It was a rainy Wednesday.
The kind of day where the sky wore a grey shawl and the world seemed to whisper instead of shout. I was curled up by the window in our dorm room, half-listening to the rhythm of raindrops tapping the glass while pretending to read notes for our final psych exam. Sophie had been unusually quiet all morning—no dramatic hair flipping, no humming to obnoxious pop songs, no bouncing around the room in mismatched socks.
Something was off.
"You okay?" I asked, not looking up.
"Yeah," she answered too quickly.
I turned to see her sitting cross-legged on her bed, laptop in her lap, biting her lip like it owed her money.
"Sophie…"
She inhaled deeply. Then she turned the screen to me.
"I got in."
"In?" I blinked.
"The New York Creative Arts and Innovation Fellowship." Her voice trembled with both disbelief and excitement. "I applied months ago on a whim. Remember when I said I wanted to chase bigger dreams but wasn't sure where to start? Well… they emailed me this morning."
My heart skipped a beat. "That's… incredible."
And it was.
This was Sophie's dream—a program that took in only a handful of artistic, high-achieving students from across the country. She'd be in workshops with creators, designers, and performers. There'd be studios. Broadway meetups. Internships. A whole new world.
But it also meant… she'd be leaving.
"It starts in the fall. In New York. Full scholarship. Dorms and all."
I swallowed, trying to smile even as a knot formed in my throat. "That's amazing, Soph. I'm so proud of you."
"Are you really?" Her eyes searched mine.
"Of course. You were meant for this."
She gave me a soft, wobbly smile. "I wanted to tell you right away… but I was scared."
"Why?"
"Because it means goodbye. Or at least something close to it."
My chest ached. It was selfish, I knew that. I wanted to scream I wasn't ready for her to go. That she'd become the sister I never had. That her laugh filled the quiet corners of my life. That we built something real.
But I also knew—deep down—this was exactly what she needed.
"I'll miss you," I whispered.
"I'll miss you more."
She moved to sit beside me. We just sat there, side by side, knees touching, watching the rain smudge the skyline like a memory being erased.
"Promise me something," she said.
"Anything."
"Don't shrink back when I leave. Don't go invisible again. You're more you than you've ever been—and James sees it. Everyone sees it. Just… don't let this stop you from shining."
"Promise me we'll visit each other?" I said.
She laughed through teary eyes. "Please. I expect us to FaceTime every Saturday, and if you don't, I'll haunt your Netflix watch list."
We both burst into laughter, and the heaviness between us lifted slightly.
⸻
Later that night, James joined us for pizza in the common room. Sophie waited until halfway through a terrible rom-com to break the news to him.
"New York?" he asked, stunned, then grinned. "That's huge. Sophie, congrats!"
She gave him a small bow. "Thank you, good sir. You'll miss me, won't you?"
"Every chaotic second," he said.
I watched the way the two of them hugged—tight, real, the kind of friendship that was built through fire. And then James turned to me, his eyes lingering a little longer.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. I think so."
And for once, I actually meant it.
Because while everything was changing, and the idea of saying goodbye was suffocating, I also felt something else rising quietly in me.
Hope.
Sophie was going to chase her dreams. And maybe… I would too.