Chapter 5 DISTANCE

Three Months Later

The semester shifted.

Leaves browned, the wind grew sharper, and life somehow went on.

But something between them never quite returned to normal.

They didn't speak.

They didn't cross paths, not on purpose.

But they noticed each other. Always.

Across the courtyard. In the back row of a class they both didn't drop. At the library's quietest corner.

They were strangers with a shared ache.

And every silence screamed of things left unsaid.

Ava focused on herself.

She started journaling again. Took up volunteering at an animal shelter. Smiled more with Maya. Learned to breathe without flinching at his name.

But some nights, she'd find herself staring at the rooftop from her window, wondering if he was there, waiting.

She never went up.

She wasn't ready to risk that much hope again.

Still... she missed him.

And it hurt how much she still did.

Liam threw himself into work.

Tutoring. Campus security shifts. Weekends at home helping his sister care for their mom.

He became quieter. Sharper. Softer only when no one was watching.

He'd scroll past Ava's Instagram, even though he never unfollowed. Her laugh still lived rent-free in his head.

He hadn't kissed anyone since that night.

He didn't want to.

He wasn't sure he deserved to.

Ava had always taken time to write a letter.

Some nights I miss you like a song I forgot the lyrics to.

Some days I hate you. Some days I ache for you.

But the truth is, I wanted you to fight harder for me.

Maybe you were broken. But so was I. And I just needed someone who wouldn't leave the moment things got messy.

You said I mattered. I wanted to believe that meant something.

But all I have now is the silence between us.

And maybe that's louder than love.

She folded the page. Didn't rip it. Didn't burn it.

Just tucked it into her journal... unread, unsent.

Maya had always been with her as she shares all what's happening to her.

"You're allowed to still love him," Maya said one Saturday as they studied in the library.

"I don't know if I do," Ava replied quietly.

Maya gave her a knowing smile. "You'd stop checking the rooftop if you didn't."

Ava looked down.

"I'm not telling you to forgive him," Maya added. "But maybe... letting go of the anger doesn't mean letting go of your worth."

Ava didn't respond.

But that night, she pulled out the hoodie she never gave back.

And instead of curling up with it, she put it in a bag-ready to return.

It was time to heal.

Even if they never went back to what they were.

One rainy night, Liam sat on the rooftop.

Alone.

He hadn't been there in weeks.

He opened his phone. Stared at her contact and typed to her.

I don't expect you to reply. But if I could go back, I'd do it all differently. I wouldn't let my silence ruin us. I still think about you.

Every day.

He hit send.

Then waited.

Ten minutes.

Thirty.

An hour.

Nothing.

He nodded to himself, stood, and left.

What he didn't see was Ava sitting in her room, phone in hand, staring at the message.

Not deleting it.

Not replying.

Just feeling it.

They moved in the same world now-but on different timelines.

Liam's once-boisterous laugh in the student union had faded. Ava, who used to avoid the library at night to dodge him, now stayed late studying. He came early. She left late.

It was like they'd made an unspoken pact to orbit each other without ever colliding.

Sometimes she thought she saw him glancing.

Sometimes he knew she did.

But neither said a word.

Not yet.

Ava surprised herself. She was starting to feel... clearer. Stronger.

She finally joined the photography club, something she'd always wanted to do but never felt brave enough for. She captured life now-sunsets, laughter, even still moments of sadness. It all became art.

But the lens didn't lie.

In every frame, she found shadows that looked like Liam.

Even when he wasn't there.

She started therapy sessions, too-something Maya had quietly nudged her toward. And for the first time in her life, she talked about the before-before Liam, before the kiss, before the heartbreak.

The father who left.

The walls she built.

The hope she never allowed.

And in that, she realized: Liam didn't break her.

He just showed her where the cracks had always been.

Liam changed too.

He stopped showing up to parties. Spent more time with his sister and his mom. Took fewer shifts at night. Started drawing again-something he hadn't done since he was a kid.

In one sketchbook page, he drew her.

From memory.

Hair tucked behind one ear, head tilted slightly like she used to when she teased him. Eyes softer than he remembered, like forgiveness was possible.

But he tore out the page.

He wasn't sure he deserved to remember her like that.

In his memory, it played differently.

He imagined telling Ava that night:

"I'm scared. Scared you'll see all of me and leave."

He imagined her whispering:

"I already see you. I'm not leaving."

But he'd said nothing.

And she had.

One afternoon, Liam found himself face-to-face with Maya outside the campus café. Neither tried to dodge the other.

She stared at him, arms crossed. "You look tired."

He nodded. "It's been a long three months."

She hesitated. Then asked, "Do you still love her?"

He didn't look away. "I never stopped."

Maya let the silence sit.

"She's healing, Liam. Don't rush her."

"I won't," he said. "But I'm not giving up."

For the first time, Maya didn't tell him to walk away.

She just nodded and left.

That night, Ava went through her phone.

Photo albums. Videos. Voice notes she never deleted.

One of them:

Liam laughing as she made a bad joke. In the background, her own laugh joined his.

She listened to it three times.

Then she pressed record on a new one.

She didn't send it. But she spoke, voice shaking:

"I don't know if we'll ever get back what we lost. But I hope you're finding your peace. And maybe... someday... I'll be brave enough to try again."

She saved it.

That was enough for now.

It was raining again. The kind of soft drizzle that smelled like nostalgia.

Ava walked past the old spot near the science building where he used to wait for her after class.

She slowed.

Paused.

And looked up.

He wasn't there.

But a paper crane sat on the bench.

Folded perfectly. Handwritten words inside:

I still remember everything. But I'm learning to become someone worth remembering too.

She held it to her chest.

Didn't cry.

Didn't smile.

Just breathed-deep and full-for the first time in months.