And I’m not dreaming.
I let her slip away again.
If thereissome invisible thread tying us together, it’s pulling harder now. Like it knows I just left the best thing that’s ever happened to me sitting in the back seat of some car.
I shake it off, force my legs to move, and walk into the airport.
Inside everything is chaos. Kids cry. Suitcase wheels thud against the tile. The chaos of the holidays is still here but the magic is gone.
I go through security, eyes still trained on the entrance, hoping Natalie might bust through like a scene out of a romcom. She’ll run through the crowd, cheeks pink from the cold, and yell my name at the gate. And I’ll kiss her hard as the camera pulls out and our happily ever after begins.
Instead, all I see are strangers.
I sit at my gate with my hood up and headphones on, dumbly staring at the departure screen, waiting for the ache in my chest to dull.
It doesn’t.
All I can think about is her mom’s voice pulling away.
"He’s in love with you."
I feel like I made that painfully obvious, so I’m not worried she doesn’t know but I left her without saying anything more thanpromise me things won’t go back to the way they were.I left what I wanted way too vague.
I can’t do anything about it. All I can do is wait for this plane and hope when I see her again on campus in a month, she’ll still look at me like she was starting to. Like how her mom said, she wants me, but is scared, I can work with that.
I open my phone and pull up her contact. A contact photo glows at the top. It’s a picture I took of her on the ice pond. Her nose’s crinkled, her arms open, catching a snowflake on her tongue. It physically hurts to look at it, but I can’t look away.
I type.
Tell your your parents I appreciated the ride, and also the mild trauma.
Then I delete.
Then I try again.
I already miss you.
No. Too much.
Backspace.
I drag a hand down my face and resist the impulse to chuck the phone across the terminal. My leg bounces restlessly as I glance around the gate. Everyone else looks normal. Calm. Like it’s just another day, another flight, another holiday over.
But I feel like I’m unraveling. Like someone cut the tether between me and the only place I’ve ever actually wanted to stay.
I try typing again.
I know we didn’t talk about what this is. I wanted to. I just didn’t want to ruin it. Or say it wrong. Or say it too soon.
Better.
But still not enough.
Backspace. All of it.
Maybe I should just call her and tell her everything before the gate agent starts boarding.
I hover over the call button.
