The next morning came slow, like her body already knew what her mind was trying to avoid. Lily stayed in bed longer than usual, scrolling through her camera roll—half-heartedly admiring her sketches, old selfies with Ava, random shots of her art supplies, and one blurry photo of Joe waving at the camera with his hood up and that lopsided grin on his face.
She stared at that one a little longer.
And then she deleted it.
The silence in the dorm felt louder than usual. Jess had left early for a study group, leaving behind the faint smell of cocoa butter and a folded blanket shaped like a taco on her bed. Lily sat up slowly, dragging her comforter with her, then reached for her sketchbook.
She opened it but didn't draw. She just stared at the blank page.
It wasn't like her to feel this way—restless and too still at the same time. She thought about replying to Joe's text from last night. She even typed out a message—"Sure, coffee sounds good"—but didn't send it. Instead, she erased it and tossed her phone on the floor, face down.
She'd already given him enough of her time. Of herself.
But around noon, the curiosity began to itch. She flipped her phone over.
No new messages.
Not even a "Hey, you good?"
Not a "Morning, sunshine."
Not even one of his annoying memes.
Lily grabbed her hoodie, pulled it over her head, and headed out of the dorm. She walked to the student lounge on the far side of campus, headphones in, music loud, trying to drown the noise in her head. It wasn't even about Joe anymore—it was the slow realization that she had once again started to shrink herself just to be liked. Again.
Why was it always her?
She passed a group of girls laughing at a bench near the art building, one of them with the same bubblegum pink Crocs Lily had. For some reason, that made her chest twist. When had she last laughed like that? Unbothered. Light.
She hadn't even realized how heavy she'd gotten again. Not in body. In spirit.
Inside the lounge, she found a corner near the window and sank into a beanbag chair. She scrolled through her messages, not because she expected anything, but because the quiet was eating at her.
That's when it happened.
Her thumb paused on an old message thread.
David.
It had been weeks since she last thought of him properly. But there it was—her old message: "You never really saw me, did you?"
And his last reply: "Lily, you're being dramatic."
She swallowed hard and backed out of the chat.
Why did this feel so familiar?
Someone likes her. She opens up. They pull back. She tells herself it's fine. She makes excuses for them. And slowly, she disappears.
No. Not again.
Lily stood, headed straight for the vending machine, and bought herself a packet of Oreos and an apple juice. She wasn't even hungry. She just needed to do something. Anything.
She sat again, phone in hand, and before she could overthink it, she started typing.
Lily:
"Hey. Can I be honest for a second? You're kind and funny and all the good things, but lately, it's felt like I'm texting a cloud. I don't want to play guessing games about where I stand. So, if you're not really into this, or if you're just not sure, it's okay. I just need to know. Because I can't keep talking to someone who disappears mid-sentence."
She stared at it. Reread it twice.
Then hit send.
Her chest felt like it might split open. But it also felt… freer. Like she had just dropped a suitcase she didn't realize she'd been carrying.
For the next few minutes, she watched the screen. No reply. The tiny "Delivered" under the message felt like a cruel joke.
She sighed, slipped her phone into her pocket, and walked out of the lounge.
The air had cooled. Clouds gathered like they were preparing for something. Her pace slowed as she passed the fountain near the admin building, and for the first time since arriving at Westview, she didn't feel like a shadow of someone else.
She felt like… her.
Not perfect. Not polished. But real.
And that had to count for something.
---
Back in her dorm, she threw her hoodie off, plopped down on her bed, and began to sketch. Not carefully. Not neatly. Just freely. Angry strokes. Soft lines. A girl standing at the edge of a cliff—not about to fall, not waiting to be saved.
Just standing.
Unmoving. Unshaken.
When she looked at the drawing an hour later, she whispered to herself, "I like her."
That night, as Lily lay in bed, her phone lit up.
Joe:
"Hey, chill. I've just been busy.with school, sports, party with friends and other stuff, i don't really use my phone like that. You're great, seriously. It's not about you."
She stared at the message for a long time.
Then turned off her phone. No reply.
Because this time, she wasn't shrinking for anyone.
Not even for someone tall with brown eyes and a charming smile.