"You may be his world, but you're the only thing that ever felt like home to me."
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Some people never get second chances. Lilah never thought she'd get one with her brother's best friend.
She's quiet...
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The cold air bites as I step out of my car, my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets. It's starting to get dark even earlier now, the sky a dull gray, the last of the autumn leaves scattered across the sidewalks, leaving the trees bare now. The holiday season is creeping in—the kind of thing most people look forward to.
I don't.
I've never been the type to care about Thanksgiving, Christmas or New Years, but these past few years, I've come to hate them. The silence, the empty apartment, the reminder that there's no one waiting for me. Everyone else gets to go home, but I don't have a home to go back to.
My mom does try the best she can, calling me and sending me gifts or treats in the mail—the only food of hers I remember the taste of. When she calls on those days, for once, it's not laced with concern for one another, of fear of hearing any bad news. We actually talk, like a mother and son should. And I look forward to it every time, but I also despise knowing it's another year of spending the holidays alone.
I shake off the thought as I walk toward the coffee shop, forcing my focus onto something else—anything else.
A couple of weeks have passed since everything with that piece of shit Nate went down. Things have been... manageable. Lilah's still in my life, but only because of this stupid project.
We work together, we talk when we have to, and then we go our separate ways. It's not as tense as before, but there's still an unspoken wall between us.
One we haven't figured out how to tear down—or if we even want to tear it down.
And in slightly less than a month, that won't matter. Because Thanksgiving break is coming up in a few days, and when we come back, the project will essentially be over. And I won't have a reason to see her anymore.
When I step inside, the coffee shop is warm, packed with students hunched over laptops and textbooks, the low hum of conversation filling the space. The warmth immediately makes my cold body begin to tingle, warming up. The scent of espresso lingers in the air, mixing with something sweet—maybe cinnamon or vanilla.
I spot Lilah near the back, sitting by the window, her head tilted down as she flips through a notebook. A half-empty iced cup of coffee sits next to her, a thin layer of water from the ice melting on top of the coffee, meaning she's probably been here a while. She doesn't see me walk in, too focused on whatever she's reading, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the sleeve of her sweater. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration.
I hesitate for a second.
This isn't new anymore—the two of us meeting up, working on this stupid project—but there's something about these last few meetings that feels different.
