Page 70 of The Story Of Us

27

VIOLET

It’s been a few weeks since that first date with Isaac, and every day, it just feels like we’re getting closer again. Our daily texts developed into phone calls and then into FaceTime when he started going home on the weekends, and we couldn’t see each other in person.

He’s made a point to take me somewhere every weekend, too, whether it’s to a bookstore or for food or just a drive. He said it doesn’t matter what we do as long as we’re together, and I wholeheartedly agree with him. I think I could climb the highest mountains, run ten marathons, swim across oceans as long as he was by my side.

Spending time with him outside of school has made me realise how contained our relationship was before and how scared we both were to let it be out in the open like this. Even though we haven’t made anything official, I like how it is now that we can create these new memories with each other.

Isaac said he wanted it to be different this time, and it already feels like it is. We’ve started getting more comfortable with being with each other again, our hands linking as soon as we see each other, kisses on cheeks whenever we say goodbye, hugs that linger but not quite for long enough.

He hasn’t been rushing me at all. I’ve been setting the pace for us and making the first move every time, but a part of me wishes he would be the one to do it. I know it’s because he wants me to feel comfortable, but I miss the Isaac who would always be attached to me in one way or another. Whether it was his knee against mine whenever we sat together, hands linked across a table when we studied together, hands on my face when he would press his lips to mine.

I know that the only way we’ll get back to that is if I tell him that I want to put a name to what we’re doing. But he’s been going home for weekends more often now because his parents want him to prepare for his Oxford interviews, and that’s why I can’t yet.

Isaac constantly reassures me that he’s not going there and that he’s only going along with what his parents want so they won’t get suspicious. But there’s still a tiny voice in the back of my mind that makes me think that we’ll go our separate ways when school ends, even after all of this.

I try to push it away, tell myself that he wouldn’t be making this much effort to start again with me if he was going there. But he had his last interview today, and we haven’t spoken much. I’ve been worried that he’ll get sick again from putting too much pressure on himself, but he reassures me that he’s fine whenever I ask him.

I didn’t want to bother him while he was already stressed out so I just told him that he’ll do fine and that I believe in him because I do. As much as the doubts try to cloud my mind, I’ve never completely lost faith in him, even when we broke up. He responded with a simple ‘thank you,’ and I haven’t heard from him since.

It’s getting late into the evening, and I’m trying to focus on working on the project, but I’ve got nothing done. It’s already past eight, and I’m debating texting him again when my phone rings.

“Hey.”

“Hi, how was it?”

He lets out a sigh, and I’m instantly worried about him. I want to see him so I can make sure he’s really okay.

“It was alright, probably could have gone better but it’s done now.”

“Can we FaceTime? I want to see you.” I try to hide the vulnerability in my voice, but think I fail because he doesn’t say anything. I wait for the tone to change to indicate that he’s calling me but it doesn’t.

“Open the door.”

“What?”

“I’m outside.”

I drop my phone and stand up from my desk, rushing over to the door, and when I open it, he’s standing right there. I grab his arm and drag him into my room, locking the door behind us before I pull him into a hug.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you, too.” He says, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in the crook of my neck.

When we break apart, I take his hand and lead him away from the door and towards my bed, but as I sit down on the edge, he stops short just before he can do the same.

“When did you put them back up?”

He doesn’t have to go into specifics because I already know what’s caught his eye. His birthday cards are pinned to my wall, each delicate memory held up where I can see them every single day.

I debate on telling him the truth or not, if I should just play it off as only putting them back up recently once we started up again. But there’s no point keeping this hidden from him. If I want anything more for us, I need to let myself be vulnerable with him again.

“When you were sick,” I say, my voice quiet as he stares at them. “I kept them in my desk before that. But when I went to see you that day, I don’t know, I just wanted to look at them again, I guess.”

He reaches out a hand to touch them, running his fingers over the same cake that’s drawn on the front of each one with a different number of candles to mark each year. Then he finally looks at me with a slight smile as he sits next to me and takes my hand in his.

I lean my head on his shoulder and then decide to take a chance by asking him something that’s been bothering me since that day.

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