I was brushing my hair when Maya called — not a text, not a voice memo, but an actual call. Immediate red flag.
"You're not going to believe this," she said. "Rey and I both got in."
"To the same place?"
"Yep. Riverstone University. And—" Her voice wobbled. "They want us on campus tomorrow. Like, move-in starts at 8 a.m."
I dropped my brush. "Wait, what?"
"They're doing some summer prep program for freshmen in our departments — and apparently it starts, like, now. We barely have time to pack."
An hour later, we were in Maya's room, surrounded by half-folded clothes, open suitcases, and a growing sense of disbelief.
Rey sat cross-legged on the floor, typing something into his phone — probably figuring out his housing assignment. Maya tossed a pair of jeans into her bag without even looking at them.
"I thought we had another month," I said quietly.
"We were supposed to," Maya muttered, folding a hoodie. "Now it's all happening at once."
Rey looked up. "It doesn't feel real yet."
"It does to me," I said. My voice sounded smaller than I meant.
We tried to hang onto the day.
We went for milkshakes. Walked the pier. Took dumb selfies with seagulls in the background. Laughed more than we cried — though we did that too.
At one point, Maya grabbed both our hands and said, "Okay. Pinky promise we don't drift."
"Never," I said.
Rey nodded. "Not even if we try."
That night, back at my house, the quiet settled in early.
I helped Maya zip her last bag. Watched Rey load his guitar into the trunk. Everything was dim and golden and final.
They each hugged me like they were afraid to let go — and I held on like maybe I could slow time just by meaning it enough.
"You're going to do big things at Coastal Pines," Maya said. "I just know it."
"I already miss you," I said.
Rey smiled. "We'll visit. Or you will. Or both. We're not done."
And somehow, I believed him.
📔 Diary Entry – June 20
It's real now.
They're leaving tomorrow.
Both of them — off to Riverstone, together. I should be happy. I am happy. But underneath it, there's a little storm building in my chest.
Not because they're going. But because I'm staying. Just for now. Just until Coastal Pines begins.
And tonight, everything feels like it's tilting. The trio breaking into pieces. Our last day — our last normal — quietly folding itself up like a closing map.
But I'm holding on to their voices, their promises, the warmth in that last hug.
Tomorrow they'll wake up somewhere new.
And so will I.
Just… in a different way.