Day forty-five dawned gray and heavy, the kind of Pacific Northwest morning that felt like the sky itself was reluctant to let go. The mist clung low over Maple Lane, turning the lilacs into soft ghosts outside the window. Amina was leaving today. Her car was already packed in the driveway next door—suitcases, dorm fridge, and the faded quilt her mother had made years ago. The text from her at 7:12 a.m. was short: “Leaving in an hour. Coffee on the porch before I go?”
Elias read it while I was still wrapped tight in his arms in bed, his body curled around mine like a shield. Morning hardness pressed hot against my a*s, but this time his hold felt different—desperate, almost afraid. His breath was warm against my neck.
“She’s really going,” he said, voice raw. “Four hours away. College. N
