I tapped the call button, heart pounding.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times—
"So now you remember me?" Marcel's voice cut through, calm on the surface, but with a weight I couldn't miss.
I closed my eyes. "Marcel… I'm sorry."
"Are you?" A pause. "Because it's been what—two weeks? I lost count after the tenth ignored call."
"I didn't mean to go quiet. Everything's just been… overwhelming. Exams, study groups, no sleep. I've been in over my head."
"I get being busy, Alora. But disappearing?" He wasn't angry. That's what made it worse. His voice carried disappointment, not heat. "That's not you. At least, not the you I know."
"I should've called. I should've said something." My voice softened. "I messed up."
Silence hovered for a moment before he asked, "Is there something you're not telling me?"
My chest tightened. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," he sighed. "You just… feel far away. Not physically. Emotionally. Like you're standing right in front of me, but you've already checked out."
The truth landed like a stone in my stomach.
"I've been dealing with things," I admitted, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. "Stuff I'm still trying to untangle myself. I didn't want to drag you into it when I didn't even understand it yet."
"You could've just said that."
"I know. I was scared. And overwhelmed. And maybe a little selfish."
Another pause.
"I'm not mad," he said quietly. "I'm just hurt. Because I care. And I thought you did, too."
"I do," I whispered, voice barely steady. "I really do."
"Then don't shut me out, Alora. I don't need perfection. I just want real—even if it's messy."
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. "Okay."
"Okay," he echoed, like it cost him something to say.
We said little after that. But he stayed on the line longer than necessary. Just breathing. Just there.
When the call ended, I held the phone to my chest, staring blankly ahead. I'd just stepped out of one emotional current only to be swept into another.
The truth was still waiting to be told.
But I wasn't ready. Not yet.
---
By then, Weston had stopped calling—and I hadn't reached out either. The silence grew sharp, brittle, like something that could shatter if I touched it. I told myself I didn't care. Those exams demanded all of me. But the lie hovered over everything.
Nadia noticed. She always noticed.
One evening, buried in textbooks and coffee-stained notes, she looked up from her side of the desk and said, "I talked to Weston."
My pen paused mid-sentence.
"He thinks you're not into him."
I scoffed, defensive. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to. You kind of ghosted him after he opened up."
"I didn't ghost him. I just… paused."
Nadia raised an eyebrow. "He thought there was something real there. You iced him out. No texts. No calls. Nothing."
My stomach twisted.
"What did you tell him?"
"That you're not indifferent—you're just scared. That you overthink things until they stop breathing. And that if he really liked you, he should give you time."
I didn't answer. Because she was right. And I hated how right she was.
---
Exams swept in like a monsoon—demanding, relentless. Long nights blurred into longer mornings, and through it all, Marcel became a quiet anchor.
The morning of my second paper, his message lit up my screen:
"Go easy on yourself today. You're smarter than this exam. Eat something. Breathe. And remember—I'm rooting for you. Always."
I stared at the message longer than I meant to, the edges of my heart softening. Despite everything, he stayed. He still cared.
I stepped out of my dorm, books in one hand, earbuds dangling in the other—ready to face the storm.
That's when I saw him.
Weston.
Leaning against his car, backlit by early sunlight, like no time had passed. Same disarming smile. Same ease.
For a moment, my steps faltered. Was he here for me?
But before the hope could settle, she appeared.
A girl I didn't recognize—glossy curls, confident stride. She threw her arms around him, and he caught her like he'd been waiting.
They hugged. Long and close. The kind of hug that holds history.
He didn't glance at me.
No smile. No acknowledgement.
Just air.
I walked past them without breaking stride. If he noticed, he didn't show it.
He didn't matter.
My exam did.
But inside, something cracked. Not loudly. It's just enough to sting.
---
When I stepped out of the exam hall, my head pounded—not from the questions, but from everything else I hadn't said, hadn't allowed myself to feel.
The memory of them—arms intertwined, laughter like I never existed—looped in my mind like a cursed song.
I needed air.
My phone vibrated.
Marcel.
This time, I didn't hesitate. I answered.
"Hey," I said, voice quieter than usual.
A pause. Then—
"You picked up."
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I should've called."
"I was worried," he said. "I know exams are intense. But I missed you."
"I've been everywhere and nowhere," I murmured. "My brain's fried. My heart's ...." I didn't know what to say and I still wasn't ready to open up about Weston.
"You don't have to say it all now," he replied gently. "I just wanted to check in. See how you're holding up."
I leaned against a nearby tree. "Not great."
"Paper was bad?"
"Not horrible. But I forgot how to spell 'mitochondria' at some point, and now all I want is jollof rice."
He laughed—soft, familiar, grounding. "That's the Alora I know."
I smiled, tension easing from my shoulders.
"You've got two papers left, right?"
"Yeah."
"You're almost there," he said. "Then we talk properly. I'd come down now if I could, but there's still a lot I need to wrap up here. As soon as I'm free, I'm coming straight to you."
"I'd like that," I said, and I meant it.
"Good. Just… don't disappear again."
"I won't. Promise."
"I've missed you, Alora."
"I've missed you too, Mar."
The call ended, but the silence that followed felt softer.
One foot in front of the other.
Paper by paper.
And maybe—just maybe—when this storm cleared, I'd find my way back.
To something steady.
To someone who never stopped waiting.