Later that afternoon, when most students had gone home and the school felt almost abandoned, Rita found Evelyn sitting alone behind the canteen.
She wasn't laughing now.
She wasn't even smiling.
She was just sitting there, kicking a stone around with the tip of her shoe, a bottled drink untouched beside her.
For a moment, Rita just watched her, heart hammering in her chest.
This felt harder than facing Anne.
Maybe because Evelyn had always been the loud one, the fearless one.
Seeing her like this — so quiet, so distant — scared Rita more than any exam ever had.
Slowly, she walked over.
Evelyn looked up — and unlike Anne, she didn't hide the hurt in her eyes.
"What do you want?" Evelyn said sharply.
Rita flinched.
She opened her mouth — then closed it again, gathering herself.
"I want to fix it," she said finally. "I want to fix us."
Evelyn snorted softly, looking away. "Some things aren't that easy, Rita."
"I know," Rita said, voice trembling. "But I'm sorry. I really am. I miss you. I miss us."
There was a long, heavy pause.
Evelyn kept kicking the stone, her face turned away.
"You hurt me," Evelyn said finally, her voice lower, rougher. "You made me feel like... like I didn't matter."
Tears burned behind Rita's eyes.
"You matter," she whispered fiercely. "You always did. I was stupid. I let everything get too big in my head. I should have trusted you. I should have fought for us."
Evelyn's foot stilled.
The stone rolled away and disappeared under a bush.
For a heartbeat, Rita thought she would just walk away.
But then Evelyn let out a long sigh and, without looking at her, said, "I missed you too, idiot."
A tiny, broken laugh escaped Rita's throat — half relief, half sorrow.
She sat down beside Evelyn, their shoulders not quite touching but close enough.
They didn't say anything else for a while.
They didn't need to.
The hurt wasn't fully healed yet.
Maybe it wouldn't be for a while.
But forgiveness had cracked the door open.
And that was enough for now.