The first day I felt better, I went to The Beanery, the campus coffee shop.

I needed caffeine to tackle the mountain of schoolwork I’d missed.

While ordering, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Grande, non-fat, half-sweet, triple-shot vanilla macchiato, extra hot, light foam.”

It was Hailey.

I turned and saw her in line with a few of her Kappa sisters.

She spotted me and immediately flashed a sweet smile.

“Chloe! You’re feeling better? Jackson said you were really sick.”

“Much better, thanks.”

“Oh, that’s great!” She took a step forward, standing beside me. “I felt so bad about that night. I shouldn’t have called Jackson so late. But you know, we grew up together—he’s just the first person I call when anything happens.”

Her voice was perfectly modulated—just loud enough for everyone around us to hear.

“It’s fine,” I said coolly. “I got back safely.”

“See! Campus is perfectly safe!” Hailey laughed. “Some people are just so dramatic.”

The barista called my name. I picked up my oat milk latte and turned to leave.

As I reached the door, I heard Hailey say to her friends:

“Jackson’s never gotten my order wrong. Not once in six years.”

I paused for a second.

Back in my dorm, I opened the fridge.

The three whole milk lattes were still lined up neatly.

One by one, I poured them down the sink.

Watching the white liquid swirl down the drain, I suddenly laughed.

Maya walked in, saw what I was doing, and came over.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” I said. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“How long does it take to remember someone’s coffee order?”

Maya thought for a moment. “Twice? Three times?”

“Six years,” I said. “Jackson and I have been together for four years, and he still can’t remember my coffee order.”

“But he remembers Hailey’s. Never missed it.”

The room fell silent.

“Chloe…” Maya took my hand.

“I’m fine,” I said, closing the fridge door. “Really. I just need to think about some things.”

That night, Jackson called and asked if I wanted to get dinner.

“Can’t. I have a paper due.”

“Want me to bring you something?”

“No thanks. Maya’s got me covered.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Chloe, you seem… different lately.”

“How so?”

“I can’t put my finger on it,” his voice was confused. “But it feels like you’re… pulling away.”

I looked out my window at the campus.

“Maybe,” I said softly. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

After hanging up, I opened the internship application page for the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

I stared at the “Submit Application” button for a long time.

Then, I clicked it.