Episode: 9
869 Words
JOANNE FATE – EPISODE 9
The Meeting That Could Not Happen
The next morning, Joanne awoke to a quiet campus. Fog curled around the pathways like fingers reaching out. She thought about leaving her room, going to classes, walking past the familiar buildings, and pretending that nothing was different.
Her body, however, refused normalcy.
She dressed slowly, each movement deliberate. Even the socks she chose felt like a statement of intention: do not be noticed, do not stumble, do not confront.
Breakfast in the cafeteria was impossible. Every table, every laugh, every familiar gesture felt like a signal. Her stomach tightened, her hands shook slightly as she poured cereal into a bowl.
She sat at the farthest corner, pretending to read, watching shadows move like ghosts across the room.
Her phone buzzed briefly. She did not check it.
Not yet.
The absurdity of the situation hit her suddenly when a tray tumbled from a nearby table, scattering toast and juice everywhere. People gasped. Someone shouted. Joanne, despite the weight pressing on her chest, burst out laughing. The noise startled her, but she could not stop.
It was ridiculous. She had never been so aware of how ridiculous life could feel while simultaneously being unbearable.
Mira slid into the seat across from her. She smirked. “You’re hiding again.”
Joanne shook her head. “Not hiding. Observing.”
Mira raised an eyebrow. “Observing what? Toast trajectories?”
Joanne laughed quietly. “Yes, trajectories. Very important.”
Mira’s expression softened. She reached across the table and placed a hand on Joanne’s. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone.”
Joanne stared at her, thinking about how absurdly brave Mira was. And how small Joanne felt in comparison.
By mid-afternoon, the unavoidable happened.
Joanne was walking down the central courtyard when she saw them again. Not hidden, not in a dream, not in a memory. Standing there like they owned the world. Like they owned her.
She froze. The wind stirred, tossing leaves at her feet. Her chest tightened. Her pulse leapt into a frantic rhythm she could not name.
Fantasy collided with reality. She imagined herself walking away elegantly, as if this were a film, as if nothing mattered. But the moment stretched and refused to bend to her imagination.
She took a step. Then another. Her feet were reluctant participants.
Her mind whispered all the excuses she could not say aloud: the classes, the library, the exams. The peace she had built. The friendship she had formed.
Her heart screamed: I don’t want this.
The first words she spoke were not for them.
They were muttered into the wind, a confession only she could hear.
“I am not ready.”
And yet, the universe—or whatever cruel mechanism decided timing—pulled her forward. Each step toward the person from her past felt heavier, like walking through water.
They turned then, not dramatically, not with accusation. Simply recognition. The same tilt of the head, the same quiet understanding.
For a moment, the world flattened. Everything else ceased to exist.
Joanne’s mouth opened, words forming and collapsing before they left. Comedy tried to escape her lips in the form of a sarcastic remark, but the nerve of it did not allow. Instead, she laughed nervously.
The sound was hollow.
They spoke first.
“Joanne.”
The voice was soft, familiar. No accusation. No demand. No plea. Just the weight of all the things left unsaid over years.
Joanne swallowed. Her voice betrayed her before she could think.
“I didn’t expect… I didn’t think…”
They smiled slightly, a faint curve of recognition.
“You came here anyway,” they said.
“Yes,” Joanne replied, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I came anyway.”
The words hung in the air. Not confession. Not victory. Just reality.
The comedy returned unexpectedly, as life often does in the cruelest moments.
A pigeon swooped down suddenly, scattering papers from someone else’s desk. Joanne flinched, almost knocking over her own bag. She laughed nervously, embarrassed. Mira, standing quietly to the side, shook her head in silent disbelief.
Even in the most dramatic moment of confrontation, the universe reminded her that life was still absurd.
Fantasy blurred again.
In her mind, she saw alternate versions of herself.
One: Running without looking back, a figure of elegance, power, and detachment.
Two: Collapsing, falling into tears, admitting everything.
Three: Laughing at the absurdity of even caring.
Reality, however, demanded one choice.
And it would not let her pause forever.
Joanne’s heart thudded.
This was the broken bond: a quiet challenge, a reminder of past ties, a test of her growth.
She was not afraid of the person. She was afraid of what they represented: the version of herself she had abandoned, the version she thought she had left behind, the version that still mattered in secret.
Her shoulders tightened. She adjusted her bag. Mira stayed beside her silently.
She exhaled slowly.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.
And the world tilted just enough to make her feel alive in a way she had not felt since she first arrived at university.
- Writer
