Chapter 8 Don’t Start Something You Can’t Keep

Touch is just skin.

It's not supposed to mean anything.

It's not supposed to haunt the space between two people like a second heartbeat.

But her hand brushed mine today.

Barely.

And now I can't stop replaying it.

There's nothing remarkable about Ginny's hands.

Except maybe the way she doesn't pull back right away.

The way she pretends it doesn't mean anything.

She's careful like that.

Like she knows how easily people vanish if you lean in too soon.

I told myself I'd keep my distance.

But distance is a lie in shared air.

She sat next to me again.

Said nothing.

Did everything.

I wanted to say something—anything.

A joke.

A question.

Maybe just her name, softly, like I'd said it before.

But my mouth stayed quiet.

And my head screamed Don't start something you can't keep.

Because I know how this goes.

People get curious.

They draw flowers in margins and ask about your favorite song and smile like they're not carrying questions behind their teeth.

Then they find out.

They always do.

And when they do, they go.

Still, I drew another one.

Another flower.

Right under her name.

I don't even remember writing it.

But it's there.

Ink bleeding into lined paper.

A second mistake.

Or maybe the beginning of one.