Oh, shit.
The Canada thing. The fucking future thing.
I forgot that life isn’t just showers together, cooking side by side, falling asleep with his foot tangled in mine. No. It can’t just be that simple. Everything has to fall apart now. Right when it’s starting to feel like maybe, maybe, we can breathe.
Should’ve known better. He shakes his head likedon’t say anything. And for a second, everything is just…still. Except my heart. That’s losing its goddamn mind.
I lift my brows at him, mouthing silently:What is this?
Rava’s eyes dart toward me, wide, slightly panicked. He hits mute. "It’s—it’s that master’s program. The one. From a month ago. I applied…I didn’t think I’d even hear back."
My heart slams inside my chest. It suddenly feels like this voice, this woman, just walked into our moment, into our night, and is here to rip him away from me.
I swallow hard. "Okay," I whisper, nodding fast like an idiot. "Okay." I stop hearing the words. It all feels distant now, like we’re sitting underwater and her voice is coming through glass.
He’s really being offered this. This is real. Too fucking real. It isn’t some vague possibility anymore. "We are pleased to offer you a full scholarship for your master’s studies, Mr.Weston. Your application wasexcellent. Your professors spoke very highly of you. We believe you’ll thrive in our program."
Rava blinks, frozen for a moment. And then…God, that small smile of his. That polite, tiny, grateful smile.
The one you give when you know you’re supposed to feel happy but your chest’s too fucking tight to breathe. He’s trying so hard. To be calm. To be collected. To not crumble right in front of me.
And me? I’m smiling too. Wide. Supportive. Proud.
And dying inside.
Because I can already see him, in lecture halls. In classrooms. With books in his arms, papers in his hands, changing kids’ lives the way only someone like him could. He’ll be brilliant. The best teacher. Exactly who he was always meant to be.
And I’ll be…here.
Stuck. My jaw clenches, but I keep the smile on.
"That’s…that’s incredible," Rava finally manages to say into the phone. "We’ll need your confirmation within the next 48 hours, Mr. Weston," the woman continues politely. "Please take your time, but do let us know by then."
Rava drags a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, trying to push the reality of it back for just one second longer. "Of course," he breathes. "Thank you so much."
Click.
He hangs up and turns to me with that look, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be happy. Like he’s waiting to see if I’ll fall apart first. But I don’t.
I smile. Big. Like an idiot.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to take that phone and throw it off the goddamn balcony.
"Hey," I say quietly, reaching for his hand. "Rava?" His eyes flick up, glassy. "You did it, baby," I whisper, squeezing his hand.
"You fucking did it." I grab him and kiss his forehead like he’s five years old. He laughs a little, but I feel how tight his arms are around me. Like he’s scared to let go.
I won’t let him think that going is the wrong choice. Not even for a second. Not even a flicker of doubt. He’s worked too hard for this. Wanted it too bad. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from him, it’s what loveactuallyis.
It’s this.
It’s pushing someone forward, not holding them back.
It’s letting go of your own fear just so they can fucking fly. And right now? I’m his biggest fan. Louder than the voice in his head. Louder than the part of me that’s breaking.
He needs to see it. He needs to see me clapping for him with both hands, even if my heart’s holding a white flag. Because that’s love, right? Even when it hurts like hell, you still want them to win.
His jaw trembles for a second. "I don’t even know if I—" "Shh," I cut him off, leaning closer, my thumb stroking over his knuckles. "You were made for this. Do you hear me?Thisis what you were meant to do. And you deserve every fucking second of it."
