Daniel’s message stayed unanswered.

By the time I reached University A, he had sent three more.

“Star?”

“Did you get on the train?”

“Stop sulking. We saved you a seat at dinner.”

I almost laughed.

A seat.

They had remembered to save me one after forgetting the person who was supposed to sit in it.

I went directly to the admissions office.

The woman behind the desk looked surprised when I asked to withdraw.

“Classes haven’t even started.”

“I know.”

“Are you transferring?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

I hesitated.

“Abroad.”

For the first time that day, saying it aloud felt real.

I signed the forms.

Then I walked through the campus I had chosen for two people who had already learned how to live without me.

Near the dormitory, I saw them.

Daniel was carrying Camila’s suitcase upstairs.

Camila followed him, holding two drinks.

Neither noticed me.

I could have called their names.

Instead, I turned around.

That evening, my father picked me up.

He had already arranged everything.

My original application to the art school overseas had never been completely withdrawn.

Apparently, months earlier, my father had secretly asked them to keep my portfolio on file.

I stared at him.

“Why?”

He smiled.

“Because when you crossed that school off your list, you cried for three nights.”

My eyes burned.

“You knew?”

“I’m your father.”

He put my passport on the table.

“You were allowed to change your mind.”

That night, I finally left the “Invincible Trio” group.

Camila called immediately.

I didn’t answer.

Daniel called next.

Then again.

Finally, he sent:

“What are you doing?”

I replied with one sentence.

“I’m leaving University A.”

His call came instantly.

This time, I answered.

“What do you mean?”

“I withdrew.”

Silence.

Then Daniel laughed.

“Stop joking.”

“I’m not.”

Camila’s voice appeared in the background.

“Is Star still angry about this morning?”

I closed my eyes.

Even now, they thought everything was about one train.

Daniel sighed.

“Star, we said we were sorry.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He became silent.

“You said Camila thought you told me.”

“You said you thought she told me.”

“Neither of you actually apologized.”

Another silence.

Then Camila took the phone.

“Fine. Sorry.”

She sounded irritated.

“Happy now?”

Strangely, that was the moment eighteen years finally ended.

“Yes,” I said.

“I actually am.”

Two days later, I stood at the international departures gate.

My father hugged me.

“Call when you land.”

“I will.”

My phone had been vibrating all morning.

Daniel had apparently discovered I was leaving the country.

“Which airport?”

“Where are you going?”

“Star, answer me.”

Then:

“We’re coming.”

I looked at the message.

For eighteen years, I had always been the one running toward them.

For once, they could run toward me.

The boarding announcement began.

I switched off my phone.

When Daniel and Camila reached the airport, my plane was already in the air.

I learned that later from my father.

Daniel had arrived breathless.

Camila had been crying.

They demanded to know my destination.

My father told them nothing.

Apparently Daniel said:

“She can’t just disappear.”

My father answered:

“You left her at a station first.”

Six months passed.

I started over.

New country.

New university.

Art classes.

People who invited me somewhere and actually waited until I arrived.

At first, that tiny courtesy almost felt unfamiliar.

Then one afternoon, after class, I received a friend request.

Daniel.

I ignored it.

Another appeared from Camila.

Ignored.

Then an email arrived.

The subject was:

We finally understand.

I almost deleted it.

Instead, I opened it.

Camila had written only four lines.

“Daniel and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“He blames me for making us leave early that morning.”

“I blame him for pretending it wasn’t his decision too.”

“We destroyed eighteen years because both of us assumed you would always forgive us.”

I read it once.

Then closed it.

There was nothing satisfying about their friendship collapsing.

But it was no longer my responsibility to repair it.

That evening, I attended my first student exhibition.

One of my paintings had been selected for the main hall.

Its title was simple:

The Empty Seat.

It showed a railway platform with three suitcases.

Two were disappearing aboard a train.

One remained behind.

Except, if you looked carefully, the person beside that last suitcase wasn’t crying.

She was walking toward another platform.

My professor stood beside me.

“Someone wants to buy it.”

I blinked.

“Already?”

He nodded toward the reception desk.

“A young man contacted the gallery this morning.”

My stomach tightened inexplicably.

“What’s his name?”

The professor checked his phone.

“Daniel Jiang.”

I went completely still.

Then he added:

“He apparently flew fourteen hours to attend tonight.”

At that exact moment, the gallery doors opened.

Daniel stood there.

But he wasn’t looking at the painting.

He was looking at me.

And beside him stood someone I never expected to see again.

Camila.

Only they weren’t standing together.

They were on opposite sides of the doorway.

And both had apparently crossed half the world for completely different reasons.