The courtyard was quieter than usual.
It was a Friday, and the usual buzz of students planning their weekend getaways, sleepovers, and late-night movie marathons floated distantly in the background. Erica sat at the edge of it all, her back against a cold stone bench under the shade of a tree that had begun to lose its leaves. Autumn had crept in like a whisper—soft, sudden, and almost unnoticed. Much like the way her heart had begun aching again.
She rested her elbows on her knees, her fingers loosely interlocked. Her lunch sat untouched beside her. She wasn't hungry—not for food, anyway.
Her chest was full of things she couldn't name. Regret. Longing. Exhaustion. And something far more dangerous: hope.
The week had passed in a blur. She had tried to busy herself—throwing herself into schoolwork, joining spontaneous group chats, pretending to laugh at things that didn't make her laugh anymore. She had convinced herself that distance was strength. That avoiding Nicole was the right thing. And maybe it was.
But the feelings hadn't faded.
If anything… they had bloomed in silence, fed by the absence, watered by every imagined conversation she never had the courage to start.
Then came the sound of footsteps—familiar ones. Light. Careful.
She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Nicole.
She heard her before she saw her. The rustling of a bag. The gentle clinking of ice. The soft, hesitant breath like Nicole was preparing for something that might hurt.
Erica finally glanced upward.
Nicole stood there, holding two cups of iced coffee in her hands. Her uniform blazer was unbuttoned, and her hair was a little messier than usual, as if she'd been debating this moment all morning.
"Can I sit?" Nicole asked, voice quiet. Like she was asking permission not just to share the bench—but to step back into Erica's world.
Erica didn't respond immediately.
Everything in her said to run. To protect herself. But her heart—the traitor—pulled in the opposite direction.
She gave a small nod.
Nicole exhaled with visible relief and sat down beside her, careful not to sit too close. She placed one of the cups on the bench between them. Erica glanced at it.
Vanilla iced coffee. Her favorite. Nicole still remembered.
"I thought maybe you could use this," Nicole said, her tone uncertain.
Erica didn't touch the drink. Not yet.
They sat in silence for a moment, not looking at each other. Just the breeze moving through leaves, the murmur of distant conversations, and the loud beating of Erica's heart.
Then Nicole spoke.
"I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About how I hurt you."
Erica remained still, but her hands tensed slightly.
Nicole pressed on, "You were right. I was selfish. I ran when I should have stayed. And I told myself it was for the best, that it would hurt less this way."
She laughed bitterly, mostly to herself. "But it didn't hurt less. Not for me. And I doubt it did for you."
Erica looked down at her hands. "It didn't."
Nicole swallowed. Her voice dropped into something softer—more sincere. "I regret it every single day. And not just because I miss you, but because I see it now. I see how I let fear decide for me. And I hate that I became someone who could hurt you like that."
The words hung between them like fragile ornaments—beautiful but breakable.
"I'm trying to be better," Nicole added. "For myself… and for you. If you'll let me."
Erica turned toward her, eyes finally meeting Nicole's. There was pain in them, yes. But also something else—truth.
She looked back at the coffee, the ice cubes melting slowly.
"I don't know if I can just let you back in," Erica said, her voice low, almost brittle. "I've spent so long trying to forget you. Trying to breathe without you."
Nicole didn't flinch. She listened, fully, patiently.
"I've told myself it's over a hundred times. That I deserve better. That you don't get to come back whenever it's convenient. And I believe those things," Erica continued. "But then I see you, and suddenly it's like none of that mattered. Like I'm back at square one again."
Nicole nodded slightly. "I know."
"I'm not the same girl I was back then," Erica said, voice trembling despite her efforts. "I've changed too. I had to."
Nicole leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. "And I don't want you to be the same girl. I just want you. As you are now. Stronger. Wiser. Angry, even—if that's what you need to be. I just want a chance to… prove that I won't run again."
The sincerity in her voice was disarming.
Erica wanted to believe her.
God, she wanted to believe her so badly it scared her.
But the doubt was still there, coiled tightly around her heart like thorns.
"You say you've changed," Erica said, "but what if you haven't? What if I let you in and it happens again?"
Nicole didn't try to defend herself.
She just looked at her, eyes shimmering in the late afternoon light. "Then I'll have to live with knowing I lost you twice. And that's a pain I'm not sure I'd survive."
That stopped Erica.
The truth in that sentence pierced her more than any apology ever could.
"I don't know if I'm ready for this," Erica said, her voice trembling again. "It's not just about you. It's me. I don't know if I can trust myself. I keep getting pulled into this loop of what-ifs and memories. I don't want to live there anymore."
Nicole reached out—slowly, carefully—and placed her fingers over Erica's hand. Not tightly. Just enough.
"I'm not asking you to be ready," she said. "I'm just asking for a chance."
Erica's breath caught in her throat.
The skin-on-skin contact was brief, but it said everything. It reminded her of sleepovers where their hands would brush under the same blanket and neither of them would pull away. Of days when closeness felt like oxygen, not a risk.
But this time, it was different.
This time, Erica knew what the cost could be.
Her heart pounded as she stared at Nicole, as if her body were waiting for permission to fall again.
"I need more time," she said finally, drawing her hand back, not harshly—but firmly. "I need to think about who I am without you first. About what I actually want, not what I miss."
Nicole nodded, not even hiding her sadness. "I can wait."
Erica searched her eyes, looking for anything that hinted at pressure or expectation.
But Nicole only looked… sincere.
"I'll wait as long as it takes," she added, her voice barely above a whisper.
The bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of lunch break. Students began pouring out from the cafeteria and classrooms, laughter rising like waves. But in their little bubble beneath the tree, everything else was still.
Nicole stood up slowly, brushing crumbs from her skirt. She picked up her coffee and left the other one on the bench.
"For you," she said with a half-smile. "In case you're ready. Even just for a sip."
Erica watched her walk away.
She didn't call her back. She didn't cry.
But she did reach for the coffee.
It was still cold.
Still sweet.
Still familiar.
And as the last golden leaves drifted down around her, Erica took her first sip.
It didn't mean everything was okay.
But maybe…
It meant she was starting to believe that it could be.