Time has a strange way of softening things. Or maybe it just dulls the sting.
Either way, James and I weren't angry anymore.
We were just… distant.
And somehow, that hurt worse.
Weeks passed.
We still saw each other—in classes, at meetings, around campus. But there was a polite space between us now.
He no longer waited for me outside lecture halls.
I no longer saved him a seat.
And worst of all… we no longer laughed together.
We were friendly, but not friends.
"Are you guys still weird?" Sophie asked one night, chewing her pencil as we studied.
I shrugged. "Not weird. Just… different."
"I don't like it," she said. "You two were like peanut butter and jelly. Now you're more like… toast and air."
I laughed softly, but the ache in my chest remained.
Across campus, James sat on a bench near the fountain, scrolling absently through his messages.
None from Charlotte.
None to Charlotte.
He stared at her name in his chat list, thumb hovering. For the hundredth time, he thought about texting.
Just something.
But every time he tried, he erased it.
He'd hurt her once. He didn't want to misstep again.
Then came the night of the campus movie under the stars.
It was one of those warm spring evenings where the grass smelled like fresh earth and everyone felt lighter just by being outside. I hadn't planned to go, but Sophie dragged me.
"It'll be fun," she said. "We'll laugh. Eat popcorn. Maybe cry at the cheesy romance part."
I reluctantly agreed.
What I didn't expect was to see James already there—alone, sitting on the far edge of the lawn, looking… distant.
I couldn't tell if he saw me. But just knowing he was there sent my heart into a quiet spiral.
Sophie nudged me. "Go sit with him."
"I can't."
"You can. And you should."
I hesitated for a moment longer… then stood and walked over.
"Is this seat taken?" I asked quietly, pointing beside him.
James looked up, startled—and then smiled. It was small, unsure. But real.
"No. It's yours."
I sat.
We didn't speak for the first ten minutes of the film. Just sat in silence beneath the stars, the glowing screen casting flickers across our faces.
Finally, I whispered, "I missed this."
He turned to me, eyes soft. "Me too."
I swallowed. "I know things have been weird. I just… I guess I got scared. Of what I felt. Of what you didn't."
James looked at me, really looked. "Charlotte, I never meant to hurt you. I was scared too. I didn't want to ruin what we had. You're too important."
I laughed quietly. "We're such a mess."
"The best kind," he said. "Messy means we care."
I smiled, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. "So what now?"
James hesitated—then offered me the smallest, most sincere answer.
"We start again. As friends. But better this time."
I nodded and leaned into his shoulder just a little.
The movie played on. And for the first time in weeks, my heart felt steady again.
We didn't need fireworks.
We didn't need a perfect fix.
We just needed truth, vulnerability… and time.
And that night, under a canopy of stars, we chose to begin again.
Not where we left off.
But where we were meant to go.