The next morning, Juliet sat at her desk with a tight knot in her stomach. Her hands fiddled with her notebook, tracing the edges of her pen while her mind replayed the conversation she'd rehearsed all night. I just want her to come to school. I just want her to care. I just want to… help her. The words sounded smaller in her head than they had in the quiet of her room.
Sarah wasn't at her desk yet. Juliet's heart gave a small, anxious flutter. She could feel the pull again—that same mix of curiosity and fear that had started back on the first day. She hated it. And yet, she also knew she was ready. Ready to say something that mattered.
When Sarah finally slid into the desk beside hers, headphones dangling from her hoodie pocket as usual, Juliet's chest tightened. Sarah gave her a quick smirk, a smile that was half friendly, half teasing, and Juliet swallowed. She knew she couldn't let it falter her.
"Hey," Juliet said quietly.
"Hey," Sarah replied, still smirking, still leaning back in her chair.
Juliet's tongue felt thick. She tried again. "Can we talk?"
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
Juliet fidgeted with her notebook. "About… school. About… us."
Sarah laughed softly, almost a whisper, but sharp enough to sting. "Us? We just met yesterday, remember?"
Juliet's stomach sank. She tried to keep her voice steady. "I know. But… I think we need to be honest with each other."
Sarah's smirk softened for a second, and Juliet thought she might actually listen. Then Sarah leaned closer, her voice low. "You mean, like… you're going to tell me I have to be boring?"
Juliet shook her head, exhaling slowly. "No. I'm not saying that. I just… I don't think skipping class is right. I don't think it helps either of us."
Sarah leaned back again, folding her arms. "You sound like… like my mom or something."
Juliet's chest tightened. "I'm not your mom. I just… I care. I want to see you… do better. And I want us to be friends, but… I can't follow along with something that isn't… good for us."
For a moment, Sarah said nothing. Her eyes scanned the room, then locked on Juliet again. "You really think you can change me?" she asked quietly, almost teasing, almost serious.
Juliet swallowed. "I don't… I don't know. But I want to try. I want to help. I just… I don't want us to go down a path that… I don't think either of us should go down."
Sarah's smirk returned, sharper this time. "You can't fix me, Juliet. And you can't follow me either. You either accept me, or you… walk away."
Juliet's hands tightened around her pen. Her mind flashed back to Rosaline's words: You can care about someone without following them. You can want better for someone without sacrificing yourself. She had tried to convince herself that she could help Sarah, that she could somehow bring her around. But now, hearing Sarah's words… it was clear.
Juliet nodded slowly. "I… I understand," she said, her voice quieter than she expected. "I just… I want you to try. That's all."
Sarah leaned back completely in her chair, raising both eyebrows. "Try what? You? Trying to change me?"
Juliet felt her chest tighten further. She had no answer. She wanted to argue, to plead, to make Sarah see that she was coming from a good place—but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she nodded again.
The bell rang, breaking the moment. Sarah gathered her things slowly, giving Juliet one last glance. Juliet wasn't sure what that glance meant. Was it challenge? Amusement? Or… acknowledgment?
For the rest of the class, they didn't speak. The silence between them wasn't tense in the way fights usually were—it was quiet, heavy, unspoken. Juliet's chest ached as she focused on her work. Every few seconds, her eyes darted toward Sarah, sitting just a few feet away, headphones on, pretending she wasn't there.
Juliet kept thinking about what she could have said differently, what she should have said, what she wanted to say. But the truth was, she had done all she could. She had spoken honestly, tried to lead with care, and… it wasn't enough. Not yet.
By lunch, Juliet didn't have the energy to seek Sarah out. She sat with Rosaline, still quiet, still replaying the conversation over and over in her head. Rosaline noticed immediately.
"You okay?" Rosaline asked, eyebrow slightly raised.
Juliet exhaled. "I… I tried. I told her… I don't know. I just… tried to tell her that she should take school seriously. That I care."
Rosaline nodded slowly. "And?"
"And she… she didn't… she didn't really listen. She said I can't change her. And… she doesn't want to try." Juliet looked down at her hands, twisting them together nervously.
Rosaline's eyes softened. "Juliet, it's not your job to fix anyone. You care, and that's fine. But she's… she's not ready, and you can't make her ready."
Juliet nodded, but the ache in her chest didn't go away. She wanted to protect Sarah. She wanted to care for her. She wanted to see the potential she knew was there. But Rosaline was right. Juliet's responsibility was to herself first.
The rest of the afternoon dragged by. Juliet and Sarah existed in the same classroom, the same hallways, the same cafeteria, but the unspoken distance had grown. Neither spoke a word. Neither pretended to be friends. And yet, the tension wasn't hostility. It was something heavier, quieter. Something that felt like… a lesson.
When Juliet got home, she barely spoke. A quick hello. A quiet nod. Then straight to her room, where she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The rehearsal conversations played in her head again, over and over, like a loop she couldn't break.
I wanted to help her.
I wanted us to be friends.
I wanted her to see better.
And now she knew something she hadn't before: sometimes caring doesn't mean you can save someone. Sometimes it just means letting them make their own choices—and accepting the consequences.
Her hands clenched the edges of her blanket. She didn't want to not be friends with Sarah. She didn't want the silence. She wanted connection, laughter, shared secrets. But she also knew that if she tried again, she might lose herself in the process.
Tomorrow, she would go back to school. She would see Sarah. She would see the silence. She would see herself.
And for the first time, Juliet understood: sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is walk away without walking away.