It was our graduation trip—a two-week escape to Iceland to chase the Northern Lights. But when Sophie’s scarf slipped and whipped away into the freezing wind, the fragile warmth of our trip shattered. My boyfriend, Thomas, immediately unknotted his own heavy wool scarf and wrapped it snugly around her neck. He turned to me, his voice sharp against the howling wind. “Lauren, go grab that for Sophie. You know it’s her favorite.” I ran into the gale, my boots sinking into the deep snow as I chased a streak of white cashmere. By the time I finally caught it and turned back, the green ribbons of the aurora had faded into the dark. They were no longer standing where I left them. A text lit up my screen: “You were taking too long. Sophie was freezing, so I took her back to the hotel.” In a foreign country, in the pitch black, I stood at that icy intersection for six hours. I waved down over twenty cars before a kind local finally agreed to give me a ride. By the time I unlocked the hotel room door, it was past midnight. My limbs were entirely numb, stiff as wood. Inside the heated suite, they were tangled up under the duvet, heads pressed close, scrolling through the photos they’d taken that day. They were laughing, talking about aperture and lighting—a language, a world, I had never been allowed to enter. Thomas looked up, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw me. “What took you so long? I left some warm water on the counter. Go warm up.” I touched the mug. The water inside was stone-cold. A bone-deep, quiet exhaustion washed over me. That was it. I pulled up my airline app, booked the earliest flight back to New York, and cancelled all our upcoming hotel reservations. Some auroras are simply not meant to be chased. … I quietly set down the cold mug and hung the wet scarf on the coat rack near the door. Sophie wriggled out of the heavy blankets and rushed over, grabbing my hands. “Oh my god, Lauren, you’re like ice!” She rubbed my palms between hers, trying to friction some life back into them, before casting a mock-reproachful look at Thomas. “Thomas, I told you we should have waited a bit longer, but you were in such a rush.” Thomas threw his hands up in a playful surrender. “Okay, okay, princess. My bad.” He gently guided her back toward the bed, tucking the duvet tightly around her shoulders. “Your health is fragile and you hate the cold. Why are you trying to warm her up?” Then, he tossed a dry towel at me. “If you’re cold, go take a hot shower. Don’t make Sophie baby you.” The towel hit my face. My frozen arms didn’t even have the reflexes to catch it. I pulled it down slowly, feeling the rough cotton against my numb skin, and walked into the bathroom without a word. As the steaming water hit my shoulders, my body slowly began to thaw, bringing with it a dull, throbbing ache in my lower abdomen. Thomas and I had grown up together. We were neighborhood sweethearts, our lives intertwined since we were toddlers. Sophie was my college roommate. I was the one who introduced them. But they both shared a passion for photography, and soon, they became inseparable. Two naturally quiet people suddenly had a universe of things to discuss when they were together. I had tried, awkwardly and earnestly, to join their conversations. But my naive questions only ever earned me a shared, knowing smile between them. “How do you not know how exposure works?” they’d say softly. When I stepped out of the bathroom, the room was dark. They had already fallen asleep. I crawled to my side of the bed and lay down. Almost instantly, Thomas’s large, warm hand slid over, settling firmly against my lower stomach. “Your period started today, didn’t it? Let me warm you up.” My first instinct was to pull away, but I froze. I greedily drank in the heat radiating from his palm. We had known each other for fifteen years. For as long as I could remember, I had been running after him. He was the golden boy of our block, the natural leader, and I was just his loyal shadow. Five years ago, I gathered the courage to confess my feelings, and to my shock, he said yes. No one thought we’d last, but he had kept me in his heart. He always remembered my cycle. He kept a spare sweater in his backpack because he knew I got cold easily. But ever since Sophie entered our lives, that spare sweater never seemed to find its way to my shoulders anymore. The tears I had held back all night finally slipped silently into my pillow. Sensing my slight movement, Thomas rolled over and pulled me into his chest. “What’s wrong? Are you jealous?” “Sophie has a weak constitution. I’m only looking out for her because you asked me to. I didn’t want you worrying.” “Go to sleep. Sophie gets up early. We don’t want to keep her waiting if we overslept.” My throat felt as if it were stuffed with wet cotton. I managed a thick, barely audible, “Okay.” Soon, his breathing evened out into a deep sleep. I stared into the dark. Perhaps Thomas had entirely forgotten his promise from four years ago—that he would propose to me under the Northern Lights. The lights had come, but the person sharing them with him was no longer me. The next morning, Sophie burst into our room, glowing with excitement. “Let’s go to that michelin-starred spot downtown! I got incredibly lucky and snagged a last-minute cancellation!” Thomas smiled warmly. “Sounds