Julian was silent for a long time.
"Fine," he finally relented. "After Christmas. But that's the deadline."
I nodded, relieved.
"Harper." He stopped me, his voice softening. "I know it's hard to let go. But sometimes we have to, to make room for something new."
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure what I was really holding onto.
Christmas came.
The nursing home was strung with lights and bells, carols playing cheerfully down the hallways. The residents wore their best clothes, sitting in the activity room waiting for the show to start.
I ran around nonstop—helping Mrs. Wilson adjust her wig, getting Mrs. Brown hot chocolate, being pulled aside for photos with the residents. Everyone was laughing, everyone was happy, as if for this one day, all the loneliness and pain had been driven away by holiday joy.
"Harper!" someone called from behind me.
I turned. Ryan—a young male nurse, early twenties, with messy brown curls and a face still touched with boyishness. He'd worked at the nursing home for about six months, always patient and gentle with the residents. Everyone liked him.
"Ryan?" I looked at him curiously. "What's up?"
His face suddenly turned red—as red as the Christmas decorations on the wall. He brought his hand out from behind his back, holding out a beautifullywrapped box.
"This... is for you." He stammered, eyes darting away, unable to look at me. "M-Merry Christmas."
I froze.
"You didn't have to—"
"Open it!" He got the words out, then bolted like a startled rabbit, nearly knocking over the Christmas tree in the hall.
Mrs. Wilson, who'd witnessed the whole thing, winked at me mischievously. "Well, well. Someone's got an admirer."
"Mrs. Wilson!" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
I opened the box. Inside was a scarf. Simple style, but soft fabric, in a gray-blue I loved.
I stared at that scarf, a strange feeling welling up inside me. I couldn't tell if it was touched or bitter, or both.
Someone liked me.
The thought circled in my head, still feeling unreal. I'd never been the kind of girl people liked—too fat, too ordinary, too invisible. In school, no one wrote me love letters, no one stole glances at me in the hallway, no one wrote "I've had a crush on you forever" in my yearbook.
I was like a dull gray stone, passed over by everyone's gaze as it landed on shinier gems.
Now I was thinner, had learned makeup and how to dress, probably prettier, but that bone-deep insecurity never left. Every time I looked in the mirror, I still saw that chubby girl who didn't deserve to be loved.
But now, there was a boy—a boy several years younger than me, whose smile still held a trace of innocence—running away red-faced, because he liked me.
My eyes stung.
I wouldn't fall for Ryan. I knew that. But he reminded me of who I used to be—that awkward girl holding out her heart, only to have it carelessly crushed.
"Beautiful." Mrs. Brown leaned over to look. "That boy likes you."
"He's just..." I didn't know how to explain. "He's so much younger than me."
