Episode 8: The Way You Start to Matter
1609 Words
I didn’t notice when it started happening.
That’s the worst part.
If there was a clear moment—something loud, something obvious—I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve drawn a line, taken a step back, reminded myself who I was before all of this.
But it didn’t happen like that.
It happened quietly.
Slowly.
Like rain you don’t realize is soaking you until you’re already drenched.
And suddenly—
Aidan wasn’t just someone I met.
He was someone I looked for.
Three days passed since the hospital night.
Three days of going back to normal.
Classes. Notes. Deadlines.
Pretending.
I sat in the middle of a lecture, staring at the board while my professor explained something important—probably—but my mind was somewhere else.
Again.
“Lia.”
I blinked.
Mara was staring at me like she was about to throw something.
“What?”
“You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I am not spiraling.”
She leaned closer.
“You’re spiraling.”
I sighed and closed my notebook.
“Can we not do this right now?”
“We are absolutely doing this right now,” she said. “You disappeared for a whole night.”
“I told you where I was.”
“You said ‘hospital’ and then stopped replying like you were in a dramatic movie scene.”
“I was busy.”
“With him.”
Not a question.
A statement.
I didn’t answer.
Mara’s eyes widened.
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t.”
“You stayed with him.”
“Mara—”
“You stayed the whole night, didn’t you?”
I looked away.
“That’s not the point.”
“That is exactly the point!”
People turned to look again.
I lowered my voice.
“Can you stop announcing my life to strangers?”
She ignored me.
“Lia Hernandez stayed overnight with a guy she met in a café. I have officially seen everything.”
“I hate you.”
“You like him.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She smiled slowly.
“You’re saying no, but your face is saying ‘I don’t know and that scares me.’”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Because unfortunately—
she wasn’t wrong.
I grabbed my bag.
“I have class.”
“You’re literally in class.”
“I have another one.”
“Lia.”
I walked away before she could say anything else.
Because I didn’t want to hear it.
Because if I heard it out loud—
it would become real.
That afternoon, I found myself doing something I never did.
Waiting.
Not for a class.
Not for a deadline.
Not for anything logical.
I was waiting for a message.
And I hated that.
I stared at my phone.
Nothing.
Five minutes.
Still nothing.
Ten minutes.
Nothing.
I tossed my phone onto my bed.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
I had things to do.
Important things.
My thesis wasn’t going to write itself.
My future wasn’t going to wait.
So why was I sitting here, staring at a screen like my entire mood depended on one person?
I stood up.
Walked to my desk.
Opened my laptop.
Typed one sentence.
Deleted it.
Sat back.
Grabbed my phone again.
Still nothing.
I groaned.
“Get it together, Lia.”
Right.
Focus.
Discipline.
Control.
That’s who I am.
That’s who I’ve always been.
And yet—
my phone buzzed.
My heart reacted before my brain could.
I grabbed it immediately.
Aidan:
Hey.
Just one word.
And somehow—
everything felt lighter.
I hated that.
Lia:
You disappeared.
I stared at my message.
Too honest.
Too fast.
Too obvious.
I immediately regretted everything.
Three dots appeared.
Aidan:
I did.
Pause.
Then—
Aidan:
Sorry.
I frowned slightly.
That didn’t sound like him.
Lia:
Are you okay?
A few seconds passed.
Longer than usual.
Then—
Aidan:
Not really.
That made my chest tighten.
I sat up straighter.
Lia:
What happened?
Three dots.
Gone.
Back again.
Gone again.
Then—
Aidan:
Can we meet?
I didn’t even think.
Lia:
Where?
The café.
Of course.
Same place.
Same window.
Same table.
It was becoming a habit.
And habits are dangerous.
Because they turn temporary things into something that feels permanent.
I arrived first.
Again.
I told myself it was coincidence.
It wasn’t.
I sat down, fingers wrapped around a warm cup, staring outside as the sky slowly turned gray.
No rain.
Not yet.
But it felt like it would.
The door opened.
I looked up.
And there he was.
But something was different.
He didn’t smile right away.
He walked slower.
Like the weight he was carrying had gotten heavier.
He sat across from me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Silence.
I studied him.
“You look worse.”
He let out a small breath.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
He rubbed his face.
“They discharged her.”
“That’s good, right?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. But…” He paused. “They said it’s not getting better. Just… manageable.”
I felt that.
The way his voice dropped.
The way he avoided looking at me.
“That’s hard,” I said quietly.
“Yeah.”
Silence again.
But heavier this time.
Then he looked at me.
“I didn’t text because I didn’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to know.”
“I do,” he said. “With you, I do.”
That caught me off guard.
“Why?”
He shrugged slightly.
“Because you don’t like half answers.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I looked down at my drink.
“I just like honesty.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
Then he leaned forward slightly.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Why do you keep showing up?”
I looked at him.
That question again.
The one I couldn’t answer properly.
“Why do you keep asking that?” I said instead.
“Because I don’t understand it.”
“That makes two of us.”
He frowned.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He studied me.
Longer this time.
Like he was trying to figure something out.
Then he said quietly—
“You’re starting to matter.”
My breath caught.
The words weren’t loud.
But they hit harder than anything else.
I looked at him.
“…That’s not a good idea.”
He smiled faintly.
“Probably not.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because it’s true.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
Dangerous.
I swallowed.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I hesitated. “Because it makes things complicated.”
He leaned back.
“They already are.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
Again.
He always was.
And I was starting to hate that.
Outside, the rain finally started.
Soft at first.
Then heavier.
Like the sky had been holding it in too.
I watched it fall.
“You ever think about what happens next?” I asked.
“All the time.”
“And?”
He looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I know.”
I sighed.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
“What?”
“This.”
I gestured between us.
“This not knowing.”
“This feeling.”
“This… whatever this is.”
He didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t joke.
Didn’t deflect.
He just listened.
And that made it worse.
“I like knowing where I stand,” I continued. “I like plans. I like certainty.”
“And I like now,” he said softly.
I looked at him.
“That’s the problem.”
“Or maybe it’s the solution.”
I shook my head.
“You’re too okay with uncertainty.”
“And you’re too afraid of it.”
We stared at each other.
And for a second—
it felt like a standoff.
Not angry.
Not dramatic.
Just two people trying to understand something they didn’t have words for.
Then he spoke again.
“I’m not asking for anything,” he said.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m just… here.”
“That’s not simple.”
“It is for me.”
I laughed quietly.
“Of course it is.”
“And for you?”
I hesitated.
Then said the truth.
“It’s not.”
He nodded.
“I figured.”
Another silence.
Then—
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
The question hit harder than I expected.
Because suddenly—
everything felt like it was about to change.
One answer.
One word.
And this would either continue…
or end.
I looked at him.
At the way he waited.
Not pushing.
Not forcing.
Just… asking.
And I realized something terrifying.
I didn’t want him to stop.
Not yet.
Maybe not at all.
But saying that out loud felt like jumping without knowing where I’d land.
So instead—
I chose the only answer I could live with.
“…No.”
He exhaled.
Like he had been holding that breath for a while.
“Okay.”
And just like that—
we stayed.
In the middle of uncertainty.
In the middle of something undefined.
In the middle of something real.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, nothing was decided.
But somehow—
it felt like everything had already begun.
- Writer
