Lux thought she knew exactly how this cruise would go: two weeks of awkward family dinners, no cell service, and way too much time to overthink the silence from the boy who stopped choosing her. She planned to keep her head down, her heart guarded...
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I'm two years deep into college, and nothing feels right.
Not my major. Not the school. Not the boy I live with. Definitely not the girl I've turned into.
I was supposed to be building a future. A life. Instead, it feels like I'm just trying not to fall apart every week. I switched from business to biology on a whim. Thought maybe it would be something I could love. Something real.
Spoiler: it's not.
Every day I sit through lectures I can't stand, surrounded by people who act like they've had their lives figured out since birth. Meanwhile, I'm drowning in lab reports and wondering if I'll ever feel anything but numb again.
The only thing that keeps me tethered lately is a stupid little tattoo on my left forearm-a black outline of a zebra. It's small. Simple. But to me, it's everything.
Colt and I never said I love you. Instead, we said I love zebras-because it was easier. Safer. Somehow more honest. After the cruise ended, I got the tattoo without thinking. I wanted something permanent. Something to hold onto.
Now it's the only part of that summer I still have.
Travis hates it.
"Seriously?" he groans one morning, watching me pour coffee in the kitchen. "You're still walking around with that thing out?"
"It's a tattoo, Travis. It's kind of meant to be visible."
"Yeah, well, it looks like something a twelve-year-old would draw in a coloring book. You ever think about getting it removed?"
"No," I say flatly.
He rolls his eyes. "Figures."
He doesn't know what it means. He doesn't care what it means. He just likes to tear things down.
Sometimes I wonder what version of myself agreed to move in with him. Was she this tired too?
⸻
Christmas break finally gives me a reason to breathe. I head home to New York-cold, messy, noisy New York-and for once, I'm glad to be back.
My parents are neck-deep in holiday decorations, pretending not to hate each other. Lacey, of course, is thrilled to be home. But this time, she's not alone.
She walks in the door dragging a suitcase and a very tall, very calm guy behind her.
"Lux," she says, glowing, "this is Ethan."
He smiles, extending a hand. "Hey. I've heard a lot about you."
I shake his hand. "Hope none of it's true."
He chuckles. "No promises."
They live in California now. Lacey transferred to a school near his after they made their long-distance relationship official. He's flying back with her after New Year's. But for now, he's here-in the house I grew up in-making dinner with my mom like it's totally normal.
Later that night, I run into him in the kitchen while I'm fishing around for a corkscrew.
"Need help?" he asks, already reaching for the bottle.
"I do unless you want me to chip a tooth trying to open it."
He laughs. "I've got it."
He pops the cork with casual ease, like he's done it a hundred times. Probably has.
"Impressive," I say, grabbing two glasses.
"I bartended for a while. Back in San Diego."
I nod. "You two live out there full-time?"
He nods. "Yeah. Been almost a year. Holidays are the only time we make it out this way."
"Big change from New York," I say.
"It is. Calmer. Warmer. But she misses the chaos sometimes."
"She always does."
He smiles, leaning back against the counter. "So... college?"
I groan. "Barely surviving it. Currently hating biology. Previously hated business. Next up: dropping out and becoming a street magician."
Ethan laughs. "Hey, at least you're trying things."
"Trying things doesn't feel as romantic when you're drowning in student loans and existential dread."
"Fair," he says, sipping his wine. "But you strike me as someone who knows what she doesn't want. That's more than most people can say."
I blink at him. "You know, you sound weirdly like a therapist."
"Psych major," he replies with a grin.
"Well, that explains it."
There's a quiet beat between us. Comfortable.
He gestures to my arm. "Cool ink."
I look down at the zebra, peeking out from beneath my hoodie sleeve.
"Thanks. Got it after a trip."
"Good trip?"
I hesitate. "Yeah. Really good."
He nods. Doesn't ask more. I appreciate that.
"You seem... grounded," I say after a minute. "You always like this?"
He laughs. "Not always. I used to be kind of a mess. Still am, sometimes. But... I met someone who helped me sort through the noise."
He's talking about Lacey. And I see it in his face-how much he means it. How much he loves her. And it hits me harder than I expect.
Because I don't have that.
Not even close.
⸻
That night, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the text Travis just sent: "Try not to flirt with your sister's boyfriend too hard."
I shut off my phone without replying.
Then I roll up my sleeve and look at the zebra tattoo.
It used to feel like a wound.
Now it feels like a scar. A quiet reminder that I once loved someone who made me feel alive. Someone who saw me.
And maybe-just maybe-that means I'm capable of feeling that way again.
I trace the edge of the tattoo with my thumb and whisper, "I still love zebras."
But this time, it's not about Colt. Not really.
It's about me.
I close my eyes, breathe deep, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe things might still get better.
