In the heart of Harvard, Alessia Gilmore is ready to embrace her second year and the independence it brings. After a summer spent reconnecting with friends and discovering herself, she's determined to step out of her twin sister Rory's shadow and ca...
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The morning came gray and quiet. Not soft or gentle — just gray. A sky that didn't bother pretending it cared.
Alessia moved through the house like she always had: on quiet feet, as if even her existence was supposed to go unnoticed. Her bag was packed and zipped, sitting by the door like it had been waiting for her. She didn't double-check anything, didn't linger. She just moved.
Lorelai wasn't up yet.
The kitchen smelled faintly of last night's popcorn and yesterday's coffee. Rory's printed article — from two days ago — still lay on the counter. She didn't touch it.
She didn't leave a note. She didn't want to explain. She didn't want to give Lorelai a chance to brush it off with a joke.
She grabbed her jacket, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stepped outside. The air bit at her cheeks, stiff with early winter cold.
No lights in the diner. No one sweeping the inn's porch. No runners. No dog walkers. No Jess.
She started the car and drove out of Stars Hollow before anyone could notice she was leaving. Maybe that was better. Maybe it always was.
⸻
By the time she was on the highway, her phone buzzed in the cupholder. Her chest tightened at the name on the screen:
Logan.
It had been two days since that dinner. Two days since his mother and grandfather had cornered her at the table, offering smiles that didn't reach their eyes and words that cut sharper than any knife.
"Girls like you... they don't tend to last in this family." "Logan needs someone polished. Someone who fits." "You're just a phase."
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Logan: You never texted me after dinner. Are you okay?
Another message:
Logan: I can't stop thinking about you. About them. About how they treated you. I'm so sorry.
Alessia stared at the screen, jaw tight.
Another:
Logan: Please don't shut me out.
Her throat tightened. Because she was pulling away. Without meaning to. Without wanting to. Just out of habit — the habit of being the one who leaves first before anyone can push her out.
The light ahead turned green. She placed the phone down and kept driving, miles stretching between her and Stars Hollow.
Another message came through.
Logan: When you're back on campus, please. Just let me see you.
She didn't reply. Not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't know how to without the words cracking.
Her hands gripped the wheel tighter.
The road was long, straight, empty. For the first time in two days, it felt like a relief.
Somewhere ahead, she imagined herself free of judgment, free of the ghosts from two nights ago, free of the hollow ache of being unnoticed.
But she knew the relief would be temporary. Logan's messages were the first reminder that she couldn't escape all of it. Not yet.
