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Summary
‘Rumi.’
Mira’s hand – the one not currently holding Zoey’s – comes to rest on her arm.
‘It’s true, you know. What Zoey said,’ she adds, tossing her head toward her girlfriend. ‘Zoey’s still Zoey, I’m still Mira, and you’re still our Rumi, and that will never change.’
Rumi stares at the rare treat that is this sweet, gentle smile, and tries not to cry.
Kill me.
Or: Rumi falls first. Mira and Zoey fall five years later.