Chapter 3: The Walls Between Us
776 Words
Ethan knew something was wrong the moment Isabella stopped answering his calls.
For two days, he’d waited — checking his phone between classes, pacing outside the library where they always met, leaving voicemails that were never returned. At first, he told himself she was just busy. Then, when another day passed in silence, he knew it wasn’t that simple.
By the third day, he was desperate. He walked across campus in the freezing wind, clutching the small paper bag that held her favorite coffee. He stopped outside her dorm, but when he knocked, her roommate opened the door — nervous and pale.
“Ethan… you shouldn’t be here,” Claire whispered, glancing down the hall.
“Where’s Isabella?” he asked, his voice sharp with fear.
“She’s gone. Her father came and—” Claire hesitated, guilt flashing in her eyes. “They took her home.”
“Home?”
“She said she’d call you,” Claire said softly. “But Ethan… her parents found out.”
His heart dropped. “Found out about us?”
Claire nodded. “They weren’t happy. Her dad’s furious. I don’t think they want her seeing you again.”
Ethan felt his stomach twist. He turned and walked away before she could say more.
That night, he didn’t sleep. He went to the diner where he worked, but his hands trembled too much to pour coffee. Every customer’s laugh felt distant, every clatter of dishes louder than usual. By midnight, he’d made up his mind — he wasn’t going to just let her disappear.
The next morning, he caught the earliest bus to the Carters’ mansion on the edge of town. The gates were taller than any building he’d ever drawn, cold and silent like a warning. He pressed the intercom.
“Hello?”
A guard’s voice came through. “Who’s asking?”
“Ethan Hayes. I need to see Isabella.”
After a pause, the man replied, “Miss Carter isn’t receiving visitors.”
Ethan clenched his fists. “Please. Just tell her I’m here.”
The guard’s voice turned colder. “You should leave before I call someone to make you.”
Before he could answer, a black car pulled into the driveway. Her father stepped out — tall, commanding, dressed in an expensive gray suit. His expression was all power and no mercy.
“So you’re the boy,” William Carter said flatly, adjusting his cufflinks.
“Sir, I just want to talk to her,” Ethan said, his voice steady but pleading.
Mr. Carter’s eyes narrowed. “You think you belong here? You think you can offer my daughter something other than a lifetime of struggle?”
Ethan stood straighter. “I can offer her love. The kind that doesn’t care about money or status.”
William laughed, but it was a cold, bitter sound. “Love doesn’t pay bills, son. It doesn’t buy happiness, and it sure as hell won’t build a future for my daughter.”
“I’ll work for it,” Ethan said, his voice shaking but firm. “I’ll build her one myself if I have to.”
“Enough.” Mr. Carter stepped closer, his tone sharp as glass. “Stay away from Isabella. She’s not coming back to that school. She’s been transferred abroad, where people like you can’t find her.”
The words hit Ethan like a punch. His chest tightened, his throat burned.
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” her father interrupted. “And I already have.”
The gates began to close, the sound echoing like a sentence being passed. Ethan stood there, frozen, watching the space between them shrink until there was nothing left but metal and silence.
He stayed there long after the car disappeared and the guards went inside. The winter air bit at his skin, but he couldn’t move. His world had collapsed quietly, without a warning shot — just a door that wouldn’t open again.
That night, he walked back to his small apartment, his sketchbook still tucked under his arm. Inside it was a drawing — the two of them sitting under the oak tree, laughing like nothing could ever touch them.
He stared at the sketch for a long time, then whispered to himself, “They can take her away, but they can’t make me stop loving her.”
And with that, he started saving — every dollar from the diner, every tip, every sleepless night — for a plane ticket to wherever she was.
Because love, no matter how hopeless, doesn’t fade quietly.
It fights. Even when the world tells it not to.
- Writer
