The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 449

What was he thinking about?

Sloane's heart twisted with a sudden, unbidden softness.

The feeling hit her without warning, like a gentle finger pressing against the most vulnerable part of her chest. She was surrounded by deafening cheers, booming music, and Piper sobbing, "We won!" right in her ear. Josh was down in the front row giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, yet her gaze was pinned to that quiet corner, unable to look away.

How long had he been sitting in the most isolated part of the auditorium? Was he lonely sitting there all by himself?

The thought startled her.

She shouldn't be feeling this way about Garrison Foster—he was none of her business. He meant nothing to her. She had a man cheering for her in the front row, bursting with boyish pride. She had no business letting her heart ache for another man right now.

But the emotion swelled up, real and undeniable. It sat heavy in her chest, a stifling knot that didn't hurt, but weighed her down completely.

Josh was still standing below the stage, maintaining his thumbs-up, looking up at her with a bright grin.

Realizing she was caught staring, she quickly pulled her gaze away and flashed Josh a smile. But even to her, the smile felt hollow, tinged with a sudden spike of guilt, as if she had just done something terribly wrong to him.

*

The concert ended, and the electric atmosphere slowly dissipated like an echo fading in the wind.

The audience filed out of Founder's Hall in small groups. Some were enthusiastically dissecting their performance of *Love's Final Requiem*, others were raving about the seamless vocal and cello transitions, while a few yawned and urged their friends to hurry so they wouldn't miss the late-night cafeteria run.

As Sloane and Piper walked out of the auditorium doors side by side, Sloane's steps unconsciously slowed.

Standing on the stairs, clutching the slightly wilted bouquet of baby's breath, she let her gaze drift over the dispersing crowd and toward the side exit.

But Garrison never came. He simply blended into the departing crowd, head lowered, stepping out into the night through the side doors without a word.

The edge of his black wool coat flashed briefly against the doorframe before the cold wind swallowed him into the darkness. He never looked back. He never even glanced in her direction.

"Sloane, who are you looking at?" Piper tugged at her arm, following her line of sight into the milling crowd.

Sloane's eyes were still fixed on the side exit—the silhouette of that black coat was almost completely melted into the night. A complicated, suffocating wave of emotion washed over her.

Then, she shook her head, pulled her gaze back, and forced a smile.

"No one."