Yesterday, when I told him about Romania, he didn’t ask when I was leaving. Didn’t ask how long I’d be gone. Didn’t angle for a way to stay in touch.
He just said it sounded grounding. And let it be.
That’s the part I keep circling.
Somewhere in the silence, I realize something small but precise. If he had followed up—if he had texted, joked, asked for more—I would’ve tightened again. Built the wall back up.
Because he didn’t, my guard is down. I can finally relax.
I turn onto my side and close my eyes.
Tomorrow, I’ll start packing for the summer. But tonight, I let myself just be—not running from him, not running toward him. Just here.
The phone ringsat 6:53 a.m. I blink at the screen, disoriented, then register the country code before my brain catches up.
Romania.
I sit up and answer. “Hello?”
“Wren?Buna diminea?a.” Mihai sounds alert and slightly frazzled, speaking Romanian fast enough that I have to focus to keep up. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“It’s fine,” I say, pushing my hair back. “What’s going on?”
“We have an issue with the summer field program,” he says. Papers shift on his end. “One of our seniorcounselors was injured. He won’t be cleared for the Delta segment.”
My stomach tightens. The kids plan for this trip all year. It’s the reason most of them sign up—weeks in the Danube Delta, navigating waterways, camping under open sky, learning English by necessity while learning to read the land.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Strong outdoors skills. Comfortable with water. Long days. Someone who can keep calm and keep kids moving.” He pauses. “An American would be ideal. Immersion works better when the kids have no choice but to speak English.”
“The same July slot?”
“Yes. Three weeks. We cover flight and stipend.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let me think.”
After we hang up, I stay where I am, phone resting in my palm, the room still half dark, the city outside just beginning to wake.
I think about the last twenty-four hours.
The quiet.
The restraint.
The absence of pressure.
And then—uninvited, unplanned—the thought arrives.
Kieran.
The name lands easily. Too easily. My body registers it before I can sort through the reasons, a low pull I don’t have to brace against anymore.
Then the logic catches up.
I should let Mihai find someone else. That’s the sensible choice. The safe one.
But yesterday keeps playing back.
