The weeks after midterms settled into a rhythm that almost felt like peace.
Almost.
Talia and Ezra found themselves orbiting one another more steadily now. Studying in sync, sharing quiet dinners, brushing shoulders in the lab like it meant nothing—and everything. There were no grand confessions or dramatic labels. Just two people figuring it out, moment by moment.
And yet, beneath the surface, something buzzed. Like a song with a missing beat.
Because even when things felt good… Talia knew something had shifted.
Maybe it was her.
Maybe it was Ezra.
Maybe it was the truth they were both too afraid to say out loud.
It started with the silence.
Ezra had always been a talker in his own way—measured, thoughtful, but present. He'd listen carefully, offer some ridiculously insightful observation, and then follow it with a crooked smile that made her insides fold.
But now?
He was distracted.
Not distant—never cold—but… somewhere else.
One Thursday evening in the library, Talia caught him staring at his phone, his expression unreadable. When she asked what was up, he just pocketed it and mumbled, "Family stuff."
She didn't push. That wasn't her style.
But it lingered.
The next day, he missed their usual Friday night study session. No call. No text.
Just like before.
Talia felt the panic rise like old smoke in her lungs. She told herself not to overthink it, but the ghosts of that first Monday—the Monday after the drunken mistake, when he disappeared without a word—were louder than logic.
She scrolled through their messages. Nothing since Tuesday.
She typed:
Everything okay?
Then deleted it.
Then typed again:
Did I do something?
That one she sent.
No reply.
By Saturday night, she was pacing her dorm room, half-dressed for a party she no longer wanted to go to. Her roommate, Zoe, leaned in the doorway, chewing on a straw and eyeing her warily.
"You good?"
"Totally," Talia snapped.
Zoe raised an eyebrow.
Talia groaned and collapsed onto the bed. "No. I'm spiraling, okay? Ezra's gone weird. He's not texting back, and I know I sound crazy, but this feels like before."
Zoe plopped next to her. "Boys suck."
"Not helpful."
"Okay, fine. Maybe he's just going through something? You said it was family stuff?"
"Yeah, but why shut me out?" Her voice cracked, uncharacteristically soft. "I thought we were past that."
Zoe gave her a look that was surprisingly gentle. "Maybe he's scared, too."
Talia laughed bitterly. "Why does everyone get to be scared but me?"
"Because you pretend you're not," Zoe said simply. "Even when you are."
That one stung. Mostly because it was true.
She didn't go to the party. Instead, she sat on the balcony with a blanket and her old Polaroid camera—something she hadn't touched in months. The sky was cloudy, the stars hidden, and the only sound was the hum of traffic below.
She snapped a photo of the skyline anyway.
Later, she slid the picture into her journal beside a sticky note she'd scribbled weeks ago in Ezra's handwriting:
"Strong isn't the absence of fear. It's the choice to stay anyway."
She stared at it.
Then finally gave in.
She called him.
It rang three times.
"Hey," he answered, breathless.
Her heart kicked. "Hey. You okay?"
A pause. "Not really."
She gripped the phone tighter. "Where are you?"
"Hospital. My dad had a seizure. They think it's related to a complication from his surgery."
Talia sat upright. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to worry you."
"You don't get to decide that, Ezra," she said, voice sharp and aching. "We're supposed to try, remember?"
He exhaled. "I know. I just… I didn't want to be the reason you spiraled. Not again."
"And now I'm spiraling and pissed," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I don't need you to be perfect, Ezra. I need you to let me in."
There was a long silence on the line.
Then: "Can you come?"
She didn't ask where.
She just said, "Be there in fifteen."
When she found him, he was slouched in a hallway chair, hoodie rumpled, eyes red from exhaustion.
He stood when he saw her.
And for a moment, everything else blurred.
No textbooks. No pressure. Just him. Just her.
She walked straight into his arms, and he held her like he was afraid to let go.
"I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair.
"Don't be," she whispered back. "Just stop disappearing."
"I'm trying."
She pulled back just enough to look at him. "I know. And so am I."
Then she brushed his cheek and leaned in, their lips meeting in a quiet kiss—gentle, grounding, real.
The kind that didn't ask for promises or perfection.
Just presence.
Later, they sat side by side in the waiting room, sharing vending machine coffee and leaning into each other like gravity had chosen them on purpose.
Ezra rested his head against hers. "I think I'm falling in love with you."
Talia didn't respond right away.
Not because she didn't feel it.
But because the moment was too delicate to rush.
Instead, she reached for his hand.
Laced her fingers with his.
And whispered, "Then hold on tight."