chapter 4: *"choose"*
462 Words
Every love story has a moment. Stay, or go.
Maya’s was at 11:59pm.
*The Deadline*
Atlanta. 12 hours left to confirm.
Deposit. Click send. New life.
Maya sat on her fire escape with her laptop. Port Harcourt was loud below her. Elias was quiet inside her apartment.
He hadn’t asked again. He hadn’t begged.
That was worse. He just… waited. Like he’d already lost.
*Layla, Last Call*
“Send it,” Layla said over the phone. “If he loves you, he’ll still be here when you come back for holidays. If he doesn’t…”
She didn’t finish.
Maya hung up and stared at the blinking cursor.
*Elias, Last Night*
She went inside. He was on the floor, back against her couch, sketchbook open. He used to draw her hands when she slept.
He didn’t look up. “Did you decide?”
“Not yet,” she lied.
He nodded. Then he tore a page out and handed it to her.
It was her. Not pretty. Real. Dark circles, paint on her cheek, fire escape behind her. Under it, in his messy writing: _You were never mine to keep. Only mine to love._
Her chest cracked open.
“You think I’m trying to cage you,” he said, finally looking at her. “I’m not. I’m terrified. My dad left. My mom checked out. Everyone I loved… left. And you’re the first person who made me feel like home. So yeah, I got scared. I got ugly. I’m sorry.”
He stood up. Stepped back.
“If Atlanta is your gold, Maya, then go. I’d rather be broken without you than be the reason you’re cracked.”
He walked to the door. Hand on the knob. Waiting.
*The Choice*
Maya’s fingers hovered over her laptop.
_Confirm. Send._
She looked at Elias. Really looked. Not the scared boy. Not the storm. The boy who stayed. The boy who was letting her go.
She closed the laptop.
“I’m not choosing between you and me,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m choosing us. But not like this.”
She stood up. “I’m going to Atlanta. For 2 years. And you’re coming to every portfolio show I video-call you from. And you’re going to therapy, Elias. Because gold doesn’t work if one of us is bleeding out.”
He stared. Then he laughed. One broken, relieved sound.
“You’re not running?”
“No,” she said. “I’m choosing. You. And me.”
He didn’t pull her in. He asked. “Can I?”
She nodded.
He held her like she was something precious, not something possessed.
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*The crack didn’t vanish.* It’s still there.
But for the first time, they’re trying to fill it with gold _together_, not just cover it.
- Writer
