I inch my fingers across until my hand is over his. My eyes plead, beg, hold the words I’m afraid to speak, but he won’t meet my gaze. “Please, Ian…? Stay?” He finally turns his head to look at me. His eyes hold shadows, a depth that never seems to end. What does he see in mine? Can he find the tears, the clouds, the glass about to shatter?

Because I can see them in his.

We’re standing where we’ve come to meet every morning, in front of the same building I’ve had class in for months now, the same stairs I walk up and down every day. The door at the top is the same one I’ve entered every afternoon. It’s a perfectly normal place, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing’s new, but everything’s changed.

The bell rings before I can choke out another word, another desperate hope. He pulls his hand away, walks up the stairs, and disappears into the building, not once looking back.

Long after he’s gone, I’m still staring at the spot where he stood.
* * * * * * * *

By some small miracle, we’re watching a movie that day in first period. I keep my head down, bite my lip to trap the sobs somewhere deep within me, and let the tears spill over. Like a glass filled too full, I am overflowing, and I can’t seem to stop. Is there a limit to how many tears you can shed in a day? Maybe after a certain point you just stop. Maybe you have nothing left.

When the lights flood back on, I blink. Two minutes left in class. Breathe. In. Out. I shove an arm across my face, brush back tears, try to erase all traces of my own weakness. When the bell rings, I walk out with a smile on my face. For him.

I have to jog to catch up. “Hey.” I put my hand on his shoulder. Please turn around. Please be okay. He presses a piece of paper into my hand, not looking at me. My throat closes up, choking on a fear I refuse to name. It…it can’t be. “What’s… what’s this?”

He shrugs. I bend down, try to look into his face from below, but he turns away.

I’m biting down on my lip so hard I can taste blood, but I can’t stop the tears. What if… Shut up, Sarah. I unfold the letter with trembling fingers. “There is one final lesson in moral philosophy that I ought to teach you...” It’s an innocent enough start, but I know Ian—another meaning behind every word, a metaphor in every simple sentence, a whisper waiting behind the glass. “It’s not good to not care, but maybe it is also possible to care too much. Sometimes, things simply aren’t worth caring about.” Maybe. But you aren’t one of them… please? When things get scary enough, desperate enough, you start bargaining with yourself. If he’s okay, I’ll never complain about sleepless nights again. If I get to see him smile tonight, tomorrow, then I’ll stop falling asleep in class, land that triple pirouette, be as perfect as can be. Anything. Please? I don’t even know who or what I’m begging, but I don’t care. If he’s all right, none of that matters. Please.

My feet still walk, step by step, finding my next classroom, but I’m hardly breathing. There are things in life that you learn to let go of, things that slip through your fingers when you least expect it. Then there are the things that you won’t, that you can’t, the things you clutch in your hand until it goes numb. After all, once you let go, how do you know it won’t drop? Because things that fall?

They break.

I stare at his handwriting, memorizing the curl at the end of his g’s, the way his n’s slope down sharply. I take in everything of him I can from those few paragraphs, in case… in case… but I stop myself before finishing that thought. Please… no. Fear has a grip of steel, a grip that is wrapping around my soul, determined to find the cracks already there. It’s one thing to lose yourself in someone else’s terrifying story, to let the words on a page create that awful, choking feeling. It’s different when you know you can close the book and trap the stories behind a cover, when you’re guaranteed a happy ending. It’s different when it’s not your life.

The sound that finally slips past my lips isn’t a sob. It is the sound of defeat, a pathetic whisper of everything I wish the world were not, because I know what this letter really is. It’s not a lesson.

It’s his goodbye.
* * * * * * * *

I start my own letter to him, sitting at my desk in the corner, pretending I’m actually paying attention. You asked me if I would hate you if you left. I finally figured out my answer. No, Ian, I wouldn’t hate you… I’d hate myself even more. I am so freaking weak, can’t even stay strong for him. Even when it matters most, I’m still not enough. Still breaking. Still broken. It will be my fault if he… if he… if…

“Sarah, what’s wrong?” There’s concern in a voice I don’t want to hear, accompanied by a classmate’s careful hand on my arm. I just shake my head. What’s wrong? A better question would be “What’s right?”

“I…I don’t want to talk to you.” I say shakily, brushing off questions. After all, I can’t give the answer she wants. No one wants to hear the truth, not when it’s like this. Not when it’s so much easier to pretend.

I don’t care who I brush past or run into as I maneuver through the hallway. The only thought on my mind is finding Ian, finding him now. I slip the letter into his hands the moment he’s close enough, and finally he looks at me. My lip trembles again. Smile. Smile for him. But I can’t.

