I smiled, because it was easier than explaining the storm underneath.
"Thank you, sir. Really. But we're managing."
He nodded, but his eyes said he didn't believe me. He reached into his jacket and slipped something across the table. A folded envelope. "Just in case," he said. "No strings attached."
My throat tightened. The paper looked heavy, like it carried the weight of my failure.
"I appreciate it," I said, my voice thinner than I wanted it to be. "But I can't take this."
He studied me for a moment, then smiled, the kind of smile that understood pride but didn't agree with it. "All right, son. But promise me you'll reach out if things get worse."
"I will," I lied.
We finished dinner with polite laughter and stories about Lena's old school days. She kicked me under the table when I tried to tell one about her falling into a fountain. I laughed, but my heart was somewhere else. In the space between wanting to protect her and knowing I was already failing.
When we left, the night air was cool and full of crickets. Lena walked beside me quietly, her hand brushing mine now and then.
Finally, she said,
"You know, he wouldn't think less of you if you said yes."
"I know," I whispered.
She stopped walking. "Ash…"
"I destroy everything I love, Lena. I can't start owing someone for it too."
She didn't argue after that. Just sighed, her breath visible in the cold.
When she slipped her arm through mine again, it wasn't out of pity, it was something gentler, quieter. The kind of love that didn't try to fix you, just stayed long enough to keep you from breaking completely.
'He meant well,' I thought. 'But taking his money felt like admitting I couldn't protect her, or myself.'
⟡ ✧ ⟡
At night, I sit at my desk, pen in hand, staring at the envelope as if it might whisper the right words to fix everything.
"Hey Josh. I miss you, idiot. Grandma made your favorite soup again."
Simple words. Not nearly enough. I fold it carefully, seal it, stamp it, and drop it in the mailbox.
Weeks pass. No reply. Sometimes I tell myself it's because he's busy, or angry, or just… didn't see it. But the truth sits heavy in my chest: maybe he's forgotten me already.
Sometimes I wondered if he even opened them. Or if Mom threw them away first.
I keep sending them anyway. A small present at his birthday, a note at Christmas. A little thread connecting us across miles and misunderstandings.
"Maybe forgiveness travels slower than mail," I scribble in the corner of a card, and I know it's true.
One day, one of my letters comes back, the envelope stamped: "Address Not Found." My chest tightens. My hand shakes as I reread the note, then the return address. Where are they?
Later, I find out Mom got a job as a marketing consultant for a big firm and moved to London with Josh. I try searching for them online, through every contact I can find, but without the exact address, the letters are lost before they ever reach him.
I hold the returned envelope like it's a small piece of him, a fragment of the brother I lost. I slide it into my notebook, next to sketches I'll never show anyone, next to poems I wrote just for him.
"I'll keep sending them," I whisper to the silence. "Even if you never arrive. Maybe one day, you'll forgive me."
And for now, that's all I can do.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
Graduation day comes with a strange, fleeting light; as if the world is teasing us with normalcy. The ceremony drags on, speeches blur together, tassels flip in the wind, but for a moment, I can almost forget everything that's happened.
Max leans over during the last group photo, grinning like he's up to no good.
"If you don't mess up everything, I might be your best man at your wedding," he says, loud enough for Lena to hear.
We laugh, but the words sting. I force a smile. Weddings feel like another lifetime, another world I might never touch.
That evening, we throw Max a small farewell party at Lena's house. He teases me nonstop, Lena laughing beside him, the room full of warmth I rarely feel anymore. I tried to forget my troubles like they never existed and drown myself in the sound of laughter around me, but even in the laughter, I feel the pull of reality. Responsibilities, debts, a life I can't escape.
Later, Lena and I walk Max to the bus station. He hugs us both tightly.
"See you at the wedding," he jokes again.
We nod, watch him step onto the bus, wave as it pulls away, fading into the night. Silence follows us as we walk back home, the street empty except for the echo of our footsteps.
Lena squeezes my hand, eyes shining in the dim streetlight.
"One day, we'll leave this town too," she whispers.
I say nothing. I already know I can't.
Graduation, goodbyes, the future. It all feels impossibly heavy. I glance at Lena, the one person I can count on, and try to hold onto that. But even that small light feels fragile.
Later that evening, Lena can't stop talking about her college acceptance letter. New York, New Columbia College, she says, eyes bright with excitement. She's practically vibrating with the future, and I can't help but smile, congratulating her like a good boyfriend should.
"That's amazing, Lena. I'm so proud of you," I say, meaning every word, even if a part of me feels hollow.
She chatters on about dorms, classes, the city, her plans for the future. My chest tightens with a truth I can't voice. I can't go with her. Not because I don't want to, I would move mountains to stay by her side. But the truth is we don't have the money. My part-time jobs barely cover our family's needs, and tuition in New York is a fantasy beyond my reach.
I hide it behind a weak joke.
"Guess I'll just have to stay here and keep your autograph-ready for your fame," I mutter, trying to make her laugh.
She giggles, but my thoughts betray me.
She talked about the future like it was waiting for us.
I smiled like I believed her.
But some part of me already knew. Not everyone can afford to be near the love of their life.
I watch her light up, her dreams spilling into the room like sunlight. I want to grab them, to hold them with her. But the weight of reality presses down, and I can only sit beside her, smiling through the ache.
I finally realised the truth: Love alone isn't always enough.