~Quinn~

That night, I lay in bed scrolling through photos on my phone. There are hundreds of Noah—Noah at my sixteenth birthday party with frosting on his nose, Noah at his senior night for soccer looking proud and exhausted, Noah and me at homecoming last year in our semi-formal clothes, making ridiculous faces at the camera.

In every single photo, he's looking at the camera or at something off to the side.

Except one.

I stop scrolling, my breath catching in my throat.

It's from two years ago, junior year, at some bonfire party I barely remember. Someone must have taken it without us knowing. I'm turned away, laughing at something, my hair catching the firelight. But Noah...

Noah is looking at me.

And the expression on his face—God, the expression on his face. It's not the way you look at a friend. It's tender and longing and almost painful in its intensity, like he's seeing something precious that he knows he can't have.

Harper's words echo in my head: *What if he feels the same way and you've both been too scared to say anything?*

I zoom in on the photo, studying every detail of Noah's face. Trying to remember that night, that moment. What was I laughing at? What happened after this photo was taken?

I can't remember.

But I remember other things. The way Noah's smile never quite reaches his eyes when I mention guys I've dated. The way he always shows up when I need him, even at three in the morning when my car broke down on the highway. The way he held my hand at Grandma's funeral and stayed with me through the entire reception even though I know he hates those kinds of events.

The way he's never, not once in eleven years, let me down.

Until now.

My phone buzzes with a new message.

Noah: "I know you probably don't want to talk to me right now, but I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For not telling you sooner. For being a coward. You deserved better than finding out like that."

Noah: "You've always deserved better."

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I should respond. Should say something, anything, to bridge this awful silence stretching between us.

Instead, I take a screenshot of the photo—the one where Noah is looking at me like I'm something precious—and I make a decision.

If I only have nine days left with Noah Hayes, I'm not going to waste them being afraid.

I open my notes app and start typing, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

"12 Days of Christmas Dare List"

Day 1: Meet me at our spot (the old oak tree) at sunset tomorrow

My hands are shaking as I stare at the words. This is crazy. This is reckless. This is everything I've been too scared to do for six years.

But Harper is right. I'm losing Noah anyway.

At least this way, I'll know I tried. At least this way, I won't spend the rest of my life drowning in what-ifs.

I screenshot the dare before I can change my mind and send it to Noah.

Three dots appear immediately. He's typing. Stops. Types again. Stops.

Finally:

Noah: "What are you doing, Quinn?"

I stare at the message, my pulse racing in my ears. What am I doing? Trying to make him remember me? Trying to show him what we could be? Trying to be brave for once in my goddamn life?

All of the above, probably.

Me: "Playing a game. Are you in?"

The dots appear and disappear three times. Four times. I count the seconds, my anxiety spiking with each pause.

Noah: "I'm always in if it's with you"

Noah: "But you have to tell me what this is about"

Me: "12 dares. 12 days. You complete them all, and I promise I won't be mad about the London thing anymore"

It's a lie, of course. I'm going to be devastated about London no matter what happens. But he doesn't need to know that.

Not yet.

Noah: "That's it? I just have to do some dares?"

Me: "That's it"

Another long pause. I can almost see him in his bedroom, sitting on his bed, trying to figure out what I'm up to.

*Noah: "Okay. I'll be there. Sunset tomorrow?"

Me: Sunset tomorrow*

Noah: "Quinn?"

Me: "Yeah?"

*Noah: "Thank you. For giving me another chance."

I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I have no idea what I'm doing. No plan beyond making Noah remember why we matter, why this matters, before he gets on a plane and disappears from my life forever.

But it's something.

It's a start.

And maybe—just maybe—it's enough to change everything.

Or destroy it completely.

I guess I'll find out in twelve days.