Laughing half a second after everyone else.
Ignoring pity.
Pretending that being alone was a choice.
Then Violet sat beside me in chemistry and ruined all of that simply by being intentionally kind.
She was the kind of beautiful that made people turn their heads. I was the kind of girl teachers overlooked without thinking twice.
But Violet never treated me like a project.
“You don’t see how special you are, Layla. Seriously. You make me laugh all the time.”
She stayed—through high school, through college—and every year, I kept waiting for her to realize I was too awkward, too poor, too much work.
Another difference between us? Violet had a home to return to.
All I had was a message from my brother:
“Don’t come back here, Layla. Don’t come home acting like anybody owes you something.”
So I followed Violet to her city.
Not in a creepy way. In a broke-twenty-five-year-old-with-no-plan kind of way.
