Loving Aiden Coleman

I’ve been staring at my suitcase for almost ten minutes now. It sits on my bed, wide open, half-filled with clothes I’ve folded and unfolded too many times. I keep telling myself I’m packing, but the truth is, I’m stalling. Because once this suitcase is closed, it means I’m really leaving Hawthorne Heights. For Fairmont Hills. For a life that doesn’t include this room anymore. My chest tightens as I smooth out a sweater I probably won’t even wear. I don’t know why this feels so heavy. I wanted this. I chose this. And yet, here I am, feeling like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t step back from. A soft knock comes from the door before it opens. “Hey, sweetheart.” I look up to see my parents standing there. My mom’s hand rests on the door, and my dad leans slightly against the frame, trying to look relaxed. They both smile—but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite settle. Dad breaks the silence first. “You know,” he says gently, “you can still change your mind.” I let out a small breath and shake my head. “Dad…” “I mean it,” he adds quickly. “If this doesn’t feel right, you don’t have to go. Hawthorne Heights isn’t going anywhere.” I study their faces then—really study them. The way my mom’s eyes shine just a little too much. The way my dad avoids holding my gaze for too long. They’re sad. They’re scared. And they’re doing their best not to let me see it. “I know I can change my mind,” I say softly. “But… I don’t want to.” My mom steps closer. “You’re sure?” I nod. “I’ve been here my whole life. Every memory I have is here. I just—” My voice wavers, and I pause, pressing my lips together. “I need to know what it’s like somewhere else.” They don’t argue. They don’t try to convince me otherwise. Instead, my mom opens her arms, and I step into them without hesitation. My dad joins us, wrapping his arms around both of us. “We’re proud of you,” my mom whispers. “And we love you,” my dad adds. “More than you’ll ever know.” I pull back slightly, my throat tight. “I love you too.” Dad presses a kiss to my forehead, then my mom does the same. It feels like a goodbye and a promise all at once. After a moment, my dad clears his throat. “Colton,” he says carefully. “Is he coming to see you before you leave?” My heart stutters. I look away, pretending to focus on my suitcase. “Yeah,” I say quickly. “He said he’ll come tomorrow. Something urgent came up today.” The lie slips out smoother than I expect, and that almost hurts more. My mom studies me, like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods slowly. “Okay.” My dad exhales. “Alright then.” He forces a lighter tone. “Since today is our last full day with you, we’re doing it properly.” I glance up. “Properly?” He smiles—this time, a little more genuine. “Your favorite things. We’ll watch one of your shows, eat ice cream, and stop by your favorite café.” A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You planned all that?” “Of course,” my mom says. “You didn’t think we’d let today pass quietly, did you?” My dad steps back toward the door. “Finish packing,” he says. “We’ll make today count.” When he leaves, my mom stays behind. She picks up a pair of jeans and folds them neatly, placing them into my suitcase. “You don’t have to help,” I say softly. “I know,” she replies. “But I want to.” We work in silence for a few minutes, the kind of silence that’s heavy but comforting. Then she speaks again. “You’re going to be okay,” she says. I nod, even though my eyes burn. “I hope so.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You will be.” I glance around my room—the posters on the wall, the desk where I’ve done homework for years, the bed I’ve cried on more times than I can count. Soon, this won’t be home anymore. And for the first time since I decided to leave, the reality of it all finally settles in. My mom calls my name from downstairs the next morning. “Rebecca,” she says softly, but there’s a weight to it. “Come eat breakfast before it’s time for your flight.” My stomach tightens. So this is it. I take one last look around my room before stepping out. Everything feels quieter than usual, like the house itself knows I’m leaving. Halfway down the stairs, I stop and check my phone. No new messages. No Colton. No Nora. No Elena. I stare at the screen longer than I should, hoping it’ll light up if I wait long enough. It doesn’t. I swallow the ache forming in my chest and tell myself they’re probably just busy. Maybe something came up. Maybe they’ll text later. I lock my phone and force myself to move. My parents are already at the dining table when I get downstairs. Breakfast is laid out neatly, but no one is really eating. My dad barely touches his coffee, and my mom keeps adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. “You’re in a hurry,” my mom says gently when she sees me. “I don’t want to be late,” I reply, sliding into my seat. My dad clears his throat. “We parents opening restaurant until after your flight,” he says. I nod, though my heart sinks a little. One less familiar thing before I go. As we eat in near silence, my dad speaks again. “We could’ve driven you to Fairmont Hills instead, you know. You wouldn’t have to go alone.” I shake my head immediately. “I want to do this by myself.” My mom gives me a look. “Rebecca, we don’t mind. The flight is booked, but we can still drive you if you change your mind.” “It’s six… maybe seven hours from Hawthorne,” I say quietly. “You