great.” I kept my head down. We had explicitly planned to visit the Golden Circle today. I had already booked and paid for the tour. Yet, everything had to bend to Sophie’s whims. No one asked for my opinion. I packed my things and followed them out. When the taxi arrived, Thomas opened the front door and gently nudged me toward it. “Lauren, you’re not feeling well. You should sit in the front.” He and Sophie climbed into the back. Throughout the entire ride, they chatted endlessly about lighting angles, shutter speeds, and camera bodies. I couldn’t wedge a single word into their dialogue. The driver was a fellow American expat. He glanced at me, then eyed the backseat through the rearview mirror. “On vacation?” he murmured. “Must be lonely, riding shotgun with a couple.” I forced a small smile. “Yeah. It really is.” Their laughter from the backseat completely drowned out our quiet exchange. When we arrived, I pulled my heavy winter coat tight and stepped out. Thomas got out first, immediately pulling a knit scarf from his bag to wrap around Sophie’s neck. He cast a brief, passing glance at me. “Let’s go inside.” At the table, Sophie sat next to me, while Thomas sat directly across from her. Thomas picked up the menu and ordered fluently in English, commanding the waiter with ease. Sophie wrinkled her nose playfully. “Did you order my favorites?” Thomas reached across the table and pinched her nose. “I ordered exclusively what you like. Just wait and see.” When the food arrived, my heart sank. It was almost entirely seafood. I pressed a hand against my aching stomach and settled for chewing on the complimentary bread basket. I have a severe shellfish allergy; the only one who loved seafood was Sophie. Old Thomas would never have allowed a single shrimp on our table. But now, the table was piled high with oysters and lobster, and there wasn’t a single dish I could touch. Thomas peeled a tiger prawn with practiced ease, placing the delicate meat onto Sophie’s plate. Sophie glanced at me, nudging Thomas. “Thomas, peel some for Lauren, too.” Thomas didn’t even look up. “She can’t eat them.” So he did remember. I stared at him blankly. Suddenly, he picked up a roasted fingerling potato from a side dish and dropped it onto my plate. Looking at the steaming potato, a wave of bitterness rushed to my throat. But in the next second, his tone was entirely flat. “Sophie doesn’t like potatoes anyway. You eat it.” My fork froze in mid-air. I stared at the warm potato, completely losing whatever appetite I had left. As Sophie finished her meal, Thomas reached into his backpack and pulled out a thermos. He poured a steaming cup and handed it to her. “Drink some ginger tea to settle your stomach after all that cold seafood.” Then he added, “Lauren doesn’t need any. She didn’t eat much anyway.” By the afternoon, the cold and exhaustion caught up to me. I felt a fever burning under my skin. Thomas was the first to notice. He touched my forehead, then pulled out a thermometer to check. “103.6? Lauren, you really know how to ruin a schedule.” He let out a heavy, irritated sigh. Sophie stepped into the room, her eyes wide with worry. “We should cancel today’s excursion. Lauren is burning up. It’s too dangerous to leave her alone in the hotel.” Thomas hesitated. I forced a weak smile. “Don’t worry about me. You guys go.” “Are you sure? But your fever…” Sophie handed me a glass of water and two ibuprofen. “Here, take these first.” I swallowed the pills. Watching me take the medicine, Thomas glanced at his phone. “The guide is already waiting downstairs. It’s too late to cancel anyway.” “Lauren, I’m leaving the medicine on the nightstand. Remember to take it. We’ll be back soon.” They left. Under the weight of the fever reducers, I drifted off. When I opened my eyes, the room was pitch black. They weren’t back. I called the front desk and ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup. While waiting, I opened Instagram. Two photos on my feed pierced through me like shards of glass. Thomas and Sophie had posted photos taken at the exact same spot, posing in the exact same way. My fingers trembled. I clicked on Thomas’s profile. “Off we go! I have to take better shots than Soph!” “Chasing the aurora with the luckiest girl, Soph.” “The Reynisfjara Black Sand Beach is so lonely, but thank god Soph is here.” Soph… A nickname I had never even heard him use. Underneath his post, a mutual college friend had commented: “Hey man, where’s Lauren? Why isn’t she in the photos?” Thomas’s reply was short and dismissive: “She’s just unlucky. Got a fever, so she’s stuck at the hotel.” When the soup arrived, I set my phone face down. I stirred the hot broth, watching the steam rise. During our senior year of high school, I had caught a terrible flu. Thomas had been absolutely frantic. He had made chicken noodle soup from scratch, blowing on each spoonful before feeding me. He stayed by my side for two days, eventually carrying me on his back to the clinic, demanding the doctor admit me. I had laughed through my tears. “Thomas, I’m fine. Really.” And he had muttered against my shoulder, “But my heart hurts seeing you like this.” I swallowed the lukewarm soup, forcing some strength back into my body. By the time they returned, it was late. “Lauren, look at this! Thomas made my face look so huge in this photo!” Sophie