Let Me In
1198 Words
Shay didn’t hear from Cairo for three days.
Not a text. Not a call. Not even a passing glance in class. He skipped psych altogether, and the silence carved a hollow into her chest she didn’t know how to fill.
She didn’t cry, but she came close. She didn’t beg, but she stared at her phone like it owed her something. And she didn’t ask her friends for advice, because she already knew what they’d say.
He’s emotionally unavailable. He’s pulling away. He’s not ready.
But none of that made the ache any smaller.
And none of it changed the fact that Shay couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at her that night before he left.
Like he wanted to stay—but didn’t think he deserved to.
By the fourth day, she told herself she’d let it go.
She forced herself out of bed, showered, pulled on a pair of loose jeans and a black fitted top, added a little gloss—just enough to look like she hadn’t been spiraling—and headed to her afternoon lecture like she didn’t feel like throwing up.
She slid into her seat, pulled out her laptop, and tried to focus.
But ten minutes in, her phone buzzed.
Cairo: “Come outside.”
Her heart stopped.
She stood so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing a few confused looks, but she didn’t care.
She ran down the hallway, pushed through the front doors—and there he was.
Hood up. Backpack slung low. Same quiet energy that always made the air feel heavier when he was around.
But something was different today.
His face looked drawn. His hands were shoved in his pockets. And when he looked up at her, his eyes didn’t burn with mischief or tension.
They just looked… tired.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey.”
They stood there in the courtyard for a long second, both of them unsure who was supposed to speak first.
Finally, he nodded toward the edge of campus. “Walk with me?”
Shay nodded.
They walked in silence at first, moving toward the tree-lined path that bordered the far edge of campus. It was shaded, quiet, and mostly empty—just the way she liked it. Usually.
Cairo’s steps were slower than usual, like he wasn’t sure where to begin. Shay stayed close but didn’t speak. If he wanted to talk, she’d let him do it on his own time.
Finally, after several long minutes, he sighed.
“I didn’t know how to come back from that night,” he said.
Shay glanced at him, her voice gentle. “So you didn’t try?”
He winced. “I wanted to. I just—”
“Didn’t think you were allowed to?”
His shoulders rose, then dropped again. “Something like that.”
They stopped under a tall oak tree, its branches stretching out like arms shielding them from the rest of the world.
Cairo leaned back against the trunk. “I’ve never had anyone look at me the way you did that night.”
Shay blinked. “How did I look at you?”
“Like I was worth saving.”
A long silence.
Then, he added, “I don’t know if I am.”
Shay stepped closer. “That’s not your call.”
He looked at her, mouth twitching like he wanted to argue. But she didn’t give him the chance.
“You push people away when they care about you,” she said. “I get it. I’ve done it too. But don’t act like I imagined that connection between us. You were there. You felt it.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you acting like it didn’t happen?”
“Because it scared the hell out of me.”
There it was.
The truth. Bare and bruised.
Shay crossed her arms, her voice low. “You can’t keep showing up and disappearing, Cairo. You can’t leave people hanging just because things get real.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked away.
“I know I’m not easy,” he said quietly. “I’ve got stuff I haven’t told you. Stuff I don’t even like admitting to myself.”
“Then tell me.”
His jaw tightened. “My ex. The one I don’t talk about? She wasn’t just some high school thing. She was the first person I ever let all the way in.”
Shay’s breath caught, but she didn’t interrupt.
“She saw everything. The fights with my family. The nights I couldn’t sleep. The panic attacks. And for a while… it felt safe. Real.”
He paused.
“Then she started using my trauma as ammo.”
Shay frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She’d bring it up during fights. Tell me I was broken. That I’d never be enough. That I was lucky she stayed.”
“Oh my God, Cairo…”
He nodded slowly. “It messed me up. For a long time. Made me think anyone who saw the real me would eventually use it against me too.”
Shay reached for his hand. “I wouldn’t.”
“I know. That’s what makes it worse.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.
“I’m not her,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said again, voice cracking. “But sometimes, my brain doesn’t.”
They stood there in silence, hand in hand, hearts open and bleeding in the quiet shade.
Finally, Shay spoke. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, Cairo. I’m asking you to be honest.”
He nodded, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly.
“I want this,” he said. “You. Us. But I don’t know how to do it right.”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” Shay said. “Together.”
And for the first time in days, she saw something new in his eyes.
Hope.
They walked back toward campus slowly, their fingers still linked.
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was full. Solid. Like something had been spoken that couldn’t be taken back—and neither of them wanted it to be.
As they reached the edge of the quad, Cairo tugged her gently to a stop.
“One more thing,” he said, voice soft.
“What?”
He stepped close. Close enough for her to smell the faint scent of cedar and cold air clinging to his hoodie.
“I’m gonna mess up,” he said. “But I don’t want to lose you because of it.”
Shay swallowed hard. “Then don’t run next time. Just… stay.”
He nodded.
And then, slowly, carefully, Cairo leaned in and kissed her.
Not rushed.
Not forceful.
Just… real.
The kind of kiss that said I’m scared—but I’m trying.
The kind of kiss that made Shay believe maybe, just maybe, two broken people could build something beautiful.
When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested lightly against hers.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
And for the first time, Shay believed him.
- Writer
