Chapter 16: The Five-Date Timer (Liam’s POV)
678 Words
The key turned in the lock at exactly 7:00 PM. I didn't even have to look up from the kitchen counter to know it was her. Maya didn’t knock; she never did. She had a key to my life, literally and figuratively.
"If those aren't the wings from The Pit, I’m turning around and walking out," she announced, kicking off her shoes by the door.
I looked over my shoulder and felt that familiar, dull ache in my chest. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and her hair was piled in a messy knot—the "Maya" that the world didn't get to see. The Maya I’d spent a decade trying to protect.
"Extra spicy, extra napkins, and I reallocated the celery to a separate plate just for you," I said, sliding the containers onto the coffee table.
"You’re a saint, Liam," she sighed, collapsing onto the sofa.
The night started exactly how it always did. We argued over which 80s movie was the most "beautifully terrible," we made fun of the dialogue, and for a while, the air felt clear. The tension from the school hallway and the weight of my doorstep confession seemed to have evaporated into the steam of the wings. I was leaning back against the base of the couch, and she was tucked into the cushions above me.
Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.
"Liam?" she said softly, her voice cutting through the sounds of an onscreen alien explosion.
"Yeah?"
"I was honest with Julian today," she began. I felt my muscles lock, but I kept my gaze fixed on the TV. "I told him I’m open to seeing where things go. But I gave him a condition. Five dates."
I finally turned my head to look at her. She was tracing the rim of her soda can, her eyes focused on anything but me. "Five dates?"
"Yeah. I told him that if my heart is open to it after the fifth date, we can talk about actually being together. It's a trial, I guess. To see if the connection is real."
I felt like I’d just been told the exact time of my own execution. Five dates. I knew how Julian operated—the man was a strategist. He wouldn't just take her to dinner; he would try to dismantle every memory she had of us and replace it with something shinier.
"And which number is he on?" I asked, my voice sounding more hollow than I intended.
"He tried to count tonight's lunch, but I told him we start from scratch," she said, finally looking at me. "So... zero. Or one, I suppose, if you count the next time he takes me out."
I forced a nod, turning back to the screen. "Right. Five dates. Seems... constructive."
"You think I'm being silly?"
"I think you're being Maya," I said, reaching up to nudge her knee. "You’ve always needed a plan for everything. Even for falling in love."
"I just don't want to make a mistake, Liam."
I wanted to tell her that the mistake was trying to quantify a feeling. I wanted to tell her that I didn't need five dates—I’d needed ten years of being her shadow, her laugh, and her safety net. But I’d promised we would stay "just friends." I had to play the part.
"Well," I said, forcing a grin that felt like it was breaking my face. "He’d better make them count. Because he’s got some pretty stiff competition from our 80s sci-fi marathons."
She laughed, and for a second, she leaned down and rested her chin on my shoulder. The scent of her shampoo—vanilla and something sweet—filled my senses, and I closed my eyes, counting the seconds.
Five dates. The clock was ticking, and I was standing on the sidelines, watching the girl I loved walk toward a finish line I wasn't allowed to cross.
- Writer