don’t need to do that.” “We would,” my dad says without hesitation. I smile, even though my eyes sting. “I know. But I’ll be okay.” They don’t argue anymore. They just nod, like they’ve accepted that this is one decision they can’t protect me from. The drive to the airport is quiet and heavy. My mom keeps glancing at me like she’s trying to memorize my face, and my dad grips the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. When we finally stop, everything feels too real. We stand outside the car, holding onto each other like none of us wants to be the first to let go. My mom is crying openly now, and my dad’s eyes are red even though he keeps blinking it away. “Be safe,” my mom whispers, hugging me tight. “And call us as soon as you land,” my dad adds, pulling me into another hug. “I will,” I promise, my voice barely steady. I walk away with my suitcase, but halfway through the entrance, I turn back. They’re still standing there. Watching. Crying. I wave, even though my vision blurs, and then I force myself to turn around before I lose the courage to leave. The flight goes by in a blur. I don’t remember much of it, just the constant knot in my chest and the way my thoughts refuse to slow down. When I finally land, I text my parents immediately. Landed safely. I’m okay. I love you. I grab a cab and give the driver the address to Crestwood University. The closer we get, the more my nerves spike. This is really happening. When the cab pulls into campus, I can’t help but stare. Everything looks so different from Hawthorne Heights—bigger, newer, louder. The buildings stretch higher, the walkways are filled with unfamiliar faces, and nothing feels like home. For the first time, doubt creeps in. Maybe this was a bad idea, I think. I check my room number again. 20A. I drag my suitcase down the hallway, my heart pounding with every step. I know I have a roommate another freshman,but that’s all I know about her. No name. No face. Nothing. When I reach the door, I pause, taking a deep breath. Then I open it. It looks like I wasn’t the only one who arrived today. ⸻ I step into the room, and for a second, I just stand there. There’s a girl inside. She looks up at the same time I do, and immediately, her face breaks into a wide, easy smile. She’s a little taller than me, with soft brunette hair that falls past her shoulders. There’s something effortlessly pretty about her—the kind that feels warm instead of intimidating. “Oh! Hi!” she says, already sounding cheerful. “You must be my roommate.” “I am,” I reply, shifting my suitcase. “Hi.” She walks over, still smiling. “I’m Emily Harper.” “Rebecca,” I say. “Rebecca Claire Hayes.” Her eyes light up. “Ohhh, fancy.” I laugh softly. “Not really.” She tilts her head, pretending to think. “Well… seems I’m the weird one then. Don’t know why my parents didn’t think to give me a second name.” That makes me laugh properly this time. “I barely even use Claire,” I admit. “So it’s really not a big deal.” “Good,” she says. “That makes me feel better already.” I glance around the room then. Emily’s side already looks slightly lived-in—her bags are open, a few clothes folded neatly, a small lamp placed carefully on her desk. It’s clear she’s started arranging things, but not long enough ago for it to feel settled. “You just got here too?” I ask. “Yeah,” she nods. “Not too long ago.” “Did you come alone?” She shakes her head. “Nope. My brother came with me.” “Brother?” I echo. “Brothers,” she corrects, grinning. “Two older ones. Overprotective and dramatic. You?” “Just my parents,” I say. “They drove me to the airport.” She gives me a knowing look. “Emotional goodbye?” I exhale. “Very.” She gestures toward my suitcase. “Want help unpacking? I’m already in the organizing mood.” I hesitate for only a second before nodding. “Yeah. I’d like that.” We spend the next while unpacking together, talking about little things—where we’re from, what we’re studying, shockingly we’re offering same course,how weird it feels to finally be here. It’s easy. Comfortable. And for the first time since I left Hawthorne Heights, my chest doesn’t feel quite as tight. When we’re done, Emily grabs her towel. “I’m going to take a bath real quick,” she says. “I feel gross after the trip.” “Go ahead,” I tell her. “Take your time.” Once the bathroom door closes, I sit on my bed and pull out my phone. I call my parents. My mom answers immediately. “Rebecca?” “I’m here,” I say softly. “I got in safely.” “Oh thank God,” she breathes. “Are you alright?” “I am. The campus is… different,” I say, smiling slightly. “But nice.” My dad’s voice cuts in. “Let us see the room.” I laugh and flip the camera around, slowly showing them around the dorm. “And I met my roommate,” I add. “She’s really lovely.” “That’s good,” my mom says. “What’s her name?” “Emily.” They pause for a second before my mom asks carefully, “Have you heard from Colton? Or Nora and Elena?” My heart skips. “Yes,” I lie smoothly. “I spoke to them already.” “Good,” my dad says. “We miss you.” “I miss you too.” My mom smiles. “The chefs and workers at the restaurant told us to send their greetings to you.” That makes me laugh. “Of course they did.” “Be safe,” my mom says again. “And remember,” my dad adds warmly, “we love you, chipmunk.” I smile, my chest aching in that familiar way. “I love you too.” When the call ends, I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I’m really here now. Fairmont Hills. And maybe—just maybe,I won’t be alone after all.