By the following week, I decided I was fine.
Fine as hell. Totally okay. I mean, she was loud and chaotic and glittery and possibly allergic to silence. It made sense she'd disappear eventually. People like her don't stay. They just pass through your life like a loud, ridiculous storm and then leave you staring out the window wondering what the hell just happened.
I kept my headphones in more than usual. Kept my head low, like usual . I could hear people talking about the lastest gossip
That girl in our class—Lana, or Lani, or something—had dyed her hair blue and was apparently dating someone's cousin. Good. Let the attention drift.
I didn't care.
Totally didn't.
But then I saw her.
Not Zani—her friend. The girl with the big curls and the red backpack, the one who was always with her during lunch breaks. They'd sit on the stairs and laugh at something on a phone screen like the world didn't exist.
She was at her locker, alone.
And my brain betrayed me.
Before I even realized it, I'd slowed down my steps. My hand was still in my pocket, holding my phone I wasn't using. My feet were still moving, but my chest tightened in this weird, quiet way.
I could just ask.
Just casually. Like, "Hey. You know Zani?" Dumb question. Of course she knew Zani. "Is she okay?" Not even that deep. Not even because I care. Just… curious.
My mouth didn't open.
I walked past her. Right past her.
Didn't even glance her way. Not really.
The words sat in my throat like swallowed glass.
Because if I asked, it'd mean I cared. And if I cared, it'd make it real. And I wasn't ready for real.
I told myself she was probably fine. Probably annoying some other guy in some other hallway, making him laugh like a fool and calling him "cloud boy 2.0" or something.
But my chest ached like a dull echo, and I hated how empty everything felt now. How I'd gotten used to someone noticing I existed. Even if it was in the most chaotic way possible.
I got to my desk and sat down like always. Pulled out my notebook like always.
Then stared at the page.
Like always.
______
The library was the only place that still felt like mine.
It hadn't changed. The air still smelled like dust and old paperbacks. The fluorescent lights still hummed overhead. And the squeaky wheel on the book cart still squeaked like it was doing it out of spite.
It was the seventh day without her.
Seventh. Well excluding weekends.
I told myself I was just tired. That school was draining. That I wasn't restless because Zani hadn't been showing up. That her seat in class didn't look extra empty for some reason. That I didn't automatically check the library doors at exactly 3:30, waiting for some tornado in human form to stumble in with glitter on her face and nonsense on her tongue.
Lies. But the kind you repeat enough times to sound almost convincing.
She wasn't around, and people noticed. Not in the way I did, of course. For them, it was silence where there should've been noise. For me, it was... less obvious. Less noisy. But louder, somehow.
The mystery section was my usual spot. Shelving books. Headphones in. Letting the weight of quiet press down. Predictable. Contained.
And then—
CRASH.
Behind me. Something exploded.
Not literally, but it might as well have.
I turned, slowly, already bracing for impact.
And there she was.
Zani.
Covered in flour and glitters of course.
Holding a Tupperware box like it was a briefcase full of nuclear codes.
"DUN DUN DUNNNN," she declared, her eyes glinting with cartoon villain energy.
I blinked. "You—what—where—"
She dropped the box on the desk like she owned the building.
"I come bearing peace offerings and slightly undercooked cookies," she said like this was a perfectly normal entrance. "Also, hi. Miss me?"
I stared at her.
Was she being serious? She was gone for seven days and appears with whatever was inside the box, like she didn't get me worried? Like she hasn't been gone for long.
Then said the first thing that came out.
"You were gone."
"Yup."
"For five days."
"Yup."
I waited.
She didn't say anything else. Just popped open the lid on the box like this was a picnic and not an ambush.
"Do you like chocolate chip or existential dread?" she asked. "I made both. Guess which ones are burnt."
"…What?"
She shrugged. "The burnt ones are shaped like feelings I don't talk about."
"Zani."
She paused. Just for a second. Something behind her eyes flickered—quick, almost nothing. Then she slid to the floor and crossed her legs like she was settling in for a therapy session she wasn't invited to.
"I was… dealing with stuff," she said finally. "Family stuff. Head stuff. You know. The usual."
I didn't say anything.
"I didn't mean to ghost you," she added, quieter. "You're like, the first person I've hung out with in a long time who doesn't make me feel like I have to perform just to be tolerated. And I didn't have your number to text you"
I blinked down at her.
I wanted to ask more, to ask what was wrong. I wanted to ask if she was actually okay, but not a single word came out.
She smiled, too wide, and shoved a cookie at me.
"…It has my face on it," I said.
"I know," she said proudly.
"It looks terrifying."
"I know," she repeated.
I took it anyway.
I didn't know what to say, so I sat beside her.
I felt....warmth, which was strange. I felt like prying but decided to keep still.
And we didn't say anything for a while.
Just cookie crumbs and overdue books around us.