Tom's POV
"And now she's just… back," I continued, my voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady. "Like nothing ever fucking happened. Like she didn't disappear from my life without a word." I let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh, bitter and broken.
"I rebuilt my life around not having her here," I said, staring at the floor. "I had to. I didn't have a choice. I learned how to exist without her, how to wake up every day knowing she wasn't coming back. And now she just shows up and fucking wrecks everything."
My hands trembled slightly as I clenched them tighter. "After she left, I was devastated," I went on. "I had no one, No friends. No backup. It was just me, every goddamn day. And yeah—eventually I learned to be okay with that. I had to be okay with that."
My voice cracked hard this time. "But now she just appears out of the blue, like I'm supposed to smile and welcome her back with open arms," I said. "How the hell am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to react to that?" I swallowed, my chest tight, panic creeping in beneath the anger.
"I'm scared," I admitted quietly. "Because if I let her back into my life and she leaves again… I'll be right back where I started. Devastated. Alone. Broken all over again." My eyes burned, and before I could stop it, a tear slipped free. I wiped it away quickly with the back of my hand, hoping like hell she hadn't noticed.
"I hated that feeling," I finished, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't ever want to feel that shit again."
"Are you sure that's the case?" my mom asked softly.
"What?" I said, lifting my head, confused as hell.
"Are you sure she never tried?" she pressed. "Or that she wasn't hurting too. That she didn't have to rebuild her life as well."
Her words hit harder than I expected, like a quiet punch to the gut.
"Did you ever try talking to her?" she continued, her tone firmer now. "Did you ever tell her how you feel, Tom? You can't just sit here and speculate, assuming you know what she went through or how she feels."
I clenched my jaw, my hands tightening against my knees. I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"You don't know what she's feeling right now," she went on.
"She was so excited to see her best friend again, only to be met with a cold shoulder and slammed doors."
That one stung. Fucking bad.
She stood up, smoothing out her shirt like the conversation was done whether I liked it or not. She paused at the door, glancing back at me with that look—the one that meant she wasn't mad, just disappointed, which somehow felt worse.
"Stop this nonsense, Tom," she said firmly. "And just talk to her."
And with that, she walked out, closing the door behind her and leaving me alone in my room with my thoughts spiraling like a goddamn mess.
I stared at the door long after she left, my chest tight, my head pounding.
Fuck.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open slowly, like she was scared.
"Tom… may I come in?" Cassandra asked quietly.
I didn't answer. I didn't tell her to get the hell out either. I just stayed where I was, staring at the wall like it had all the answers to my life.
After a moment, she took that as permission.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with care. No dramatic slam. No rush. Just soft, hesitant movements, like she was afraid I might shout if she moved too fast.
She walked over and sat down beside me on the floor, leaving just enough space between us. Close enough to feel her presence. Far enough to remind me we weren't the same anymore.
"Hey," she said softly.
I swallowed, my throat tight as hell.
"…Hi," I replied, my voice flat, detached, like I didn't give a shit—like I wasn't fighting a thousand emotions at once.
She fidgeted with the sleeve of her oversized sweater, tugging it over her fingers like she used to when she was nervous. That tiny habit punched me right in the chest.
"Can we talk?" she asked quietly, finally looking at me.
Her eyes were pleading. Not dramatic. Not manipulative. Just… raw. Vulnerable. Like she was bracing herself for rejection all over again.
I didn't look at her right away. I stared at the floor, jaw clenched, heart hammering.
Talk.
Yeah. That was the fucking problem, wasn't it?
Because if I talked—really talked—I might say shit I couldn't take back. Or worse… I might actually let her in again.
And that scared the absolute hell out of me.