When the Time is Right

Chapter 4 – Vulnerabilities

The air was crisp the following afternoon, the kind of cold that hinted at the season slowly shifting. The leaves around campus had started to turn—blushing red, amber, and gold. Elena and Noah walked along the tree-lined path near the library, leaves crunching softly underfoot.

It wasn’t an intentional walk. They had simply left the volunteer meeting together and kept talking, feet carrying them down familiar paths, drawn more by comfort than direction.

Elena kept her hands tucked in her coat pockets, her gaze flickering toward the sky where a few clouds moved slowly, like they had nowhere to be.

“I used to think being perfect was the only way to be seen,” she said suddenly.

Noah turned his head, giving her his full attention.

“My sister—Clarisse—she’s the golden one,” Elena continued. “Valedictorian, med school, internships at fancy hospitals. She makes it all look effortless.”

He didn’t interrupt, just walked beside her with quiet patience.

“I always felt like I had to catch up,” Elena admitted. “Like maybe if I got the grades, the leadership roles, the awards… my parents would look at me the way they look at her. With pride. With certainty.”

“That’s a heavy kind of love,” Noah said softly. “The kind you have to earn.”

She nodded. “Exactly. It’s not that they don’t love me—I know they do. But there’s this silent comparison. No one says it out loud, but it’s there, like background noise in every conversation.”

They paused by a bench near the sculpture garden. The late afternoon sun peeked through the clouds, casting a golden hue on Noah’s profile as he sat down. Elena followed, hugging her arms to her chest.

“You ever feel like no matter how much you try, you’ll always be one step behind?” she asked.

“All the time,” he said. “But for different reasons.”

Elena turned slightly, waiting.

“My mom passed when I was thirteen,” he began. “After that, it was just me and my grandma. She raised me. Still does, in a way.”

Elena’s expression softened. She was shock to know that his mother already passed away.

“She’s not sick exactly,” Noah went on, “but she’s aging fast. Needs help with meals, errands, doctors’ appointments. So I go home most weekends. Handle whatever I can.”

“And you do all that… while studying and volunteering and still showing up here like everything’s fine?”

He gave a small, tired smile. “I guess I’ve learned to compartmentalize. It’s not always easy, but I owe her. She gave up so much for me.”

“That’s a lot for one person to carry.”

“Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives,” Noah admitted. “One here—books, lectures, papers. And another one at home—grocery lists, medication schedules, checking if she’s eaten.”

Elena leaned back on the bench, her shoulder brushing against his. “You’re incredible, Noah. Not just because you’re doing it, but because you’re doing it with so much grace.”

He looked at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice.

“I mean it,” she said. “Most people wouldn’t last a week juggling what you do. But you still show up for others. For your grandma. For this campus. For me.”

The last part hung in the air a little longer than the rest.

Noah didn’t look away. “You make it easier to show up.”

Elena blinked, caught off guard by the warmth in his gaze.

“I think,” he added quietly, “that being seen for who we are—not just for what we do—is rare. And... I see you, Elena. Not as Clarisse’s sister. Not as the girl with the perfect academic record. Just… you.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. For so long, she’d wrapped herself in layers of accomplishment, hoping that somewhere beneath them, someone would recognize her—not the checklist, but the person.

“I see you too,” she whispered. “And I’m glad we’re here. Like this.”

Noah’s voice softened. “Sometimes I think the real connections—the ones that last—start not with grand moments, but with the quiet admission of ‘me too.’”

They sat in silence after that, not because they ran out of things to say, but because the moment itself was enough. A shared breath. A truth spoken out loud. A weight lightened just by being held together.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the grass. Elena watched the light play over the leaves, golden and fading.

“My sister always said vulnerability was weakness,” she murmured.

“She’s wrong,” Noah replied. “Vulnerability is courage in its most honest form.”

Elena looked at him then, something shifting behind her eyes. “You make me feel like I don’t have to pretend.”

“You never have to pretend with me.”

There was a peace in his words—not a promise of perfect understanding, but of space. Of patience. Of presence.

They stood up from the bench a few minutes later, neither one in a rush to leave, but knowing life would continue calling them to their separate paths.

Before they parted ways, Elena turned to him. “Thank you. For listening. For sharing. For being exactly who you are.”

Noah smiled, that gentle smile that always felt like a safe place to land. “Same to you.”

And just like that, they walked away. Not hand-in-hand, not lovers under a sunset sky, but something quieter, something steadier.

Two souls seen. Two burdens lightened.

And the slow, sure unfolding of something real.