ran over, thrusting her screen in front of my face. It was a selfie of them. Sophie stood in the foreground, and Thomas held the phone high, framing them both perfectly. My chest ached. Back in our school days, before selfie sticks were common, Thomas always took photos of us like this. We had an entire gallery wall in our apartment filled with photos in that exact pose. I couldn’t control the tremor in my voice as I slipped out of bed. “I’m still feeling a bit off. I’m going to lie back down.” The suite went quiet. A moment later, Thomas walked into my room. He reached down to touch my forehead. “The fever’s down.” I turned my head slightly, dodging his touch. His hand hung in the empty air for a second before he pulled it back, his expression hardening. “Lauren, even if you’re sick, you don’t have to be this dramatic.” I looked up at him. “I’m dramatic?” “Sophie knew you couldn’t go out, so she wanted to share her photos with you to make you feel included. Who are you throwing a tantrum at?” “You were the one who insisted on coming to Iceland. We came with you. And now you’re acting like this. Lauren, can you grow up for once?” I stared at him, utterly hollow. “That’s enough.” Sophie had slipped into the room unnoticed. She tugged gently at Thomas’s sleeve. “Thomas, don’t. It’s my fault…” “Don’t defend her,” Thomas snapped, his face dark. “She didn’t dress properly and got herself sick. Did anyone blame her for that? Just because she’s miserable doesn’t mean the world has to stop and cater to her.” Thomas grabbed Sophie’s wrist. “Let’s go. Let her cool off on her own.” Sophie threw me a worried glance before Thomas pulled her out. The door slammed shut behind them. I closed my eyes, exhaustion seeping into my bones. Old Thomas would never have left me alone to “cool off.” He used to say that silence was the quiet poison of any relationship. But this time, I had no desire to reach out first. His first instinct was no longer to protect me. Later, Sophie quietly pushed the door open and stepped in. “Lauren? Are you feeling any better?” I nodded silently. She took my hand, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Why don’t you just apologize to Thomas? As your friend, it really breaks my heart to see you two tearing each other apart like this.” “Why should I?” I whispered, looking at her. She had been my best friend first. But slowly, imperceptibly, she had shifted to his side, always standing there to lecture me on how to be better. “Lauren, you’re just too stubborn. Men need to be handled with a gentle touch. Why ruin things over some silly pride?” I didn’t understand. Thomas was the one who had hurled baseless accusations at me, yet in her eyes, I was simply being prideful. “Sophie, I don’t think I did anything wrong.” Sophie fell silent. After a long moment, she let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “If you’re going to be this way, Lauren, there’s nothing more I can say.” The room fell quiet once more. I pulled out my phone, booked the earliest flight back, and began packing my bags. I looked at the very bottom of my suitcase, where a small velvet ring box lay tucked away. I had bought it before we left. With a bitter smile, I closed the suitcase and left the box exactly where it was. When I dragged my suitcase out of the hotel, they were nowhere to be found. Sophie’s favorite scarf was left behind, hanging limply on the coat rack by the door. I guess that scarf wasn’t actually that important after all. On my way to the airport, a text from Sophie popped up: “Lauren, I’m taking Thomas out to clear his head. Get some rest.” I ignored it and opened my chat with Thomas. “Thomas, do you even remember why we came to Iceland?” His reply came almost instantly: “Don’t start overthinking again. I’m taking Sophie to Diamond Beach to take some photos.” I knew him too well. Whenever he didn’t want to deal with something, he dismissed it as me “overthinking.” I sent one final message: “Let’s break up.” During the sixteen-hour flight back to New York, I did nothing. I simply stared out the window into the blank expanse of clouds. All my memories with Thomas came rushing back, crashing over me like waves. When the plane finally touched down, I hesitated before turning off airplane mode. No missed calls. No unread messages. My chat with Thomas was entirely blank. He hadn’t even replied to my breakup text. But my Instagram feed was updating. The latest photo was a shot of Thomas, dressed in a sharp suit, down on one knee, holding a ring up to Sophie—who was wearing a flowing white wedding gown. During my sixteen hours of silent agony, he hadn’t thought of me once. He was busy playing groom for Sophie’s mock wedding shoot. My tears fell onto the glass screen, blurring the image. I tapped the little heart icon and liked the photo. A second later, my phone buzzed. A message from Thomas. “Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s rare for us to be in Iceland, and Sophie just wanted to shoot some commemorative photos.” I wiped my face and typed out a brief reply. “We are broken up. I won’t get the wrong idea.” Then, I blocked both of them. I opened my email, declined the job offer from the prestigious firm in New York City, and texted my mother. “Mom, I’m not staying in New York. I’m coming home.”
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