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I rush to my spot just in time for the first word to bellow from the singer's mouth who is standing closer to the sideline.

And for Vienna—front and center—to lift her hands from her sides.

I watch, awestruck—caught somewhere between emotions as she begins to sign. Every movement precise. Intentional.

Unwavering.

I keep my eyes locked on her—the crowd, the noise, the lights—fading away as she signs each word without any hesitation. Stepping into it fully—raw and honest. Steady. Like she's holding nothing back.

And I can't help but realize how different that is from how I'm feeling now.

From how I felt back then.

A knot twists in my stomach. Because for a second, I picture Lenny.

So you know how I'm supposed to leave tomorrow?

Then I picture us before.

I once stood on those cobblestone streets of Mage Hollow, thinking I knew exactly what the plan was for her and I. Not because she ever said it, but because it was the only thing that made sense to me. And I sat in that dorm room with the shower running and the smell of rain inside somehow, not pressing her—not fighting.

Just filling in the blanks instead of speaking outright. Assuming when I should have asked.

My jaw tightens as Vienna's hands move through the next line—fluid, certain.

And it hits me harder than it should—

I'm doing it again.

My teeth clench.

I'm standing here, already bracing for Lenny to leave. Already deciding how these next three months unfold.

Already letting her go—

Without ever asking her to stay.

My grip tightens at my sides, fingers curling into my palms as the realization settles in my chest.

I've been hiding behind it—telling myself I can't ask her to stay. Like wanting her here is the same thing as holding her back. But telling her I'd love her to be here isn't an ultimatum.

If she goes, I'll be waiting—there hasn't been a doubt about that for a long time now. But what if she's going because she thinks that's what I want too—like it's the only option. The same way I lost her because she thought not coming to CMU meant the end of us.

My pulse beats through my wrists as my hands move with V's again—a beat behind until I catch back up.

I scan the stadium, long enough to see the hundreds of people in the stands mirroring my movements. That pride resurfaces and almost smothers everything else.

But then I glance back over my shoulder.

Lenny is standing there, signing. Staring at Vienna with tears in her eyes and a soft smile on her face, and it solidifies in my heart that three months or six years wouldn't change how I feel about her.

But neither would three simple words.

Please don't go.

Lenny's eyes trail to mine.

And with one tear dropping down her cheek, she stops signing the song.