"Of course I will."
"Of course I will."
"Of course I will."
Lieselotte hasn't seen Katelynn since that day. Katelynn's presence feels like vapor clinging to a bathroom mirror—so vivid for a moment, then fading, leaving the glass clear again, as if she had never been there. Now, Lieselotte moves through life as if she's hollowed out, nothing but a fragile string of white bones held to the earth by gravity alone. She sits on a park bench, feeling weightless, her hand reaching out to catch the wind—only to close around nothing. Just air, just absence, just the ache of something unfinished.
Regret lingers in her chest like a tangled mess, like fallen leaves scattered across the ground. If no one sweeps them up, they stay disordered, chaotic. Their parting was the same—unexpected and messy, like a sudden storm with no warning.
