Unspoken Goals

Mistake

Continuation

Juliette slowly walked back to her car, the night air biting at her skin like reality creeping in, sharp and unforgiving. She could still feel the warmth of Abigail's lips, the way they had molded perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces finally falling into place. The kiss was everything she had ever wanted, but with it came an overwhelming fear, the kind that clawed at your insides and whispered that something this good couldn't last. When Abigail pulled away, it was as if the ground had fallen out from under her, the fragile moment breaking apart before she had the chance to fully grasp it.

As she slid into her car, her hands trembled on the steering wheel. The drive back to their apartment felt endless, the silence in the car heavy with her own thoughts. Confusion, hope, fear, longing – they swirled together, one blurring into the other until she couldn't tell where one ended and the next began. She wanted to understand, needed to know what that kiss meant for them, for their friendship, for everything they had built over the years. But the thought of Abigail's hesitation, the way she had pulled away, gnawed at her, keeping her on the edge of uncertainty.

When she arrived at the apartment, Juliette parked and just sat there, staring up at the dark windows of their apartment. The night around her seemed unnervingly still, like it was waiting, watching. She knew deep in her bones that nothing would ever be the same after tonight.

With a deep breath, she got out of the car, making her way inside. The apartment was quiet. The living room sat untouched; the remnants of their failed movie night neatly put away. Soph and Em were already asleep, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing between Juliette and Abigail.

Juliette stopped outside Abigail's bedroom door, her hand hovering over the wood. She wanted to knock, to talk, to make things right. But the fear held her back. What if Abigail didn't want to fix this? What if that kiss had broken something beyond repair? The thought paralyzed her, and in the end, she turned away, retreating to her own room with a sense of defeat.

The moment she collapsed onto her bed, the ceiling seemed to spin above her, her thoughts still tangled in the memory of that kiss. She tossed and turned for hours, sleep evading her as her mind looped through the same questions, over and over again.

When sleep finally came, it was shallow and brief. She was startled awake by the blaring alarm, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind still spinning. She shut off the alarm, staring at the darkness outside her window, knowing the day ahead would be long.

---

The day crawled by, normal in every way except for one: Abigail was avoiding Juliette. It wasn't overt, not something anyone else would notice, but Juliette felt it in every interaction—or lack thereof. Around campus, in their classes, even in the familiar space of their apartment, Abigail found subtle ways to put distance between them. She wouldn't look Juliette in the eye, wouldn't speak unless absolutely necessary. It was as if Abigail believed that by avoiding her, by retreating into silence, she could erase the kiss—pretend it hadn't happened. But Juliette felt it lingering in the air between them, thick and suffocating, a constant reminder of everything that had changed.

She tried to be patient, tried to give Abigail the space she clearly needed, but with every sidelong glance and every awkward silence, it was like a knife twisting deeper into Juliette's chest. Every hour that passed without acknowledgment made the wound rawer, the silence heavier. By the time they arrived at soccer practice, her patience had frayed to its breaking point, worn thin from the weight of pretending everything was fine when it was anything but.

On the field, Abigail continued her dance of avoidance, picking different partners for drills, staying as far from Juliette as the field would allow. It was calculated, deliberate, and Juliette could feel the frustration simmering just beneath her skin, tightening her muscles with each forced interaction. She watched as Abigail moved with that same quiet grace, but today, it felt like a wall. A wall she had no way of climbing.