Chapter 33

Nani Hirunkit

It's been almost three weeks since I came back. A week of watching, of noticing the things I wish I didn't.

Sky has changed.

It's nothing obvious—no grand gestures, no major shifts. But I know him better than anyone. I saw it in the smallest things, the details most people would overlook. The way his laughter came easier, unforced, like he was no longer dragging himself through every conversation. The way his shoulders didn't seem so tense anymore, the weight he'd been carrying finally starting to lift. The way his eyes softened when May talked, like she was pulling him back to something lighter, something warmer.

Like she was bringing him back to himself.

It hit me harder than I expected.

I should be happy for him.

I told myself that over and over again. And in some ways, I was. Sky deserved to be okay. He deserved to feel lighter, to have someone who made him laugh like that again. After everything we'd been through—after everything I put him through—I should have been relieved to see him like this.

But I couldn't ignore the way my chest tightened whenever I watched from a distance.

I couldn't ignore the way it stung.

Because for weeks, I was part of the reason he struggled. I saw the shift in him—the exhaustion, the frustration, the weight pressing down on him. I was there through it all, watching him slip further and further away.

And now, after I left, after I stepped back, he was finally okay again.

I didn't know what that said about me.

I didn't want to think about what it meant.

For days, I observed from the sidelines. I saw how he was around her. The way he listened to May—not just nodding along out of politeness but really listening. The way he responded, fully engaged, smiling in a way I hadn't seen in weeks. He looked lighter, freer, like something in him had settled.

It was subtle, but the shift was there.

May had brought something back in him.

Something I couldn't.

I forced myself to look away, my stomach twisting with something I didn't want to name.

I didn't know when it became like this. When watching Sky started to feel like watching a stranger. When the space between us started to feel impossible to cross.

And yet, despite everything—despite the changes, despite the way things had shifted—I couldn't ignore the feeling that wouldn't leave me.

I still wanted to talk to him.

Not to fight. Not to rehash old wounds. Just to talk.

I didn't know what I was expecting. Maybe closure. Maybe just the reassurance that we weren't completely broken yet. Or maybe I just needed to hear his voice again, to see if something in me settled when I did.

The thought lingered as I sat alone in my room, phone in hand. Sky's name was still blocked from the last time we spoke—if that even counted as speaking. My thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating.

It would be easier to leave things as they were. To pretend like I didn't care, like I had moved on the way he seemed to have.

But I wouldn't be here, staring at his name, if that were true.

I exhaled sharply, pressing the button before I could overthink it.

Unblock.

The weight of the decision settled on my chest. There was no taking it back now. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, every possible message running through my head. I could keep it simple. I could ask how he'd been. I could try to ease into it.

But I didn't want to drag this out.

So I typed the words before I lost my nerve.

"Sky?"

"Can we talk tomorrow at our usual place at 2pm?"

The second I hit send, my stomach twisted. I set my phone down quickly, like distance would make it easier to breathe.

There was nothing else I could do now.

Either he'd answer, or he wouldn't.

Either way, I'd know.