I didn't go to class the next day. Or the one after that.
For the first time in months, I pulled my blackout curtains shut, turned off my phone, and let myself disappear. Again.
It felt like high school all over — that gut-churning silence, the cold heaviness that curled around my chest and wouldn't let go. I couldn't shake the image of them laughing — the girls, the boys, the background voices of "oh no she didn't" and "she really thought…" replaying in my mind like a broken record.
And James.
Not because he rejected me — not really. Rejection, I could've lived with. But it was the way he said it. So… publicly. So casually. Like I was a silly little girl who had confused friendliness for something more.
Maybe I had.
It wasn't until the third day that Sophie barged into our room.
She didn't knock — of course not. She didn't have to.
I had locked myself inside the room, curled beneath my blanket like a cocoon that might save me from the sting of embarrassment. But the second I heard our door swing open and footsteps storm in, I knew it was her.
"Okay, Charlotte Marie Samson," she called, her voice fierce with that brand of Sophie-loving-authority I'd grown used to. "If I have to drag you out of this blanket burrito myself, I will. I am not afraid of emotional breakdowns — I've watched Grey's Anatomy, seasons one through fifteen."
She tossed something soft onto the bed. I peeked out just enough to see it.
Chocolate. And a bag of spicy chips.
Sophie sat beside me without another word and started munching dramatically. "You know," she said between bites, "they laughed because they're basic. But you? You were Beyoncé-level brave."
I gave her a sideways glance.
She grinned and said, "Also, I brought a bat in case you want to go full 'girl on revenge tour.' Just say the word."
A snort escaped before I could stop it.
Sophie turned to me, eyes softening. "I'm serious, Char. You don't get to disappear again. You hear me? You did something people dream of doing. And maybe it didn't go the way you wanted… but at least you did it. You lived."
And in that moment, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, eating off-brand chocolate, and sitting beside a girl who refused to let me fall apart alone… I finally let a tear slip.
Just one.
But sometimes, one is all it takes to begin healing.
Two days later, Sophie pulled me out for a late-night walk. No makeup. No pretending.
"I know what he did hurt. But don't you dare let this be the end of your story," she said, looking up at the stars. "You're not that invisible girl anymore, Charlotte. You're visible. You're real. You're seen. Maybe not by him… but by me. And a lot of other people."
Her voice cracked a little. "You didn't confess because you were stupid. You confessed because you were brave. That's what love is. Risky. Messy. Brave."
And somehow… I started to believe her.
By the weekend, I walked back into the dining hall. Whispers still followed me, but this time, I kept my head up. I sat down with Sophie, who was waving dramatically like I'd just returned from exile.
"Everyone, the queen has returned," she declared loudly, drawing a few stares and snorts.
I laughed. Not the kind of laugh that hides sadness, but the kind that says I'm still standing.
I stopped looking for James in every hallway. I stopped checking his messages. He hadn't texted me once since that day. And maybe that was all the closure I needed.
Instead, I focused on rebuilding what mattered — me.
I studied harder. Joined a book club. Even started writing again — little poems, short stories, anything that helped me process the mess of emotions inside.
And slowly, I began to feel like Charlotte again — not the girl James had rejected, but the girl who had once stood up, held a mic, and spoke her truth in front of hundreds of people.
Maybe I wasn't loved the way I wanted that night.
But I had loved myself enough to try.
And that… that meant something.