Chapter 30: "She's Breaking and I Can See It"
Jasmine always noticed the little things.
The way Zariah used to doodle on her notebook covers but hadn't touched a pen outside of class in weeks.
The way she laughed a little too hard at jokes that weren't funny, or stared just a bit too long at the floor during lunch.
The way her hoodie sleeves kept getting longer. The way she never rolled them up anymore, even in the heat.
At first, Jasmine told herself it was just a rough patch.
Now she knew better.
She watched Zariah closely during science class. Her friend was there, physically—but it was like her soul had stepped out and left a ghost behind. Her hand shook when she tried to write. She winced when her sleeve brushed the desk edge.
That wince stuck in Jasmine's mind like a thorn.
When the bell rang, she cornered Zariah at her locker.
"I know," she said simply.
Zariah froze. "Know what?"
"I saw it. This morning. When your sleeve slipped up."
Zariah turned pale. "It's nothing—"
"Don't," Jasmine said, voice firm. "Don't lie to me. Not you. I'm not going to run away. I'm not going to tell anyone. But I need to know how deep this goes."
Zariah looked down, her throat tightening. "Too deep."
The words left her before she could stop them.
Jasmine nodded slowly. "Okay. Then I'm staying."
"You don't have to—"
"I do. Because I can feel it. You're not just sad anymore. You're slipping. I've seen it before, Z. I've lived it."
Zariah blinked. "What?"
Jasmine looked away. "You're not the only one who's felt like vanishing."
There was silence.
Heavy. Real.
Zariah whispered, "So what stopped you?"
"You did," Jasmine said. "You were there for me when no one else was. And I'm gonna do the same for you. Even if it means dragging you back every single time you try to disappear."
Zariah shook her head. "But I'm tired, Jas. I'm so… so tired."
"I know," Jasmine said, wrapping her arms around her. "So let me be strong for both of us. For now. Just let me see you. Don't hide from me."
Zariah didn't cry.
But for the first time in weeks, she let someone hold her without flinching.
And that—small as it was—was something.