Chapter 25: "I Like Her"

The campus buzzed with leftover energy from the Fall Festival, but Lily walked through it with a different kind of spark. Her burnt orange sundress still hung in her closet, now gently folded on the hanger like it, too, remembered the way the firelight had danced across its fabric. She wasn't used to feeling this kind of afterglow—not from a party, not from attention, not even from validation. It was something warmer, subtler. Like standing in the sun after days of rain.

She didn't head to her sketchpad that morning.

Instead, she sang.

With her wireless headphones snug around her ears, Lily let the music pour into her like coffee on a groggy morning. Her side of the room became a makeshift stage, the kind only she could see. She didn't belt out the notes loudly—Jess was still asleep—but she mouthed the lyrics, swayed her hips in a slow rhythm, and twirled as the bridge kicked in. Her body moved like it remembered what it was like to feel light.

It wasn't even about performance. She just... felt like it.

As the song faded, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror near the door. Hair messy, her oversized tee hanging off one shoulder, face bare of makeup. And still, she smiled. Maybe for the first time in a while, she didn't immediately find something to fix.

That afternoon, she wandered through the campus with no real destination. Her playlist pulsed in her ears—slow R&B melting into indie pop, then skipping into nostalgic throwbacks. Every once in a while, she'd mouth the lyrics, barely holding back a grin. Once, when she thought no one was around, she gave into a full spin, arms out, like a scene from a movie. A janitor sweeping near the science building saw her and gave a small clap.

Lily laughed and gave a tiny bow.

She hadn't known she could be this girl—the one who didn't flinch when caught enjoying herself.

Later that evening, Lily met up with Eli again. He'd asked if she wanted to grab a smoothie, and something about the ease of that offer made her say yes. Not overthinking it. Not wondering what it meant. Just… yes.

They sat on a campus bench sipping mango-strawberry blends with extra chia seeds.

"I still can't believe your cliff sketch didn't win," Eli said, brushing his curls back as the wind tugged at them.

"I can," Lily replied with a shrug. "It wasn't about winning. It was about showing up. Submitting something. That used to be impossible for me."

Eli looked at her for a moment, the kind of look that wasn't loaded with expectation or flirtation—just understanding.

"You've changed since orientation."

Lily tilted her head. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"A good thing," he said easily. "You walk different now. Like your weight's in your hands, not on your shoulders."

She blinked at that. Her heart stuttered. That wasn't a line. That was a poem.

After they parted ways, Lily wandered back to her dorm, smoothie cup in hand, still half-full. The sky had shifted to that soft lavender blue that always made her want to sing. So she did. Quietly. Just to herself. A little SZA. A little Adele. And then, when no one was around, she tried out one of her originals—an old melody she used to hum in the shower but never dared sing aloud. Her voice cracked once or twice, but she didn't care. She didn't stop.

Back in the room, Jess was gone. Probably at the library. The silence wasn't heavy anymore. It felt like space.

Lily sat on her bed and opened her Notes app. She wrote down some lyrics:

"Don't need mirrors to show me I'm bright / Don't need praise to make me feel right / I'm not shrinking for space in your light / I'm already mine."

She didn't know if it was a song or a poem. But it felt like truth.

The next few days passed in soft waves. She didn't hear from Joe again. And honestly, she didn't wait for it either. She still checked sometimes—reflex more than hope—but every time she didn't see his name, it stung a little less.

Because other things started filling the spaces he once occupied.

Taylor waved at her in the cafeteria. Ava sent her a new drawing—this time, Lily was flying in a cape made of music notes. Jess even asked if she wanted to join her for a dance workshop that weekend. Lily almost said no. Almost.

But then she thought of that janitor clapping.

Of Eli's words.

Of how good it felt to twirl.

So she said yes.

Saturday came and the dance room smelled like lemon cleaner and nervous sweat. Jess led the warmup. Lily stayed near the back, heart thumping. It wasn't a class full of pros—just students looking to move. The music started. Something upbeat. Familiar. And then Jess nodded at her. "Sing along if you know it."

So Lily did.

She didn't hit every step perfectly. She missed a beat once. But her voice was strong, clear, and steady. Others joined in, laughing, moving. And in that moment, Lily wasn't the girl who once cried in front of a vending machine. She wasn't the girl obsessing over whether she was too much or not enough.

She was just a girl dancing. Singing. Breathing.

Living.

Afterward, her cheeks pink and hair stuck to her forehead, she sat on the floor and laughed until her stomach hurt.

Jess flopped beside her. "Where the hell have you been hiding that voice?"

"Behind my sketchbook," Lily grinned.

Jess nudged her shoulder. "You gotta let that thing out more. Seriously."

Lily nodded slowly. She would.

That night, she didn't sketch. She didn't need to. She just lay in bed, phone untouched, music playing low from her speaker.

Not a love song. Not a sad one.

Just a beat that made her hum and tap her feet beneath the covers.

And somewhere between the chorus and the bridge, Lily whispered to the ceiling:

"I like her."

And this time, she meant it.

For real.

For herself.