Until We Meet Again.

Episode 12: The Way Everything Starts to Change

There’s a quiet kind of shift that doesn’t ask for permission.

No warning.

No dramatic moment.

No clear beginning.

It just… happens.

And one day, you wake up realizing that something that used to feel temporary has slowly become something you rely on.

That’s what Aidan became.

Not suddenly.

Not loudly.

Just… steadily.

And that scared me more than anything.

I didn’t realize how much I was starting to depend on him until one morning when my phone didn’t buzz.

No “good morning.”

No teasing message.

No random question that didn’t make sense but somehow made my day better.

Nothing.

At first, I told myself it didn’t matter.

People get busy.

People have lives.

People don’t revolve around you.

I knew that.

I believed that.

So why did the silence feel… wrong?

I sat at my desk, staring at my phone like it had personally offended me.

“Okay,” I muttered. “This is normal.”

Very normal.

Completely normal.

I flipped my notebook open and tried to focus.

Wrote one sentence.

Read it.

Forgot what I just wrote.

Great.

This was going well.

“Lia.”

I looked up.

Mara was already watching me like she had been waiting for this moment.

“You look like someone who didn’t get a text.”

“I always look like this.”

“No,” she said. “You look like someone who keeps checking her phone every five seconds and pretending she’s not.”

“I am not checking every five seconds.”

She raised an eyebrow.

I slowly placed my phone face down on the table.

“…That proves nothing.”

She smirked.

“Did he text you today?”

I hesitated.

“…No.”

She leaned back.

“Wow.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means you care.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t,” I repeated.

“You noticed.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Because she was right.

And I hated that she was right.

By noon, I gave in.

I picked up my phone.

Stared at the blank screen.

Then typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Deleted again.

“This is ridiculous,” I whispered.

Why was this so hard?

It’s just a message.

Not a confession.

Not a big deal.

Just—

a simple text.

Before I could change my mind, I hit send.

Lia:

Are you alive?

I stared at the screen.

Immediate regret.

Why did I say it like that?

Why not something normal?

Something calm?

Something that didn’t sound like I was—

worried.

My phone stayed silent.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Nothing.

I felt something twist in my chest.

And I didn’t like it.

Not at all.

I tried to distract myself.

Went to class.

Took notes.

Pretended to listen.

But everything felt… off.

Like something was missing.

And I hated that I knew exactly what it was.

By the time I got home, my patience was gone.

I threw my bag on the bed and grabbed my phone again.

Still nothing.

“Okay, this is not normal,” I said out loud.

Aidan always replied.

Always.

Even if it was late.

Even if it was short.

Even if it was just one word.

So this—

this silence—

felt different.

And suddenly, my thoughts started going places I didn’t want them to go.

What if something happened?

What if his mom—

I stopped myself.

No.

Don’t assume.

Don’t panic.

But the thought stayed.

And I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Just as I was about to call him—

my phone buzzed.

I froze.

Then immediately answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

His voice.

But it wasn’t the same.

Quieter.

Heavier.

“Where have you been?” I asked, trying to sound normal.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been at the hospital.”

My chest tightened.

“What happened?”

There was a pause.

Then—

“She got worse.”

Everything in me went still.

“I thought they said she was stable,” I said softly.

“They did,” he replied. “But… things changed.”

I sat down slowly.

“Are you okay?”

He let out a quiet breath.

“I don’t know.”

That answer—

that honest, fragile answer—

hit harder than anything else.

“I should’ve checked on you earlier,” I said.

“You did,” he replied. “I just didn’t answer.”

“Still.”

“It’s okay, Lia.”

No.

It wasn’t.

But I didn’t argue.

Because I could hear it in his voice.

He wasn’t okay.

And suddenly, nothing else mattered.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“At the hospital.”

“I’m coming.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

Silence.

Then—

“…Okay.”

The hospital felt colder this time.

Or maybe it was just me.

Everything looked the same.

The same hallway.

The same chairs.

The same quiet tension in the air.

But it didn’t feel the same.

Because this time—

I was scared.

I found him sitting alone again.

Same position.

Same tired eyes.

But something was different.

He looked… defeated.

And that scared me more than anything.

“Aidan.”

He looked up.

And for a second—

something in his expression softened.

“You came.”

I walked over.

“Of course I did.”

I sat beside him.

Close.

Closer than before.

“How is she?” I asked gently.

He stared at the floor.

“They’re running tests again.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It means they don’t know what’s wrong.”

I swallowed.

“Okay.”

Silence.

Then—

“I hate this,” he said quietly.

I nodded.

“I know.”

“I hate not being able to do anything.”

“I know.”

“I hate just… waiting.”

“I know.”

He let out a shaky breath.

And for the first time—

he looked like he might actually break.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t analyze.

I just moved.

I reached for his hand.

And held it.

Firmly.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

Didn’t freeze.

He just held on.

Tighter.

Like he needed something to ground him.

And maybe—

I needed that too.

---

“You didn’t have to come,” he said after a while.

“I wanted to.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

He looked at me.

And something shifted.

Again.

“You stayed,” he said softly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I met his eyes.

And this time—

I didn’t avoid it.

“Because you matter.”

The words came out before I could stop them.

Before I could filter them.

Before I could protect myself.

And the moment they were out—

I felt it.

The weight.

The truth.

The point of no return.

Aidan went still.

Completely still.

Like the world had paused for a second.

Then—

“Say that again.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Say it again.”

My heart was racing.

But I didn’t look away.

“Because you matter.”

He stared at me like he was trying to understand something.

Or maybe believe it.

And then—

he smiled.

Not the usual one.

Not teasing.

Not light.

But something softer.

Something real.

“You matter too,” he said.

And just like that—

everything changed.

We didn’t say anything after that.

We didn’t need to.

Because something had already been said.

Something bigger than labels.

Bigger than plans.

Bigger than fear.

Something simple.

Something honest.

Something real.

Later that night, as we sat there in the quiet hospital hallway, side by side, hands still loosely connected—

I realized something.

This wasn’t “almost” anymore.

This wasn’t undefined.

This wasn’t something I could walk away from easily.

Because somewhere between the first conversation and now—

between coffee and silence—

between laughter and fear—

we had become something real.

Not perfect.

Not clear.

But real.

And for the first time—

I wasn’t trying to run from it.

I wasn’t trying to control it.

I wasn’t trying to understand every part of it.

I was just…

there.

With him.

And somehow—

that felt like the right place to be.

Even if I didn’t know what came next.