The Jacket

I didn't think it would matter.

It was just a jacket. An old, oversized denim jacket with a few little embroidered flowers on the sleeves. The kind that looked like it came from a thrift store or maybe someone's older sister's closet. Honestly, It didn't even seem like her style.

But it was hers. And taking it was a mistake.

It started last fall, on the day of the first cold snap. You know those days where everything shifts just a little? The air gets sharp, your breath fogs, and suddenly you realize summer really is over? Yeah. It was one of those. Everyone in the lunchroom was complaining about freezing in their hoodies, and I was, too. Except I didn't even have a hoodie. Just a dumb flannel shirt and goosebumps up my arms.

And then I saw it. The jacket. Hanging on the back of the chair next to me, left behind by someone who sat in the period before lunch. I knew who it was-of course I did. It belonged to Mia.

And maybe that's where the guilt started.

Mia and I hadn't talked in three months. Not since the thing with Ethan. And if I'm being honest, that's a whole other story. But quick version? She liked him first. I knew she did. And then he started texting me. And instead of shutting it down, I let it happen. And then I kissed him. Once. At a football game. I didn't even like him that much.

After that, she blocked me. Everywhere.

So when I saw her jacket hanging there, forgotten and lonely, I didn't think. I just grabbed it. Told myself I'd give it back. I just wanted something that was hers, something to hold onto. Something that still felt like... us.

But I didn't give it back. I kept it.

I wore it the rest of the day and didn't take it off when I got home. It smelled like that coconut shampoo she always used, and there was a little thread loose on the pocket where she used to fidget with it during class. I don't know how to explain it, but wearing that jacket felt like having her next to me again. Like we weren't totally broken.

The next day, she wasn't at school. Or the next. And I started hearing rumors.

"She's not coming back," someone whispered in gym.

"Her family's moving. Her mom got some job in Arizona or something."

And I just... froze.

Because I still had her jacket.

And I had no idea how to get it back to her. What if she already hated me so much that giving it back would just make things worse? What if she thought I took it on purpose to be mean? What if she never wanted to see me again?

I thought about messaging her. But I'd already tried that months ago and got left on read.

So I waited. Too long.

A week passed. Then another. And one day I came home and saw a "FOR SALE" sign in front of her house. Her house. The place where I spent half my life between the ages of 9 and 14. The place with the creaky porch swing and the glitter-covered walls in her room. Gone.

That night I sat on my bedroom floor with her jacket in my lap and cried harder than I had in a long time.

It wasn't just about the jacket. It was everything.

The fact that I let some dumb crush get in the way of five years of friendship. That I didn't fight harder to fix it. That I didn't know how to say sorry when It still would've mattered.

I didn't sleep much that night.

The next day after school, I rode my bike over to her house. It was mostly empty- just a few boxes left in the garage. Her mom was there, unlocking the door, and when she saw me, her face softened.

"Hi, Harper," she said. Like it hadn't been months.

I stood there awkwardly, holding the jacket in both hands. "Is... is Mia here?"

She paused. "She's inside. For a little while."

I nodded. "Can I see her?"

She didn't say yes. But she didn't say no, either. She just stepped aside and let me in.

The house was quiet and weird without all the decorations. The walls were bare, and the living room echoed when I stepped inside. But upstairs, Mia's door was cracked open. I knocked once before pushing it the rest of the way.

She was sitting on the floor, taping up a box. Her hair was longer, a little curlier than I remembered. She looked up, surprised.

"Oh," she said.

I held out the jacket. "I think this belongs to you."

She stared at it for a second, then back at me. "You had it?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything.

I stepped inside, my heart pounding. "I wasn't trying to steal it. I just... I saw it, and I missed you. And I know that's not an excuse. But I didn't know how to say sorry, and then you weren't here anymore, and it felt like it was too late, but-"

"Why'd you do it?" she asked, cutting me off. "With Ethan."

Her voice was quiet. Not angry. Just tired.

I sank down onto the floor, across from her. "I don't know. I think I was lonely. And selfish. And maybe a little jealous that he liked you and not me. And I thought... if I had him, maybe I'd feel better about everything. But I didn't. I felt worse. I lost you."

She looked down at the box in her lap. "You could've told me."

"I know," I whispered. "But I didn't. And that's on me."

There was a long silence. And then she said, "I wore that jacket the day you kissed him."

I blinked. "What?"

"That's why it was in the cafeteria. I took it off during fourth period. I thought I looked cute in it. I thought maybe he'd finally notice me." She laughed, but not like it was funny. "Guess he did. Just not the way I wanted."

I didn't know what to say. I just held the jacket out again.

She took it this time. Her fingers brushed mine, and for a second it felt like the past and the present were tangled together.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I'd take it back if I could. All of it."

She nodded slowly. "I know."

Another pause. Then:

"Arizona's far."

"I know."

We sat there, in the middle of her half-packed room, with a jacket between us and so many unsaid things. I didn't expect her to forgive me, not really. But she looked at me, and something in her expression shifted.

"I don't hate you, Harper," she said. "I just... I needed time."

I swallowed. "Do you think maybe... one day we could talk again? Not now. Just... someday?"

She gave a tiny smile. "Maybe."

And that was enough.

We hugged-awkwardly, like people who didn't know if they were still allowed to- and I left the house feeling like something had cracked open inside me.

Forgiveness isn't magic. It doesn't undo what happened. But sometimes, it's the first step toward something better.

Sometimes, it's just returning a jacket.