Eighteen looked nothing like I thought it would.
I didn't wake up suddenly wiser or stronger or more fearless. But I had changed — slowly, steadily, in ways no one really noticed except me.
I wasn't Kaden's little sister anymore. Not just the girl who used to sit on the stairs listening to secrets, or the girl who fell in love with someone she could never have. I was something else now.
My own.
I had friends — real ones. The kind who knew what kind of coffee I liked, who texted me too many memes, who dragged me out to bonfires and study sessions and late-night drives with the windows down and music way too loud. People who didn't know the version of me that was always waiting for someone to come home.
I laughed louder now. I didn't apologize for taking up space.
I wore eyeliner and denim skirts and sometimes red lipstick that made my mom raise her eyebrows but never say anything.
I dated. A little. Nothing serious.
No one made my stomach flip the way he did. But I stopped waiting for that. Mostly.
Sometimes I'd catch glimpses of him on social media — Callum at some college game, hair longer, jaw sharper, surrounded by people I didn't know. He looked like he belonged. Like he'd finally grown into the world without breaking.
I didn't stalk him. I didn't like the photos. But I saw them.
Sometimes Kaden mentioned him offhandedly, when he came home on breaks.
"Callum's interning with some sports clinic," he'd say, pouring cereal. Or, "Cal got that apartment off campus finally."
Like it was nothing. Like he wasn't talking about someone who used to be everything.
I never asked about him.
I didn't need to.
I had my own life now. I was applying to schools. Thinking about moving out. I had friends, and a job at a bookstore on Main, and a beat-up car that barely ran but still felt like freedom.
But sometimes — in the still moments — I'd feel it.
The ghost of a memory. The way his hand felt in mine. The way his voice used to dip when he said my name.
It didn't haunt me.
Not anymore.
But it was still there.
Like a song I used to love that I don't play anymore — but wouldn't skip if it came on the radio.