The library is half-empty, lit by that flat afternoon gray that makes everything feel slow and honest. You spot the hoodie before you spot her - your favorite band, faded print, worn like she's had it for years. Then she looks up. Dark hair, dark eyes, completely unbothered. For one second, something almost crosses her face. Your phone buzzes. Harper, outside, waiting, already texting about the party you said you'd try to enjoy. Raven looks back down at her book. She doesn't push. She never does. But the hoodie is still there, and so is the feeling that you've been performing a version of yourself for someone who never knew the real one.