The morning Sophie was supposed to leave felt surreal. Her suitcase stood by the door like an impatient guest, zipped and ready. Her side of the room was unsettlingly clean—no scatter of colorful notebooks, no half-empty lip glosses, no tangled headphones. Just sterile silence.
I sat on my bed, watching her fold the last of her laundry into her carry-on, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. The hum of traffic outside the window was too loud, too normal for a day that didn't feel normal at all.
"I left you my playlist," she said casually, not looking at me. "It's on your phone. I renamed it: 'Emergency Dance Break.'"
I forced a laugh. "You really think I'll break into spontaneous dance parties without you?"
Sophie zipped the bag and turned to face me, her voice soft. "No, but I want you to remember how to laugh on the hard days. And I want you to know… you made this place feel like home."
Tears brimmed in my eyes before I could stop them. "I'm going to miss you so much."
"Same here, Lottie."
She stepped over, and we hugged—tight, fierce, like we were afraid the moment we let go everything would change. And maybe it would. But in that embrace was everything we had survived together: rejection, heartbreak, transformation, laughter, healing.
A knock came at the door. James. He stood there holding a small bouquet of sunflowers and a shy smile.
"These are for the queen of chaos," he said, handing them to Sophie. "And a little something for your plane ride." He pulled out a little wrapped box—noise-canceling headphones. Classic James, always thoughtful in quiet, steady ways.
Sophie looked from James to me and back again. "Okay, now you're both making it really hard to go."
We helped her carry her things to the cab. It was early—campus was still rubbing sleep from its eyes. The sky was blushing pink, like it knew something emotional was about to happen and had dressed for the part.
As the driver loaded her bags, Sophie turned to us.
"Promise me you'll take care of each other," she said. "No ghosts from the past. No stupid pride. Just honesty."
"I promise," I said.
James nodded. "You have my word."
Sophie hugged us one last time, and then she was gone—just like that, the door closing with a soft thud that echoed louder than it should have.
We stood on the sidewalk for a long while, watching the cab disappear down the street. I felt like something had been uprooted from inside me. Not lost, just… relocated.
"She'll be okay," James said quietly.
"I know."
"And you will too."
I looked at him and smiled. "Not if you keep looking at me like that."
He raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Like what?"
"Like I'm about to cry. Because then I will."
We laughed. It wasn't loud or long, but it was real.
Later that evening, I walked back into the room, now just mine. There was a note on my pillow in Sophie's messy handwriting:
"Once invisible, now unforgettable. Go be who you were always meant to be. I'll be cheering from afar. Love, Sophie."
I held the note to my chest, then pinned it to the corkboard over my desk—right where I'd see it every day.
Sophie was gone.
But she hadn't left.