Chapter 1: The One He Forgot

I was Autumn Sullivan’s childhood friend. I’d had a crush on him for ten years.

Ten years—a decade that stretched out behind me like a long, sun-warmed country road. Scraped knees. Firefly jars. Even now, just thinking it, it sounded both ridiculous and inevitable—the kind of secret you tuck away in a diary with a cheap little lock.

He’d always let me tag along—until he met Savannah Pierce.

It was like being the last kid picked for kickball, except this time, the teams weren’t just for recess. I’d always been there, a fixture, until someone brighter and shinier stepped onto the field.

He told me Savannah was better than me in every way.

He didn’t even try to soften it. The words stung, sharp as a slap. He said them so matter-of-factly—like giving directions, or reading off a grocery list. I’d never felt so small.

He said, “You should really try dating someone else.”

I think he meant it to help. Like suggesting you try a new flavor of ice cream after years of vanilla. Except I’d never wanted anything but him.

So I did.

I tried, anyway. I put myself out there—awkward coffee dates, letting someone else hold my hand at the movies. I laughed at jokes that weren’t funny. But my heart wasn’t in it. Not really.

And then he regretted it.

It was almost funny, the way he looked at me then—like he was shocked the world could spin without him at its center—at the center of mine. I guess he never thought I’d actually listen.

I’m just tired.

Bone-deep, soul-tired. The kind of tired that makes your chest ache. It wasn’t just about him anymore—it was about me, about what I wanted, about how much of myself I’d given away without even realizing.

I don’t want to be into Autumn Sullivan anymore.

That truth hit me like a cold wind, sudden and bracing. I was done. Or at least, I wanted to be.

I realized this while sitting in his car.

The leather was cold against my legs, the air inside thick with the scent of rain. And something sharper—maybe regret. I could see the city lights flicker through the windows, blurry from the drizzle.

To be precise, I was in the back seat.

Pressed up against the door, knees drawn in, trying to take up as little space as possible—like if I was small enough, I could disappear altogether.

Savannah was in the passenger seat.

She looked perfect, of course—hair curled just so, lip gloss catching the light. She laughed at something on her phone, the sound bright and easy.

I was squeezed in the back with another classmate, Caleb Foster.

Caleb was all elbows and nervous energy, his backpack wedged between us. He kept glancing at me, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

Today was my freshman orientation.

First day jitters—multiplied by a thousand. I’d picked out my outfit the night before, laid it on the bed, and barely slept a wink. Everything felt too big—the city, the campus, my own hope.

I’d come from a small Southern town to Chicago, a place where I knew no one.

Back home, everyone knew everyone. Here, I was just another face in the crowd, my drawl sticking out like a sore thumb. The city felt alive, pulsing, a little bit terrifying.

I waited at the campus gate for Autumn for four whole hours.

Four hours. I watched the shadows shift, the sun crawl across the pavement. My phone battery dwindled, but I kept checking it anyway, willing it to ring.

He never picked up my calls.

Each unanswered ring felt heavier than the last. I kept telling myself he was busy, or something had come up. But deep down? I knew better.

By the time I’d handled everything myself, Caleb showed up outside my dorm.

He was out of breath, hair damp from the drizzle. “Lila, hey! Autumn asked me to come find you.” He said it like he was doing me a favor.

He said Autumn had sent him.

It felt like a hand-me-down invitation. Worn at the edges. But I smiled anyway and thanked him.

I borrowed Caleb’s phone to call him.

I could feel Caleb’s eyes on me as I dialed—the way you watch someone walk a tightrope, not sure if they’ll make it across.

He picked up right away.

“Autumn, I did it.”

My voice was small, but steady. I wanted him to hear that I’d made it, that I’d kept my promise.

Two years ago, we’d made a promise: if I got into his college—

We’d sworn on a shared milkshake at a diner, the kind of promise you make with sticky fingers and a head full of dreams. I’d believed every word.

“Lila.”

He cut me off. “You should really try dating someone else.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. It was like he’d slammed a door I didn’t even realize was open.

So he sent Caleb to pick me up.

That was the answer. He couldn’t even come himself.

“Don’t avoid me. Let’s talk in person.”

