Day 181
1493 Words
12:01 AM.
Nothing.
I stared at my phone for an hour.
Refreshed my email.
Checked the door.
Checked it again.
Day 180 was over.
And he didn’t come.
Because he follows rules.
Even the ones that end.
Especially then.
I went to bed in gray.
---
8:14 AM.
Knock on my door.
Not Aisha. She was at work.
Not Ben.
I opened it.
Lucien.
Suitcase. No tie. Hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it on the plane.
He looked worse than he did 180 days ago.
And better.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He was supposed to be gone.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “Can I come in?”
The question.
Again.
I stepped aside.
He came in. Set the suitcase down.
Looked around my apartment like he’d never seen it.
Like he was memorizing it.
“You’re wearing gray,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“You said you wouldn’t.”
“I lied.”
Silence.
He ran a hand through his hair.
“Day 181,” he said.
“I counted.”
“Me too.”
He didn’t sit. Didn’t touch me.
Just stood there, 3 feet away.
“I resigned,” he said. “From the board. From the university. From everything.”
“I know.”
“I sold the Ashford Building.”
“I know.”
“I’m not your donor. Not your advisor. Not anything.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“Do you want me to leave?”
No rules now.
No Voss.
No board.
No 6 months.
Just the question.
“No,” I said.
He exhaled. Like he’d been holding it for 180 days.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
He sat on the floor. Not the couch. The floor.
Back against the wall.
Like he didn’t deserve the furniture.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For all of it. For the phone. For the car. For the office. For making you write it. For kissing you. For not kissing you. For the 180 days.”
“You followed the rules,” I said.
“I did,” he said. “And it was hell.”
He looked up at me.
“You?”
“Hell too,” I said.
He nodded.
We sat there for 20 minutes.
Not talking.
Just breathing in the same room.
My phone buzzed.
Aisha.
You okay?
Me: He’s here.
Aisha: ...oh.
Me: Yeah.
I put the phone down.
Lucien saw it.
“Ben?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said. Then caught himself. “I mean— not good. I mean—”
“I know what you meant,” I said.
He laughed. Once. Tired.
“I’m bad at this,” he said. “The asking part.”
“You’re learning,” I said.
He nodded.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Did you mean it? Any of it? The chapters. The yes. The ‘I’m not sorry either.’”
I thought about lying.
About saying it was the power. About saying I was scared.
“No,” I said. “I meant it.”
He closed his eyes.
“Thank god,” he whispered.
He stood. Went to the kitchen.
Opened cabinets. Closed them.
“You have tea?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I make you some?”
“Yes.”
He made tea. Two mugs.
Brought them to the table.
Sat across from me.
Like it was a normal morning.
It wasn’t.
“Why are you here, Lucien?” I asked.
“Because I couldn’t stay away anymore,” he said. “Because 180 days of not knowing if you were okay was worse than anything the board could do to me.”
“And now?”
“Now there are no rules,” he said. “So I have to ask. Every time.”
He pushed a mug toward me.
“Can I stay?”
Not can I kiss you.
Not can I touch you.
Can I stay.
“Yes,” I said.
He nodded. Like I’d given him the world.
We drank tea.
We didn’t talk about the thesis.
We didn’t talk about the office.
We didn’t talk about the kiss.
At 11:30 AM, there was another knock.
Aisha.
She stopped in the doorway.
Saw him.
Saw me.
Saw the two mugs.
“Oh,” she said.
“Hi,” Lucien said. Standing. Polite. Like a normal person.
“Hi,” Aisha said. “I’m Aisha.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m Lucien.”
Aisha looked at me.
I nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’m gonna... go to work.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“I do,” she said. “But text me.”
She left.
Lucien and I were alone again.
“Can I ask you something else?” he said.
“What.”
“Can I touch you?”
My heart was pounding.
180 days.
“Yes,” I said.
He stood. Came around the table.
Didn’t grab. Didn’t pull.
Just took my hand.
His hand was warm.
Mine was cold.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“The apartment is cold.”
“No,” he said. “You’re cold because I wasn’t here.”
He squeezed my hand.
“I’m here now,” he said.
We sat like that.
On the couch this time.
His shoulder touching mine.
No kissing.
No talking.
Just hands.
At 3:14 PM, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
You didn’t run.
Me: No.
Unknown: Good.
It was him. New number.
Of course it was.
At 6:00 PM he stood.
“I should go,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because if I don’t, I won’t,” he said. “And I want to do this right. With asking.”
He picked up his suitcase.
“Can I come back tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Whenever.”
“9 AM?”
“Okay.”
He walked to the door.
Stopped.
Turned.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
Day 181.
No rules.
“Yes,” I said.
He crossed the room in 2 steps.
Hand on my cheek. Thumb under my chin.
Kissed me.
Slow.
Careful.
Like he was afraid I’d break.
Like he was afraid he would.
When he pulled back, his forehead was against mine.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“So are you,” I said.
He smiled. Small. Real.
“See you at 9,” he said.
“See you at 9,” I said.
He left.
I locked the door.
Checked it twice.
Old habit.
Then I sat on the floor and cried.
Not because I was scared.
Because I wasn’t.
---
11:58 PM.
My phone buzzed.
L: Day 181.
L: You did good today.
L: Sleep. Wear whatever you want tomorrow.
Me: Gray.
L: I know.
L: I like you in gray.
Me: I know.
L: Goodnight, Maya.
Me: Goodnight, Lucien.
---
Day 182. 9:00 AM.
Knock.
He was there with coffee. And bagels.
“You eat,” he said.
“I will,” I said.
He came in.
Asked before he hugged me.
Asked before he kissed my forehead.
Asked before he sat next to me.
“Can we talk about it?” he asked.
“About what?”
“All of it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We can.”
And we did.
For hours.
About the car.
About the phone.
About the office.
About the 180 days.
About how he was terrified of himself.
About how I was terrified of wanting him.
No yelling.
No taking.
Just talking.
At 2:00 PM he said, “Can I stay for dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Can I cook?”
“You can try.”
He burned the pasta.
We ordered pizza instead.
At 10:00 PM he said, “Can I stay the night?”
I looked at him.
At the man who used to take.
Who was now asking for everything.
“Yes,” I said.
He didn’t sleep in my bed.
He slept on the couch.
“Because I asked,” he said. “And you said yes to the couch. We’ll get to the bed later.”
I fell asleep to the sound of him breathing in the other room.
---
Day 183.
He was still there when I woke up.
Making coffee.
In a gray t-shirt.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I said.
He handed me coffee.
“Can I kiss you good morning?”
“Yes.”
He did.
No office.
No thesis.
No power.
No taking.
Just him.
Asking.
And me.
Saying yes.
Because he doesn’t take anymore.
He asks.
And tonight, for the first time,
I don’t feel trapped.
I feel chosen.
- Writer
