She told Noah she was not ready to forgive him.

“You don’t have to,” Noah said.

“Thank you.”

The two of them sat at our dining room table working on their song.

Autumn had written lyrics about a door held open, a bell ringing too early, and a hallway that seemed longer when nobody stopped to notice.

It was not a sad song.

It had a teasing chorus about being late to class because the building was having a difficult morning.

Noah played a rhythm while she sang.