I tried to keep my voice even, to not let him hear the hurt.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he said, sounding impatient. “I’ll drive over to get you in a bit. There’s a club dinner tonight, you should come too.”

His tone was brisk, like he was doing me a big favor. I bit back a sigh, forcing a smile for Caleb’s sake.

The summer he was getting his license, I was the one who kept him company.

I’d sit on the curb, legs swinging, watching him circle the empty parking lot over and over. Sometimes I’d quiz him on road signs, just to make him laugh.

However long he practiced, I waited out in the sun just as long.

The heat would leave my skin pink and freckled, but I never complained. Not once. I was just happy to be there, hanging out in his orbit.

Someone teased him, asking, “Who’s that girl to you?”

The question made my heart stutter. Hope I didn’t want bubbling up anyway.

He took the water bottle from my hand with a grin. “You should ask her.”

He made it a joke, but his eyes lingered on mine—a second too long. I felt the world tilt. Just a little.

My face burned. I couldn’t say a word for ages.

I ducked my head, mumbling something incoherent, wishing I could disappear. The laughter that followed felt both warm and sharp.

Everyone burst out laughing.

It was the good-natured kind, but I still wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I tried to laugh along, cheeks burning.

Autumn ruffled my hair. “Just wait two more years—get into my college.”

He said it so casually, but to me, it was everything. I carried those words like a secret talisman.

His words always hinted at something, but he never said it outright.

It was always almost, always maybe. He kept me guessing, kept me hoping. I lived on crumbs, and called it a feast.

He just left me to guess.

And I did. Over and over, I spun his words into daydreams, convincing myself that someday, he’d say what I wanted to hear.

But I could never figure him out.

He was a puzzle missing half the pieces, a song with no chorus. I tried to read between the lines, but every time I thought I had him figured out, the rules changed.

While I was grinding to keep that promise—and shocked everyone by getting into the University of Chicago—what was he doing those two years?

I’d poured myself into books and late-night study sessions, all for a future I thought we’d share. Meanwhile, he was living his life—making new memories, chasing someone else.

“You must be Lila, right?” Savannah leaned out from the passenger window. “Hop in!”

Her voice was friendly, but there was something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe, or just the confidence of someone who always gets what they want.

So, he’d been chasing someone else.

The realization settled in my chest, cold and heavy. All my effort, all my hope—it hadn’t mattered at all.

The rearview mirror gave me my first look at his face in two years.

He looked older. Sharper. The boy I’d known was gone—replaced by someone harder to read. I studied his profile, searching for something familiar.

His features had sharpened—he looked less like the boy I remembered, more unfamiliar, more striking.

There was a new edge to him, a kind of careless confidence. It made him seem both more attractive and more distant.

He’d always been handsome. His eyes always gave him away.

But now, there was a shadow there, something I couldn’t name. I wondered if he saw me at all.

But after I got in the car, he didn’t look at me once.

I waited, hoping for a glance, a smile—anything. But his eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, like I was just another passenger.

“Caleb.”

Savannah turned around, calling Caleb’s name but looking at me.

Her gaze was playful, a little too knowing. I squirmed. Felt exposed, like she could see right through me.

“Did you help Lila with her luggage?”

Her teasing made Caleb blush.

He stammered, glancing at his shoes. “She moved it herself.”

Savannah laughed, a high, tinkling sound. “Hey, you gotta shoot your shot!” she laughed. “Didn’t you say you wanted a girlfriend? Don’t say I never help you.”

Caleb scratched his head, sneaking a glance at me.

He looked so earnest, I couldn’t help but smile back, just a little.

“Add her on Instagram,” Savannah reminded him.

She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like friendship could be sealed with a follow.

Caleb took out his phone and held it out to me. “Uh, Lila…”

His voice wavered, but he was trying. I admired that.

Suddenly, the car braked.

The three of us looked at the driver’s seat.

We all froze, waiting for Autumn’s reaction. He didn’t even flinch.

He was expressionless, like he didn’t care about our conversation.

His hands stayed steady on the wheel. Outside, the rain streaked down the windows, city lights smeared into watercolor.

Just a red light.