The sobs come without a warning— a desperate, choking cry. I throw my arms around him, wishing I could hold on forever. “Please….” There are ways and ways of saying please, but I am running out of options. He squeezes my shoulders, and for a moment I almost relax. His embrace, warm and strong, is comforting. He’s here. Right here. Solid. Safe.

For now.

The last thought creeps up on me, unbidden, once I remember why I am in his arms. When I pull back, he’s looking at me, worried. Once upon a time this would have made me smile. Here I am, scared out of my wits about him, and he is still only worrying about me. “What’s this?” He holds up the folded letter.

“A-a reply.” I say shakily, taking a deep breath. I can hear the questions, the fear, the worries—all woven into the words I can barely choke out. Does he hear them too? As he steps back and unfolds the smudged paper, I can tell his hands are trembling. Ian never could hide anything from me. His face reads like a book; I can see his eyes change as they glance over my words. He draws a deep, shuddering breath, folds the letter, and slides it carefully, methodically into his pocket. His movements are planned out, logical, as they always are.

If I don’t look at his face, things are almost normal.

If.

Almost.

The bell rings before either of us can formulate our myriad of emotions into conversation. I squeeze his hand one more time. Can he see my soul through my eyes? Can he see my silent prayer?

My class is on the other side of campus, but I stand there, waiting, until the door closes behind Ian.

It is only until I am sitting in a classroom, forcing back tears once more, that I remember something.

He looked back.
* * * * * * * *

“I… fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I smile for real the first time all day.

“Sweet dreams, Ian.” He nods, then hangs up. I sit staring at the blank Skype screen. He’s safe. He’ll be okay. He promised. Ian’s never lied to me before, never given me cause to doubt him. But he could. It would be so easy. I… I wouldn’t even know.

It is 11:30 at night. I have research articles to find, math formulas to memorize, French vocabulary to review— but none of it matters. It just doesn’t. I remember when it used to, when my grades were my first priority.

I miss those days.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I shake sleep from my tired eyes. The house is dark and silent; I am alone. I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the shower, and let the water pour over me, as if it could melt me.

Even now, at home, clinging to a promise of safety, fear still grips my soul, ribbons of doubt still tighten their hold on my consciousness. I never was particularly brave. Suddenly, it’s as though something in me finally cracks, and all I want to do is scream. Why? What did I ever do to deserve… this? Why now? Why ever? Why him?

Why me?

For once, I am glad my family has left me awake alone. Only here, only now, am I allowed to be the scared, pitiful creature I really am, who I always was. Because hidden in a curtain of water, no one knows which of the drops sliding down your face are tears. All alone in a locked bathroom, no one knows how broken you are. For a few moments, you are allowed to cry, to crack, to crumble. You’re allowed to be weak, to hate yourself, to hate the world.

And no one will ever know.
* * * * * * * *

I oversleep my alarm and wake up 20 minutes before my carpool is scheduled to arrive. I don’t even remember if I finished my homework the night before, let alone which of the papers lying haphazardly across my desk are assignments I need to turn in today, so I shove the entire mess into my backpack. Binder, planner, notebooks, pencils. Ballet shoes, tights, leotard, hairpins… Life goes on, I guess. Like normal. As if nothing happened, nothing changed. I’ll still have dance today. I’ll still have to go to school and through the motions.

As if I still cared.

My mom shoves a bagel in my hand as I leave the house. “Have a nice day!” I smile and nod at her, like always, but all pretense of normal drops once the car leaves the driveway. I pull my phone out of my backpack with trembling hands, stare at it for a minute. Will he… I am not allowed to finish that thought. Finish that phrase, that worry, and my throat closes up again. Terrified.

2-4-5-1. Unlocked. Messages.

“Good morning, Ian.”

I stare out the window, counting under my breath, trying and failing to stay calm. No matter how scared I get, all I can do is sit and wait. Please. Please reply. Please. 182. 183. 184— And the phone vibrates in my hand.

Message from Ian. “Good morning, Sarah.”

I close my eyes for a moment, draw in a shuddering breath, as I begin typing out a reply. Now the day has truly begun.

Strong, Sarah. For him. Don’t cry. You have to do this.

When glass breaks, it shatters. You’re lucky to ever find all of the pieces again, and only a miracle will return things to the way they used to be. But you keep trying. You keep searching for the pieces, picking them up and carefully setting them back in place, desperately hoping your clumsy fingers will keep them together until the next fall. You keep going.

One day at a time.