The morning sunlight trickled through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the impending move pressing down on me like a heavy stone in my chest. It felt surreal—knowing that today was supposed to be my last day here, in this town, in this life. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong about it. Everything felt out of place, as though the universe itself was hinting that this wasn’t the path I was meant to take.
With a heavy sigh, I forced myself to sit up. The room was a mess, boxes scattered everywhere, some half-packed, others still empty. My suitcase sat open on the floor, its contents spilling out as if it too was rebelling against the idea of leaving. I reached for a stack of clothes, trying to muster the energy to fold them, but my hands trembled with the weight of what was happening.
I couldn’t help but think back to the moment when I found out about the move. My parents had tried to sell it as an exciting new adventure, a fresh start in a new city four hours away. But all I could think about was everything I would be leaving behind—my friends, my school, and most of all, him. The thought of being separated from him, of not seeing his smile every day, of not feeling his arms around me, was unbearable. It felt like a part of me was being ripped away, leaving a gaping hole in its place.
I picked up my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. We had been messaging each other all night, neither of us able to sleep, both of us trying to find some semblance of comfort in our words. But no matter what we said, the reality of the situation hung over us like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over everything.
*I’m packing now,* I typed, my heart heavy as I pressed send. The words felt hollow, like they didn’t belong to me. How could I be packing to leave when every fiber of my being was screaming at me to stay?
A few moments later, my phone buzzed with his reply: *I wish I could be there with you. This doesn’t feel real.*
*Me too,* I responded, my throat tightening as I struggled to hold back the tears. *I can’t believe this is happening.*
The silence in my room was deafening, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only sound, a cruel reminder of the time slipping away. I stared at the screen, willing it to give me some sort of answer, some kind of solution that would make all of this go away. But there was nothing—just the cold, hard reality that in a matter of hours, I would be leaving everything I knew behind.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to hear his voice, to feel some connection to him that went beyond the empty words on a screen. Without thinking, I hit the call button and pressed the phone to my ear. It rang once, twice, and then his voice came through, soft and familiar, like a lifeline in the storm.
“Hey,” he said, his voice laced with the same uncertainty and sadness that I felt.
“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, but it cracked anyway. “I… I don’t know what to do.”
“I know,” he whispered, and I could hear the pain in his voice. “I wish there was something we could do, something to make this all go away.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I admitted, my voice trembling as the tears I had been holding back finally began to spill over. “I don’t want to leave you.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and I could almost picture him there, struggling with the same emotions, trying to find a way to make this right. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but filled with a determination that sent a flicker of hope through me.
“Then don’t.”
“What?” I asked, confusion and hope battling for dominance in my mind. “What do you mean?”
