Sabrina

The hum of the packing tape gun sounded like a ticking clock in Sabrina's bedroom, each sharp rip punctuating the heavy tension hanging between us. Boxes stacked against her dresser marked the end of an era, containing the physical remnants of four years spent sharing lockers, prom pictures, and every milestone of growing up. We were high school sweethearts, the kind of couple everyone expected to conquer the odds, but reality had a cruel way of drawing map lines. She was heading cross-country for an elite university program, while I was staying closer to home, and the distance yawning between our future schedules felt less like a gap and more like a chasm. "Let's not kid ourselves," Sabrina said, her voice cutting through the silence as she turned from her closet, clutching a stack of sweaters. Her dark eyes flashed with that familiar, sharp edge that usually signaled an argument she had already won in her head. "You’re going to hit campus, see a hundred girls who don't know you, and completely unravel. Two months, and you'll be forgetting my name at some weekend party." "That's a pretty cynical view of everything we've built, Sabrina," I replied, stepping forward, though the defensive sting in my chest felt a little too vulnerable. She dropped the sweaters onto the mattress and crossed her arms, her expression hardening into a defensive mask. "It's not cynical; it's realistic. You think long-distance works on good intentions and sweet text messages? We've done everything together here, but college is a different ecosystem. You want to pretend we're bulletproof, but I refuse to be the girl waiting by a phone while her boyfriend goes wild." I closed the distance between us, catching her by the wrists. "I'm not going anywhere."