Getting Over Him

Scared

Pran's P.O.V:

I said it. I can't take back the words that I have said now. I know that running away with Pat is for the best, and there is an exhilaration that is flowing through me, but at the same time I still feel scared. 

Scared that my parents will still come after me using their resources, scared that all of those years of my hard work at school will be for nothing. I know that Pat has reassured me, but I guess I still have to work though this stuff. 

I think all of this as I try to fold more clothes into my suitcase. I look around my room at all of the memories that have been here. The good and the bad.I stop folding and take a deep breath, letting my gaze sweep over the room once more. My trophies, my certificates, my books neatly lined up on the shelf—all symbols of a life carefully constructed to meet my parents' expectations. Each item feels heavier now, like a chain tying me to a version of myself that I no longer recognize.

Pat is waiting for me outside. I can hear him pacing in the hallway, his soft footfalls breaking the silence. He's giving me space, like he always does, but I know he's itching to come in and say something to make this easier. That's who he is—always trying to carry the weight for both of us. But this is something I need to do alone.

I reach for the photo frame on my desk. It's a picture of my family at my high school graduation. My father's hand rests stiffly on my shoulder, his smile as forced as mine. My mother stands beside him, her expression unreadable. I remember how proud they were that day, but it wasn't really pride in me—it was pride in what I represented: the obedient son, the perfect student, the legacy they'd worked so hard to build.

The thought makes my chest tighten. I put the frame face down and turn back to my suitcase. Pat and I have planned this for weeks, but the reality of it still feels surreal. Leaving isn't just about escaping my parents—it's about choosing a future that feels like mine for the first time. But why does it feel so terrifying?

The door creaks open slightly, and Pat pokes his head in. "Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"

I nod, though my throat feels tight. "Just... taking it all in."

He steps inside and closes the door behind him, his eyes scanning the half-packed suitcase on my bed. "You don't have to take everything, you know. Just what you really need."

I glance at him, his steady presence grounding me. "I know. It's just hard to decide what to leave behind."

Pat walks over and sits on the edge of my bed, watching me with that patient look he always has when he knows I'm overthinking. "Pran, you're not leaving behind who you are. You're just leaving behind what's holding you back."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I sit down beside him, staring at the floor. "What if I regret this? What if—"

"What if you don't?" he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. "What if this is the best thing we've ever done?"

I look at him, and for a moment, all I see is the faith he has in us—in me. It's overwhelming, but it's also exactly what I need. "You make it sound so simple," I mutter.

"It's not simple," he says, reaching for my hand. "But it's worth it."

I squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his warmth. "I'm scared," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he says, leaning his forehead against mine. "But we've got each other. That's all we need."

For a moment, the fear subsides, replaced by a flicker of hope. I nod, pulling back to meet his gaze. "Okay," I say, my voice steadier now. "Let's do this."

Pat grins, and it's like the sun breaking through clouds. "That's my guy." He stands and claps his hands together. "Alright, let's finish packing. We've got a whole new life waiting for us."

I laugh despite myself, shaking my head at his optimism. But as I turn back to my suitcase, I feel lighter somehow. Maybe this won't be easy, but maybe it doesn't have to be perfect. Maybe all it has to be is ours.

With Pat by my side, I think it might just be enough.