The day applications closed. Sophie messaged me asking which colleges you were considering."

Flynn slowly turned toward her.

"She asked me about you too."

Juniper stared.

He pulled out his phone.

The old audio message was still there.

Sophie had sent him a simple question.

"Flynn, do you know where Juniper applied?"

His answer lasted nearly a minute.

The first second answered Sophie's question.

The remaining fifty-nine seconds were about Juniper.

How worried he was about her grades.

How stubborn she was.

How she pretended not to care.

How he was considering changing his own choices depending on what she did.

Juniper found Sophie's message on her phone.

Her own reply was almost identical.

One sentence about Flynn's application.

Then nearly a minute talking about him.

Neither had asked Sophie where she applied.

Not once.

Juniper lowered her phone.

"We really didn't know anything about her, did we?"

Flynn wanted to argue.

He had known Sophie since childhood.

He knew she hated cilantro.

He knew she slept with one foot outside the blanket.

He knew she cried during animated movies and pretended allergies were responsible.

He knew she had hypoglycemia.

He knew she hated thunderstorms.

He knew she always chose strawberry candy first.

But what university did she dream of attending?

What career did she want?

When had she stopped drawing?

Why had she stopped?

What had she wanted to tell him the day exam results came out?

Flynn couldn't answer any of those questions.

His stomach tightened.

"I knew things about her," he said quietly.

"Just not the things that mattered."

Juniper looked down.

For once, she didn't defend either of them.

…

Sophie's POV

Three weeks into university, Professor Hart stopped beside my easel.

I immediately straightened.

She was the kind of professor who could stare at a painting for thirty seconds and make you question every decision you had made since birth.

My latest assignment was spread across the canvas.

A train platform.

Dozens of people moving in different directions.

One girl standing completely still.

Professor Hart studied it.

"Technically strong."

My heart lifted.

Then she added, "Emotionally dishonest."

My heart dropped.

"What?"

She pointed toward the girl.

"You're painting someone who's been abandoned."

"Yes."

"But I don't think that's what you want to paint."

I frowned.

"Then what am I painting?"

"That's your job to figure out."

She walked away.

I stared at the canvas in frustration.

Hazel leaned toward me.

"I think that's professor language for 'suffer until inspiration arrives.'"

"Very helpful."

"You're welcome."

That evening, I took the canvas back to the residence hall.

For hours, I stared at it.

Abandoned.

Was that really how I saw myself?

Flynn and Juniper had left me behind hundreds of times.

At restaurants.

At the night market.

During conversations.

Inside our own friendship.

But in the end, I was the one who boarded the plane.

I was the one who changed my number.

I was the one who chose not to follow.

I picked up a brush.

The next morning, the girl on the platform was no longer standing still.

I painted one foot forward.

Then I changed the direction of her body.

Everyone else was moving toward one train.

She was walking toward another.

When Professor Hart saw the revised painting, she smiled for the first time.

"There you are."

Those three words stayed with me all day.

There you are.

I had spent years trying to become someone Flynn would be proud to stand beside.

Maybe I had disappeared from my own life long before I disappeared from his.

After class, Hazel dragged me to a student exhibition.

"Free food," she announced.

"You use free food to convince me to do everything."

"And it works."

The exhibition showcased work from senior students.

Photography.

Sculpture.

Digital illustration.

Animation.

I stopped in front of a series of concept paintings for an animated short film.

The colors were breathtaking.

"You like animation?" someone asked.

I turned.

A tall student wearing a university volunteer badge stood beside me.

"I used to," I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Used to?"

I realized how strange that sounded.

"I mean, I always liked it. I just stopped drawing for a while."

"Then start again."

The simplicity of his answer made me smile.

"I'm trying."

He extended his hand.

"Elliot. Third-year animation."

"Sophie. First-year."

"I know."

I blinked.

"You do?"

"Professor Hart showed your self-portrait assignment during studio review."

Heat rushed into my face.

"She did what?"

Elliot laughed.

"Relax. She liked it."

"She called my first version emotionally dishonest."

"That means she likes you. She only emotionally destroys students with potential."

Hazel appeared beside us carrying three miniature sandwiches.

"Who's this?"

"Elliot."

"Is Elliot responsible for the food?"

He looked confused.

"No."

"Then his value is currently unclear."

I burst out laughing.

Elliot laughed too.

It was an ordinary conversation.

No history.

No chasing.

No invisible competition.

And yet I walked back to the dorm feeling lighter than I had in years.

That night, Mom sent me a photograph from home.

It was an old box she had found while unpacking.

Inside were my childhood drawings.

Under the photograph, she wrote:

"Look what I found. Your dad wants to frame all of them. Please stop him before our apartment becomes the Sophie Linwood Museum."

I smiled.

Then I zoomed in.

One drawing showed three children beneath a tree.

Flynn.

Juniper.

Me.

I had drawn Flynn and Juniper in bright colors.

My own figure stood between them, smaller and almost unfinished.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then my phone buzzed.

A notification from an unfamiliar account.

Someone had requested to follow me.

The username meant nothing at first.

Then I opened the profile.

There were no posts.

No photograph.

But the bio contained four words.

"Sophie, please talk to me."

My fingers went cold.

I didn't need a name.

I knew.

Flynn had found my new account.

For several seconds, I stared at the Follow Request button.

Once, seeing him search for me would have been everything I wanted.

I had spent years wishing he would notice when I disappeared from a room.

Now he had finally noticed I had disappeared from his life.

My thumb hovered over the screen.

Then I pressed Delete.

The request vanished.

My heart hurt.

But I could breathe.

A minute later, another request appeared.

Same account.

I deleted it again.

Then a message request.

"Sophie, I know you're angry. I know I messed up. Just tell me where you are. I need to explain."

I read it once.

Then I blocked the account.

Hazel looked over from her bed.

"Everything okay?"

I put my phone down.

"Someone from home."

"Bad someone?"

I thought about Flynn.

About the boy who once promised to marry me.

About the teenager who carried candy for my hypoglycemia.

About the person who walked past me when I needed him most.

"Someone I used to love," I said.

Hazel waited.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I looked toward the painting propped against my wall.

The girl was walking toward her own train.

"Not tonight."

Hazel nodded.

"Okay."

She didn't push.

I turned off my phone.

Thousands of miles away, Flynn had finally started looking for me.

But the strange thing was, I no longer wanted to be found.