Felt like a metaphor—stuck, waiting, not going anywhere. I watched the droplets race each other down the glass.

Outside, Chicago was draped in early spring rain.

The city felt softer, muted. The air was thick with the scent of wet pavement and blooming magnolias. I pressed my forehead to the window, letting the cool seep in.

Back in senior year, I’d stared out my classroom window at Southern rain, imagining this very day two years later.

I’d pictured myself here—older, braver, beside him. I never imagined it would feel so lonely.

Caleb’s phone was still in front of my face.

He waited, patient, not pushing. I took the phone, thumbs fumbling as I typed my handle.

The red light was slow.

Time seemed to stretch, every second a reminder of everything that had changed.

“…Lila Sawyer,” the driver finally spoke, looking at me in the mirror. “Don’t be too picky.”

He said it like a joke, letting the rain outside wash away the traces of my old classroom—each tiny drop like a needle pricking my heart.

His voice was light, but it landed heavy. I forced a laugh, pretending not to care.

Savannah was beautiful.

The kind of radiant beauty that stands out in any crowd.

She had that effortless glow, the kind that made people turn their heads. I tried not to compare, but it was impossible.

Wherever she went, she was the center of attention.

She owned every room, every conversation. I faded into the background, the way I always had.

Just like now—in the private dining room for the club dinner, as soon as she walked in, everyone welcomed her.

The room buzzed with energy, laughter bouncing off the walls. Savannah glided in, and heads turned.

“Savannah, over here!” a senior called, waving her over. “I saved seats for you and Autumn.”

He sounded almost giddy, like he was lucky just to be in her orbit.

Autumn stepped up to pull out a chair for Savannah.

He did it without thinking, the kind of gesture that says everything without a word. I watched, stomach twisting.

That left Caleb and me standing awkwardly by the door.

We shuffled our feet, unsure where to go. I wished I could melt into the wallpaper.

“Hey,” the senior who liked to stir things up called, “Caleb brought his girlfriend! I thought you’d be single all through college.”

His words rang out, drawing laughter from a few corners. My cheeks burned. Great.

“No, no,” Caleb waved his hands, “she’s Autumn’s sister—Lila Sawyer.”

At that, everyone turned to look at me, each with their own expression.

Some curious, some skeptical. I tried to hold their gaze, but it was hard.

The senior glanced at Savannah, then at me, drawing out his words. “…So you’re the legendary little sister of Autumn Sullivan.”

He said it with a smirk, like he was in on some inside joke. I didn’t bother to correct him.

“Don’t just stand there, come sit.” Savannah pouted. “I was starving waiting in the car for Lila.”

She played it up, making herself sound put-upon. The others laughed, and the tension eased a little.

Autumn asked the server for menus.

He did it without looking at me, his voice low and polite. I wondered if he even noticed I was there.

There was a seat next to the senior. I walked over, about to sit down.

I hesitated, glancing around for somewhere less conspicuous.

“Hey, don’t sit here.” He moved the chair away. “I have this thing—I only let pretty girls sit next to me, sorry.”

He glanced at Savannah as he said it.

The joke was obvious, but it still stung. I forced a smile, pretending it didn’t bother me.

Savannah playfully hit him. “Stop messing around.”

She grinned, rolling her eyes, and the others laughed along.

“Sit here, Lila.”

A senior girl made room for Caleb and me.

She smiled warmly, patting the seat beside her. I mouthed a thank you, grateful for the kindness.

“Don’t be mad, he’s always like that—no filter.”

She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. I managed a smile. Felt a little less alone.

I sat down, lips pressed together, and glanced at Autumn.

He noticed, but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to the server. “No onions—she doesn’t like them.”

My heart skipped. He remembered. Even now.

“And no garlic,” Savannah gently tugged his sleeve.

Her voice was soft, almost shy. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

Autumn raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you eat garlic before?”

He sounded amused, teasing her. The easy intimacy between them made my chest ache.

Savannah’s ears turned red as she whispered something in his ear.

He leaned in, listening closely. Whatever she said made him laugh, his face lighting up in a way I hadn’t seen in years.

They both laughed.

