GEMINI.
The afternoon had stretched out in a quiet, almost gentle rhythm. Percy and I had spent hours together, yet somehow, it felt like we were worlds apart. I watched him from the corner of my eye—his brow furrowed as he made those work calls, voice steady but edged with a hint of distraction. I knew he was juggling a thousand things.
I had a mountain of reading to conquer, and so did he. It was a strange comfort—knowing we were both buried under the weight of exams, yet it also made me feel the distance that's slowly creeping in. I could hear the faint scratch of his pen, the soft hum of his voice on the phone from where I was sitting.
I wondered how he managed it all—his studies, his job, and somehow still making time for me. Honestly, I couldn't imagine working during exams. It seemed like trying to hold water in cupped hands—inevitably slipping away.
Then came dinner, and that's when I felt the suddenly overwhelming urge to share my thoughts—something I'd been holding back all day. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words I was about to speak.
"I'll be staying at the dorm starting tomorrow," I finally said, breaking the silence.
Percy looked up sharply, his eyes wide with surprise.
"What? Why?"
I hesitated, then pushed forward. "Exams starts tomorrow, and my dorm is closer to the library and the exam venue. I want to lighten my stress level." That wasn't the whole truth, but he didn't need to know everything.
He looked at me, his face softening slightly.
"I don't mind taking you to school."
Of course he didn't mind. That's what he'd been doing since we met—driving me around, always there, always dependable. It was comforting, it made me feel a little guilty sometimes.
"I know that," I said quietly, "but you have exams too. And work. I want you to focus on yourself. I'll be fine."
His brow furrowed, a faint crease of concern. "I won't see you for two whole weeks? What about weekends? You'll come over, won't you?"
I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. "I can't, I have to read," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
"Can't you read here?" he asked gently.
No, I wanted to say. That I couldn't concentrate with him around, that I'd be distracted thinking about him, about us, about what we were risking. But I bit my tongue.
"I want to read with my friends," I replied, hoping to sound convincing.
"They can come here too," Percy suggested, leaning in slightly. "We could all study together." His voice was steady, trying to be helpful, but I shook my head.
"No. I think it's best if we use the library."
The words felt strange coming out. I couldn't believe he agreed so easily. The thought of other people entering his space—his sanctuary—made even me uncomfortable, but I kept my expression neutral.
He looked at me, a hint of sadness flickering across his face. "You're running away," he said softly, almost accusingly.
My stomach clenched. "What?" I exclaimed, surprised by the accusation. "What are you talking about?"
He looked at me steadily, eyes searching. "You're running away because of what we talked about yesterday, aren't you?"
Son of a cabbage farmer. How did he figure that out? I froze, the weight of his words pressing down on me.
"What... no! Why would you say that?" I stammered, trying to deny it, but my voice wavered.
He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "I know you," he said simply.
And suddenly, I felt exposed. Vulnerable. How much had he seen through?
"This has nothing to do with that, okay? I just think this will be good for us," I hurried to explain, even though my voice lacked conviction. Mostly, I thought, it's for me. I need this space to breathe, to gather myself.
Percy studied me, his gaze intense. I fought the urge to melt under his look—the way he always seemed to see straight through me, peeling back my layers.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Can I come to the dorm then?" he asked quietly, almost pleading.
My heart skipped a beat and I started rambling, words spilling out in a rush. "Didn't you just listen to everything I said? It's not that simple! I'll be with Mark and Ohio. And my dorm room will be messy—we'll be so busy studying, there won't be any room for visitors."
I saw the hurt in his eyes—like I'd just slammed a door in his face. Yet, he just sat there, watching me, patience in his eyes, as if he was trying to read the words I couldn't say aloud.
"Do I make you uncomfortable that much?" he asked softly, and I felt a strange ache in my chest.
"No, of course not," I hurried to reassure him. But before I could finish, he stood up, his movements deliberate but hesitant.
"I'm done eating," he said quietly. "I need some fresh air." And just like that, he was gone, stepping away from the table, leaving me sitting there with a pounding heart and a head full of tangled thoughts.
I watched him go, my mind racing. Why did I think this would be easy? I'd thought I could just tell him I needed space, that it was for the best, and he'd understand. But the truth was, I was scared—scared of losing him, scared of what this distance might do to us.
The kitchen island suddenly felt colder, emptier. I sank back into my chair, pressing my hands to my face. I didn't want to cry, not here, not now. But the ache in my chest was real, a reminder of how fragile our little world had become.
Why did I think I could keep everything under control? Why did I think pushing him away was the right move? As I stared at the door Percy had just walked out of, I realized—this wasn't just about exams or space. It was about us, about my feelings for him, about whether we could survive the distance, the ach of separation. And deep down, I wasn't sure I could.