PROLOGUE
Sienna (Past) – 19 years old
I always thought leaving home would feel bigger.
Like there would be some dramatic soundtrack playing in the background. Maybe the sky would look different. Maybe I’d wake up and suddenly feel older.
Instead, I was sitting in a crowded restaurant in Brooklyn, trying not to spill soda on my white blouse while my family argued over who got the last mozzarella stick.
Apparently, life-changing moments didn’t come with special effects.
The restaurant buzzed with conversation around us. Friday night crowds filled almost every table, and the smell of pizza, garlic, and grilled meat hung in the air.
My dad sat beside me, laughing at something my uncle had said.
Across from us sat Maya.
My best friend.
The person who had somehow managed to survive my moods, my overthinking, and my tendency to disappear into books for hours at a time.
“You’ve been weirdly quiet tonight.”
I looked up from my drink.
Maya narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” You question her.
“The innocent act.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You pretend.
She snorted.
“You’ve been staring into space for the last ten minutes.”
“I have not.” You deny it.
“You absolutely have.”
I smiled despite myself.
Maya pointed a French fry at me. “See? That smile right there. That’s the smile of someone pretending she isn’t freaking out.”
“I am not freaking out.”
“You leave for Columbia tomorrow.”
“I know.” You tell her.
“You’re freaking out.”
I sighed. “Maybe a little.”
“A little?”
I gave her a look. “Fine. A lot.”
“There she is.”
I rolled my eyes. Maya grinned triumphantly. Unlike me, Maya could talk to anyone. Cashiers. Teachers. Random people in line. She had this natural ease about her that made people feel comfortable around her. She wasn’t overly bubbly or exhausting to be around. She just had good energy. The kind of person who could walk into a room and somehow make everything feel lighter.
“You’re going to love it,” she said.
“You don’t know that.” You tell her.
“I do.”
“You’ve never been there.” You imply jokingly.
“Details.”
I laughed.
Maya leaned back in her chair. “I’m serious, Si. You’re smart.”
I groaned. “No.”
“What?”
“I hate when people say that.” You tell her.
“Why?”
“Because it’s always followed by some ridiculous expectation.”
She shook her head. “Not this time.”
I looked at her.
She smiled softly. “I just mean that you’ve worked hard for this.”
The joking tone disappeared. “You deserve it.”
Emotion tightened unexpectedly in my chest. “Thanks.”
“Don’t get all emotional on me.”
“I’m not emotional.” I held back my tears.
“You literally look emotional.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
I laughed.
Across the table, my cousin loudly announced that he could eat an entire pizza by himself. The conversation immediately spiraled into a debate that somehow involved three relatives and a waiter.
I smiled.
God, I was going to miss this. The noise. The chaos. The familiarity. Everything. My dad caught me looking around.
“What?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
His expression softened. He knew exactly what I was thinking. Tomorrow changed everything.
Not completely. I’d still be in New York. Still close enough to visit. Still close enough to come home. But it wouldn’t be the same. Home would no longer be the place I spent every day. For the first time in my life, I’d have somewhere else to belong. The thought was both exciting and terrifying.
The conversation eventually shifted toward college. As it always did.
My aunt pointed her fork at me. “So what exactly are you studying again?”
“Creative writing.”
She nodded. “You’re going to write books.”
“Hopefully.”
My uncle raised an eyebrow. “You know Columbia is almost an hour away, right?”
“I know.”
“Your father is going to be driving up there every weekend.” Dad looked offended.
“Every weekend?” I laughed.
Dad pointed at me. “I raised this kid by myself.”
“Okay?”
“I’m entitled to visit.” He shrugs his shoulders.
The table erupted into laughter. “I’ll still come home,” I promised.
My grandmother reached over and squeezed my hand. “You better.”
I smiled. “I will.”
The truth was, I couldn’t imagine not coming home. Not when every memory I had lived here. Not when every important piece of my life was somehow tied to Brooklyn.
Toward the end of dinner, someone decided I needed to give a speech. I immediately rejected the idea. Then everyone ignored me. Five minutes later, I was standing beside the table while everyone stared at me expectantly. I hated public speaking. Which was ironic considering I wanted to be a writer.
