“I … well, if this is what you want,” he says. “We can just be friends.” “Isn’t it what you want?” I ask. He exhales. “What I want,” he muses, letting out a small, sardonic laugh. “You are …” But he can’t find the words, and I don’t mind because the fading sentence says more than either of us ever could. He shakes his head. “God, you’re like my star in the sky, Wendy.” “Your star?” “My North Star. Always showing me the direction I should travel. I’ve never met someone like you before.” “Is that … good?” “Yes,” he replies. “It’s very, very good.” He chuckles. “But it’s also terrifically
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NO JASPER IT ISNT WHAT SHE WANTS
