close to my dialling heart

67🌹let her go

THIRD PERSON'S POV

Xavier drove back home in silence, the quiet settling over him like a heavy cloak. He’d left her room without a word, carrying the weight of her parting words in the hollow space where his usual darkness lived. Despite his nature and the disorder that haunted him, the ache she left in her wake felt sharper than anything else.

He knew Dove hadn’t meant what she’d said, but the question lingered: why say it at all if she didn’t? The thought gnawed at him, a wound he couldn’t close. Maybe she needed her space, he reasoned, trying to convince himself. People always left when they glimpsed the shadows he kept hidden beneath the surface. Dove had been different, or so he’d thought. Maybe he’d been wrong.

He breathed out slowly, pulling his car to the side of the road and shutting off the engine. The silence in the car was thick, filling the emptiness with memories he tried to push down. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, letting the ache settle deeper, knowing he’d never say the words he wanted to.

Though Xavier’s PTSD had healed, fragments of it still lingered, shadowy remnants that surfaced unbidden. He felt the numbness creep in, an old, familiar shield wrapping tightly around his chest like armor. It dulled the sting of her words, but not entirely, not enough to make it disappear. He wondered if Dove even realized how deeply her words had cut, or if she’d see the pieces of himself he was too tired to explain.

But why bother? Explanations had never saved him before. He let out a low, humorless chuckle, the sound barely breaking the silence, then turned his attention back to the road and began to drive.

DOVE 🕊

I was finally leaving, and Nana had just told me where I was heading. St. Margaret's Academy in Ireland. A co-ed school—so really, what difference was she making? But the rules were strict, uniforms required, and it felt like being tossed back into high school. Yayy.

Nana accompanied me to the airport, the farthest she could go, and once I’d boarded, I took my seat and plugged in the headphones she’d just bought me. A new phone, new everything, really. She was trying, I guess, though part of me thought she was just wasting her money. I pulled my hood up, slouched into the seat, and stared out the window, the ache of goodbye sinking in as I waited, hoping, for just a glimpse of him.

The engines roared to life, and the plane started moving, but still—no sign of Xavier. I kept looking until the runway blurred beneath us, the ground slipping away. And even then, I kept hoping.

Maybe what I’d said had really gotten to him, but I hadn’t meant it—not in the way it sounded. And he knew that. He had to. Yet, as the plane climbed higher, the tears started welling up again, blurring the clouds outside my window. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t built for this kind of goodbye. The urge to call him was almost overwhelming, but I knew Nana would see. So I stayed silent, clutching my phone, wishing—hoping—he’d find a way to reach me.

Xavier was the best thing that had ever happened to me, the one part of my life that felt whole. Losing him felt like my heart was collapsing in on itself, breaking into a million splintered pieces. If this was what heartbreak felt like, then maybe I’d end up with nothing left. Heartless.

**
After twenty-two hours, we finally landed. Exhausted and feeling nauseous, I dragged myself off the plane, my luggage in tow. Scanning the crowd, I quickly spotted Father Dominic, leaning against his car, his posture rigid and imposing. He’d been good friends with Nana for as long as I could remember, but I’d never warmed to him. Too strict, too quick to turn the smallest misstep into a grand lecture.

The moment he saw me, he straightened and hurried over, his expression a mix of formality and concern. "Hi, how are you?"

"I'm fine." I replied. No smile, no emotions. I was exhausted. "I'll help you with that." He grabbed my suitcase and the other travel bag I had. "How was your flight?" He asked, "Fine." I replied again, giving the same attitude. "You don't seem happy to be here." He threw the luggage in the back of his truck. I just hummed. He chuckled, I seemed to have amused him. I went on to open the car door and hoped in.