I cleared my throat. “Okay.”
The room quieted. I looked around at everyone. My family. My friends. The people who had helped me become who I was. Emotion immediately lodged itself in my throat. Great.
“First of all,” I began, “I didn’t ask for a speech.”
Laughter broke out. I smiled.
“But thank you for coming.” My gaze landed on my dad.
“I know tomorrow is a big day.” My voice softened. “And honestly, I’m excited.”
I was. Even if I was scared too.
“But I’m also really grateful.” I swallowed. “For all of you.” I looked at everyone in front of me.The room remained quiet.
“For believing in me.” My eyes stung. Damn it. “For supporting me.”
I laughed softly. “And for putting up with me.”
More laughter. I looked at my dad again. His eyes were suspiciously bright. Mine probably were too.
“I wouldn’t be here without you.” The words came out quieter. But I meant them.
My chest tightened. “So thank you.”
For a moment nobody spoke. Then applause filled the restaurant. I immediately sat down before I embarrassed myself.
Maya leaned over. “You almost cried.”
I glared at her.
“You almost cried.”
“Fair.”
*****
The drive home was quieter. Most of my relatives had left already. The city lights blurred outside the window. For a while neither of us spoke.
Then Dad finally broke the silence. “You excited?”
“A little.”
“A little?” He glanced at me.
I smiled. “Okay. A lot.”
“There she is.” I laughed.
We pulled into the driveway. Neither of us got out immediately. The porch light illuminated the front yard. Home. Dad finally turned off the engine.
“Come sit outside for a minute.” He told me.
So we did.
The summer air wrapped around us as we sat on the porch steps. For a while we just listened to the sounds of the neighbourhood. A dog barking. A car passing. Someone laughing down the street. Normal. Comforting. Dad broke the silence first.
“Your mom would’ve loved this.”
The familiar ache settled inside my chest. It never really disappeared. It just got easier to carry.
“Yeah.”
I smiled sadly. “She would’ve cried.”
Dad laughed. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Probably before anyone else.” I added, laughing.
“Without question.”
I could almost picture it. My mom fussing over every detail. Taking pictures. Telling everyone within a five-mile radius that her daughter was going to Columbia. The image made me smile. And hurt at the same time.
“I wish she was here.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Dad nodded. “So do I.”
His voice was quiet. “I think she’d be really proud of you.”
I stared at the street. “You think so?”
“I know so.” The certainty in his voice made my eyes burn.
Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he sighed. “I’m going to miss you.”
I laughed weakly. “I’m literally fifty minutes away.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you too.”
“We’ll talk every day.”
“Every day.” I assured him.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Video calls.”
“Dad.”
“Video calls.”
I laughed.
“Fine.”
He squeezed my shoulder. And for the first time that night, leaving didn’t feel quite so scary.
*****
The next morning arrived far too quickly. The car was packed. My overnight bags were loaded. My dorm supplies somehow occupied half the trunk. Dad stood beside the driver’s door while I carried out my final bag.
When I reached the car, I paused. The morning sunlight washed over our house. The porch. The front yard. The windows I’d looked out of my entire life. A smile tugged at my lips.
Home.
No matter where life took me, this place would always be home. I placed my bag in the trunk. Dad was already waiting. But before I got into the car, my eyes drifted next door.
To the house beside ours. The Cole house. My stomach tightened unexpectedly. A memory surfaced before I could stop it. A summer afternoon. Two years ago.
Adrien sitting beside me on our porch steps. A textbook balanced on his knee. An expression of complete misery on his face.
“This is torture.”
I laughed.
“It is literally algebra.”
“It’s evil.”
“It’s math.”
“Same thing.” He groans.
I rolled my eyes. Adrien grinned. The sunlight caught in his curls. For a moment, he’d simply looked at me. Not saying anything. Just smiling. And somehow that had felt more dangerous than any flirtation.
I blinked.
The memory disappeared. Just like that. Two years ago. A different lifetime. A different version of us.
I took one last look at the house next door before climbing into the passenger seat.
Then Dad started the engine. And together, we drove toward Columbia. Toward the future.
Toward everything that came next.
