We don't notice how late it is until Sunny shivers.
She checks the sky instead of her phone.
"It's darker than I thought."
Zane glances toward the streetlights beyond the trees.
"It's almost midnight."
Sunny pulls her sleeves over her hands again.
"I'm getting tired," she admits. "And it doesn't feel… safe to fall asleep out here."
The word lingers.
Safe.
Laura had used it differently.
Not here. Not outside.
But when she leaned.
When she didn't correct him for holding her steady.
Zane stands first.
He offers Sunny a hand. She takes it.
They don't rush me.
Zane looks down at me instead.
"You coming?"
"Not yet."
He studies me for a second.
There's no challenge in it.
No judgment.
Just assessment.
"Don't stay too long," he says.
Sunny hesitates.
"Text when you get home?"
I nod once.
They leave together.
Their footsteps fade gradually along the path.
The park settles back into its own rhythm.
Distant traffic. Leaves shifting. A faint hum from a light above.
I stay seated.
The bench feels familiar now.
Not comfortable.
Just known.
Last time I was here, Laura spoke in fragments and leaned without meaning to.
I stayed because she needed someone not to leave.
Tonight no one asked me to stay.
No one needs me here.
I could go home.
Feed the cat.
Sleep.
Rehearse tomorrow like nothing shifted.
Instead, I remain.
The wood beneath my palms is cool.
The air sharper.
There's something about this place that feels unfinished.
She said she didn't know what she liked.
Didn't know what she chose.
I realize I've never asked myself that either.
I've stayed.
Held structure.
Adjusted when others moved.
But wanting has always felt secondary.
Optional.
The park is nearly silent now.
I don't check the time.
I don't reach for my phone.
I just sit.
I don't know whether I'm waiting for her to return—
or for myself to decide something.