Page 56

The bus rumbles through the night, headlights illuminating patches of dark highway. I find myself relaxing, the tension of the day finally draining away.
“So,” Justine says after a while. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I set my mug down and turn toward her. “She was with someone else.”
Justine doesn’t react with shock or pity, just nods for me to continue.
“Her professor,” I add. “It’s been going on a while.”
“That explains a lot,” Justine says softly.
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. “The weird thing is, I thought I’d fall apart seeing her. But instead, I just felt . . . free.” I shrug.
“Because you finally got closure?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve been holding onto something that was already gone.”
Justine takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “Songs have a way of keeping things alive long after they should be over.”
I glance at her sharply. “You think I’ve been using music to hold onto her?”
“Not consciously,” she clarifies. “But when you write about someone, sing about them every night . . . it’s like they’re never really gone.”
I consider this. It makes sense. I’ve been pouring Nola into every lyric, every chord. Keeping her present even in her absence.
“Tonight was different though,” Justine continues. “You sang like someone who was finally letting go. You definitely had the rocker vibe I’m used to.”
I laugh and nod slowly because she’s right. “I realized something today. All this time, I’ve been afraid of who I am without her. Like somehow, she defined me, which is wild when I think about it because I was me long before she came along.”
“And now?”
“Now I think maybe I need to find out who I am now. I’ve spent too much time trying to be the person her parents wanted her to be with. When I walked away from her, it felt like I didn’t have to walk on eggshells anymore, and it was a fucking relief.”
Justine smiles, and in the dim light of the bus, her eyes seem to hold answers to questions I haven’t even thought to ask.
“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, “I like the Quinn I’ve gotten to know these past few months.”
A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the hot chocolate. I bump her shoulder lightly with mine. “Even brooding, emo Quinn?”
She laughs. “Especially him. The depth looks good on you.”
“Well, hopefully less brooding Quinn is also acceptable.”
“I suppose I can adapt,” she teases, leaning into me slightly.
We sit like that, shoulders touching, watching the night roll by. Eventually, her head tilts toward my shoulder, and her breathing deepens. I stay perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her.
When I’m sure she’s asleep, I carefully reach for my notebook and open it to a blank page. The words come easily tonight.
In the quiet after storm, when lightning’s ceased to flash
When thunder’s distant memory, and rain has turned to mist
I find myself still standing, feet planted on the ground
Not broken, only weathered—somehow safer now than sound
I writeuntil my eyes grow heavy, Justine’s warmth against my side a steady anchor in the rolling bus. For the first time in months, when sleep claims me, there are no ghosts waiting in my dreams.