I had stopped knocking on her door after the first week.
Not because I didn’t want to—God, every part of me wanted to—but because there’s only so many times you can stand in a hallway like an i***t, listening to silence on the other side.
The first couple of nights I told myself maybe she was asleep. Or in the shower. Or out late with June. But after the fourth, fifth, sixth time, it became clear she wasn’t asleep, she wasn’t out, she was just… choosing not to open the door.
So I forced myself to stop. It was one of the hardest things I had done lately.
Ethan told me I was doing the right thing, giving her space. But he didn’t know what it felt like, walking past her dorm and hearing muffled laughter from inside but knowing I wasn’t welcome. He didn’t know how much it cost me to keep
