Chapter One
The Goodbye That Didn't Feel Like the End
Claire's suitcase clicked against the pavement as she walked slowly away from Degrassi, every step heavier than the last. The Toronto summer was warm, buzzing faintly with cicadas and possibility, but it didn't feel like a new beginning—it felt like a cliff's edge.
Eli stood beside her, hands shoved into his jacket pockets even though the heat didn't call for it. He looked at her the way you look at someone right before the last page turns. Like he knew this was necessary, but that didn't make it easy.
"I should be excited," Claire said, stopping near the curb where her cab would be. "But I just feel… heavy."
"You're allowed to," Eli replied. "It's not like you're running off to paradise. You're taking time. For you. That's brave."
She bit the inside of her cheek. "What if I'm just running away?"
"You're not," he said firmly. "You're healing."
She nodded slowly, eyes wet but not spilling. "And what about you? NYU starts back up soon. Sophomore year, film school… new faces, new cities…"
Eli gave her a lopsided smile, the one that used to undo her completely. "Same twisted imagination, though. Can't shake that."
She laughed, soft and sad.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The cab turned the corner down the street, growing closer with every breath. Claire hated how final it felt.
"I don't know what we're supposed to say right now," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
"Maybe nothing," Eli said. "Maybe we just hold on to the part that matters."
"What part is that?"
He took a step closer, brushing a curl behind her ear. "That I loved you. Fully. Even when we fell apart. And part of me probably always will."
The cab pulled up beside them. The driver didn't honk, just waited.
Claire reached for her suitcase handle. Eli gently covered her hand with his.
She looked up at him and managed a smile, even with the tears threatening. "You'll write about this someday."
He chuckled. "You'll fact-check it."
She pulled him into a tight hug. "Don't forget me."
He whispered against her hair, "Not in this lifetime."
She stepped back, climbed into the cab, and rolled down the window. Eli backed up onto the sidewalk, watching her as the engine started.
As the cab pulled away, Claire didn't look back.
But in her journal that night—scribbled on a hotel notepad—she wrote one line:
If this isn't our ending, let the city write us a new one someday.