Maya had never seen New York in bloom until now.


Spring clung to the city in bursts of pink petals and sidewalk cafés, as if the concrete had suddenly decided to breathe. She walked to her art class with a portfolio under one arm and a coffee in the other, feeling like her life was finally a sketch coming to life.


But even in the rush of taxis and the smell of street pretzels, a piece of Ridgeway still clung to her.


She missed Brielle’s steady advice. Zaria’s quiet strength. The way their lives used to fold into each other effortlessly. Now, the group chat pinged at odd hours—sometimes a funny meme, sometimes a voice note filled with nostalgia and chaos.


Zaria, back home, was in a rhythm she hadn’t expected. Mornings editing manuscripts at the publishing house, evenings writing poetry she wasn’t sure anyone would read. She was learning to be content with the quiet—mostly. But when she passed Ridgeway’s old football field, or the coffee shop where they used to cram for exams, a lump always rose in her throat.


Brielle had moved into her dorm two hours away, splitting her time between political science classes and campus advocacy meetings. She’d made new friends, joined a student leadership group—but sometimes, it felt like she was wearing two lives: the one she had now, and the one she still carried in memories and late-night calls with Maya and Zaria.


They were growing. Separately. Together. Unevenly.


But they had promised—no matter how different things got, they’d always find their way back.


And deep down, they knew: this wasn’t an ending.


It was just a new kind of beginning.