The Ethernet Between Us

When Jordan moved three states away, the silence in my room hit different. We'd been best friends since kindergarten, and suddenly my person was gone. I coped by running — literally. Every morning at 6 AM, I'd lace up and push myself until my lungs burned, trying to outpace the emptiness.

Swimming practice used to be my escape, but even the chlorine couldn't wash away the weirdness. My coach kept asking why my times were off. How could I explain that half my mental energy was spent staring at the bundle of ethernet cable Jordan's dad had left behind when they helped me set up my gaming PC?

It was just a cable. But it represented everything we weren't anymore — connected, synced, online at the same time every night. I started carrying a piece of it in my swim bag like some sort of emotional support object. Cringe, I know.

"You good, Maya?" asked Riley, the new girl who'd joined the swim team. She'd claimed the lane next to mine and had this energy that was somehow both chaotic and comforting.

"Just thinking," I said, tucking the cable fragment deeper into my bag.

"About Jordan?" she asked. "You say their name in your sleep during dryland exercises."

I froze. "That's embarrassing."

"Nah," Riley said, shrugging. "Just means you care. My dad's in the military. I've been the new kid seven times. The running away from feelings thing? It never works."

Something about her matter-of-factness made me crack. I told her everything — the morning runs, the cable talisman, the way I kept checking my phone even though I knew Jordan was probably busy making new friends.

"Want to come over?" Riley asked. "We can swim in my complex's pool. No pressure. No coaches. Just water."

That afternoon, as we floated on our backs watching the sunset paint the sky, I realized something. Jordan wasn't gone — they were just living a different chapter now. And I was still here, capable of making new connections, capable of swimming without drowning in nostalgia.

That night, I finally coiled up the ethernet cable properly and tucked it in a drawer. Some connections stretch. Others become memories. Both are okay.