The sound filled the room, infectious. I tried to focus on the menu, but the words blurred.

“Come on, save it for later—the food’s not even here and you two are already making us jealous,” the senior teased.

He wagged his finger, feigning outrage. The table erupted in laughter.

“This place is slow with the food. Let’s play a game.”

He clapped his hands, eager for entertainment.

“What game?”

The question bounced around the table, everyone leaning in.

“Truth or Dare?” the senior suggested.

“That’s so lame,” Savannah chimed in.

She wrinkled her nose, playful and dismissive. Someone else groaned in agreement.

“Don’t like it? Then you start. Truth or dare?”

He grinned at her, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Truth.”

She said it confidently, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll ask: When are you and Autumn going public?”

The question hung in the air, electric. The table erupted in cheers and catcalls.

Everyone started to hoot and holler.

Someone banged on the table, chanting their names. I shrank into my seat, wishing I could disappear.

Autumn didn’t say a word, just looked at Savannah with a faint smile.

The kind of look that says more than words ever could. My stomach twisted.

“Oh, come on,” Savannah covered her face. “We’re not together.”

Her voice was muffled, but her eyes sparkled with something unspoken.

“Got it, got it—still in the flirting stage.”

The senior gave her an out, then turned to me.

He fixed me with a grin, clearly enjoying himself.

“Your turn.”

“I’m not playing.”

I refused outright.

My voice was sharper than I intended. The table went quiet for a beat.

His face soured. “Well, that’s a buzzkill.”

He leaned back, arms crossed, making a show of his disappointment.

“Don’t be like that, Lila,” the senior girl whispered. “It’s just a game—you don’t want to make enemies on your first day.”

Her voice was gentle, but the warning was clear. I felt the pressure building, the eyes on me.

If he doesn’t care about embarrassment, why should I?

I straightened my shoulders, determined not to give in. I’d spent too long worrying about everyone else’s feelings.

Seeing me dig in my heels, Savannah spoke up. “If she doesn’t want to, just let it go—no need to ruin the mood.”

Her tone was firm, and the others nodded, grateful for the excuse to move on.

“Yeah, let’s just eat,” the senior girl agreed.

She shot me a grateful look, and I exhaled, tension easing.

“I’ll do it—dare,” Caleb volunteered.

His voice was shaky but brave. He looked at me, eyes pleading for help.

“Alright, your dare is to stare into Lila Sawyer’s eyes for ten seconds. Can’t say I never gave you a chance.”

He shot me a look. “That’s fair, right? Just ten seconds. Don’t leave Caleb hanging.”

The words felt loaded, but I nodded, determined not to let Caleb down.

Everyone watched, eager for drama.

Phones hovered, ready to capture the moment. I felt exposed. But I steadied myself.

“Lila…” Caleb tugged at my sleeve under the table.

His hand was cold, trembling. I squeezed it gently, offering silent reassurance.

I could feel how helpless he was. Trying so hard to fit in, to belong. God, I knew that feeling.

As someone used to being on the outside, he tried to smile through it.

For him, these ten seconds could ease a lot of things.

“Alright, let’s count.” Caleb perked up.

He grinned, trying to make it fun. I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes.

I took a breath and, under everyone’s gaze, looked at Caleb.

The shaky light revealed all his awkwardness, but more than that, relief—relief that I’d help him out, so he wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment alone.

“Eight, seven, six…”

The seconds dragged, each one louder than the last. I could feel the weight of every gaze. This is so stupid.

It shouldn’t be like this.

Why did we have to be performing monkeys?

“Five, four, three, two…”

I counted along in my head, willing it to be over. Caleb’s eyes flickered with gratitude.

This wasn’t about giving someone a chance.

It was just a bunch of people, mocking someone’s desire to be loved, like it was a curiosity.

I felt a surge of anger—at them, at myself, at the whole stupid game.

Before anyone could say “one,” Autumn opened the door to the private room.

The door swung open with a bang, breaking the tension. Everyone turned.

The food had arrived.

Platters clattered onto the table, the scent of garlic and spices filling the room. The spell was broken.

And that ended the farce.

People cheered, grateful for the distraction. I slipped out, unnoticed.