As the holidays stretched on, Blue began to notice the change not in sudden moments, but in the spaces between them.
She reached for her phone out of habit. Surfing through the internet with the urge to fill silence with conversation or distraction.
There was comfort in being alone now, in letting her thoughts come and go without chasing them.
Some afternoons, she sat beside her grandmother, listening as she told the same stories she had heard countless times before. Blue didn't interrupt. She didn't rush her. She listened the way she wished she had listened to herself before—patiently, without judgment.
She realized then how often she had mistaken attention for affection, presence for love. How easily she had settled into something simply because it was there, because it was familiar. The truth didn't hurt anymore. It felt clarifying.
Helping had become second nature. She organized drawers without being asked, which came out as a little surprising. Fixed small technical problems with steady confidence, and followed rules without resentment.
Not because she was afraid of disappointing anyone—but because she understood boundaries now. Understood that discipline wasn't restriction, but care.
"You're growing," her aunt said one evening, watching her fold clothes with practiced ease.
Blue paused, surprised by how true it felt.
At night, she reflected quietly—not on what had gone wrong, but on what she wanted next. She didn't feel the need to replace anything she had lost. She wasn't waiting to be chosen, to be proven worthy, to be saved from loneliness.
She was learning to be enough on her own.
By the time the holidays neared their end, Blue felt grounded. She didn't crave change, yet she wasn't afraid of it either. Whatever came next, she knew she would meet it differently.
Not guarded.
Not desperate.
But awake.
*****************
The holidays settled in quietly, slow and warm, the kind of days that blurred together without urgency. At her grandmother's house, Blue spent most afternoons stretched out on the living room floor catching up on her series as the sun dip lazily behind the trees.
For the first time in a while, her mind felt lighter.
The encounter hadn't meant much—or so she told herself. Just two unfamiliar faces, a brief conversation, numbers exchanged without expectation. Yet the memory returned more often than she expected, slipping into her thoughts during the quietest moments.
Her phone buzzed one evening.
Roger: Hey, Blue. Hope I'm not bothering you.
She stared at the screen for a second before replying.
Blue: Not at all.
That was how it started.
The messages came easily after that—simple at first, then longer, stretching late into the night. Roger was easy to talk to, confident without being overwhelming. He asked about her holidays, her plans, her favorite music. Sometimes the conversation drifted into laughter, other times into silence that felt comfortable rather than awkward.
Days passed, and soon texting turned into calls.
His voice surprised her—calm, warm, carrying a teasing edge that made her smile without realizing it. He flirted openly, lightly, never pushing too hard, and Blue found herself enjoying it more than she expected.
A week into their conversations, something slipped.
"You know Fred's been laughing at me all day," Roger said casually during a call.
Blue paused. "Fred?"
There was a brief silence on the other end before he laughed. "Yeah—my brother."
Her confusion deepened. "I thought your brother's name was—"
"Different name at school," he interrupted, still amused. "Long story."
Later that night, she brought it up casually while sitting with Medina and Lola.
"You didn't know?" Medina asked, raising an eyebrow.
"They're fraternal twins," Lola added. "Roger's older by a few minutes. Fred just uses his middle name sometimes."
Blue stared at them. "And you both knew this?"
They exchanged guilty smiles.
It caught her off guard—not the secret itself, but how little it unsettled her. If anything, it amused her. She laughed, shaking her head at how easily she had missed it.
The calls continued after that. The flirting became bolder, more confident. Roger teased her, complimented her, made her feel seen in a way she hadn't realized she'd been missing. And yet, she remained cautious—aware of the fragile space she was still standing in.
Some nights, after ending a call, Blue would set her phone down and stare at the ceiling, wondering when conversation had started to feel this effortless again.
She didn't label it. She didn't rush it.
But somewhere between shared laughter and late-night talks, she realized something important. And for the first time since the end of the term, that realization didn't scare her.
The last week of the holidays passed with its usual rhythm: chores, quiet afternoons, and evenings spent chatting with her family. Blue felt steady, grounded—but she knew growth wasn't about staying comfortable. It was about noticing how you reacted when the familiar patterns tried to pull you back in.
The test came unexpectedly.
One morning, as she was helping her aunt organize the study room, her phone buzzed. A message flashed on the screen from Roger.
"Hey… want to hang out this week?"
Her first instinct was curiosity, tinged with the old rush of attention she hadn't felt in weeks. A smaller, anxious voice whispered: What if this distracts you? What if it pulls you into wanting more than you should?
Blue held the phone in her hand, letting it hover over the table. She could feel her heartbeat quicken—not in panic, but in awareness. This was familiar territory. She had used attention from others as comfort before. She had let casual interactions fill empty spaces.
But now? She paused. She thought of her holidays: the slow mornings, the quiet confidence, the small joys of helping her aunt, laughing with her cousin, enjoying her own company. She thought of the clarity she had worked for.
Blue typed slowly, deliberately:
"I'm going to take it easy this week. Let's see how things go when school starts again."
She didn't feel guilty. She didn't feel anxious. She simply felt… measured.
It was a small test, yes, but an important one. She realized she could feel curiosity without being swept away by it. She could respond without losing herself. And in that simple act, she understood that her inner growth wasn't theoretical—it was real.
Blue set the phone down and smiled faintly, returning to help Lola arrange the shelves. She felt a quiet pride, not for the attention she had received, but for the restraint she had shown. The holidays hadn't just been a pause from school—they had been practice.
And she had passed.