Sophia Thomas had always known two things about herself.
First, that she was growing up — slowly, awkwardly, but undeniably.
And second, that she still thought about Daniel Harper far too often.
She wasn't twelve anymore.
She wasn't fifteen, hiding behind books and hoping he'd notice how much she'd changed.
She was nineteen now.
A university student.
A woman.
And it was time to start acting like it.
The first week at Evergreen University passed in a blur.
Orientation days filled with icebreakers and awkward group introductions.
Late-night pizza runs with her roommates.
Early morning lectures that made her question every life decision.
But through it all, one thing became clear — she was good at this.
She made friends easily.
Laughed more than she expected.
Even joined a study group without panicking.
Yet no matter how hard she tried to focus on the present, her mind kept drifting back to him.
Daniel.
Her brother's best friend.
The boy who had left home years ago and never looked back.
Now, he lived just a few miles away.
And yet…
They hadn't spoken in months.
Not since she last saw him at Nathan's graduation party — ruffling her hair, calling her Soph, treating her like she was still twelve instead of nearly twenty.
That night, after unpacking the last of her clothes, she stood in front of the mirror in their dorm bathroom and studied her reflection.
She had changed.
Her style had evolved.
She knew how to apply makeup properly now — soft contour, natural blush, mascara that actually stayed on her lashes.
She wore jeans that fit better.
Shirts that didn't drown her frame.
She didn't hide behind hoodies anymore.
She walked with confidence.
Smiled more.
Laughed louder.
She was still quiet sometimes — thoughtful, reflective — but she wasn't invisible anymore.
She wasn't chasing anyone.
She wasn't waiting for someone to notice her.
She was simply living her life.
And yet… he still found his way into her thoughts.
Always did.
Later that evening, while her roommates were out exploring the city, Sophia sat alone on her bed, scrolling through old photos.
Most were of her high school days — awkward angles, bad lighting, and memories she would rather laugh at than cry over.
Then came the real ones.
Photos of her family.
Of Nathan.
Of Daniel.
So many of them.
Some from when she was younger — standing beside him, barely reaching his shoulder.
Others from recent years — where she looked older, taller, more confident.
But he was always the same.
Still smiling.
Still teasing.
Still oblivious.
She closed the album slowly.
"I have to stop doing this," she whispered to herself.
Zara walked in just then, holding two cups of coffee.
"Talking to yourself?" she asked, handing one to Sophia. "That's not a good sign."
Sophia took the cup with a smile. "I'm fine. Just thinking."
Zara dropped onto her own bed. "About?"
Sophia hesitated.
Then said, "Him again."
Zara groaned. "You're like a romantic ghost haunting your own past."
Sophia laughed, even though it hurt a little.
"I used to think if I waited long enough, he'd see me differently," she admitted. "Now I'm here. In the same city. And I don't know what I'm supposed to do next."
Zara gave her a look. "Maybe the answer isn't about him."
Sophia blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Maybe the answer is about you," Zara said gently. "Maybe it's time to stop wondering how he sees you — and start deciding how you want to be seen."
Sophia stared at her.
Then whispered, "I don't know how to let go."
"You don't have to let go," Zara said. "Just stop letting him live rent-free in your head."
Sophia groaned. "Why are you always right?"
Zara smirked. "Because I'm wise beyond my years."
That night, Sophia went out with her new friends.
Mira had convinced everyone to join the campus fresher's meet-up — a casual gathering near the courtyard, full of music, snacks, and people laughing too loud.
She met students from her psychology class.
Tried new food.
Even danced a little.
And for once, she didn't check her phone hoping to see his name.
Instead, she smiled.
Talked.
Laughed.
She lived.
And as she walked back to the dorm under the moonlight, something settled inside her chest.
Peace.
Or at least, the beginning of it.
She stopped by the window, looking out at the quiet street below.
The air smelled different here — crisp, clean, alive.
She exhaled slowly.
"I have to stop thinking about him," she murmured to herself.
Then added, almost as an afterthought:
"And I have to stop wishing he'd text me."
Because he never would.
Not unless she reached out first.
And she was tired of being the only one trying.
Back in her room, she pulled out her diary — the worn leather-bound book she hadn't written in for weeks.
She flipped past old entries — notes about childhood dreams, summer crushes, and heartbreaks she couldn't explain.
Then she landed on a blank page.
She held her pen above it, hesitating.
Finally, she wrote:
"I loved him longer than most people love anything."
She paused.
Then added:
"But I can't keep loving him in silence."
She stared at the words for a long moment.
Then shut the diary gently.
Because yes.
She had grown up.
She had learned how to take care of herself.
How to talk to strangers.
How to laugh without blushing.
And now?
Now it was time to learn how to live without waiting for someone to finally see her.