Chapter Eight: What We Pretend Not to Feel
1084 Words
The next morning, Lila woke with Evan’s almost-touch still burned into her skin.
She lay there longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment under the streetlight the way his hand had hovered near her face, the tremor in his voice, the way everything had felt like it was about to tip into something beautiful and terrifying.
If I do, I don’t know if I can go back.
Neither could she.
She rolled onto her side and reached for her phone. No new messages. No good morning text. No joke to soften the weight in her chest.
She exhaled slowly.
Evan always needed space after moments like that. She was learning his rhythms, even when they hurt.
⸻
Campus felt louder than usual.
Lila moved through her day with a strange sense of disconnection, like she was watching herself from a distance. In class, she took notes she barely remembered writing. At lunch, she nodded along to Nora’s commentary without really hearing it.
“You’re spiraling,” Nora said flatly.
“I’m fine,” Lila replied automatically.
Nora’s eyes narrowed. “You almost kissed him last night.”
Lila froze. “We did not.”
“You almost did,” Nora corrected. “And now he’s pulled back. Again.”
Lila stared down at her food. “He’s scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing control,” Lila said quietly. “Of letting someone see him and deciding they don’t like what they find.”
Nora sighed. “And you?”
“I’m scared he’ll keep running until there’s nothing left of us.”
Nora softened. “Then someone’s going to have to stop pretending.”
⸻
Evan didn’t show up to their usual spots that day.
Not at the library. Not at the café. Not on the quad.
By late afternoon, Lila’s worry had turned sharp and restless. She texted him.
You okay?
Minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty.
Just as she was about to call, her phone buzzed.
Yeah. Just busy. Sorry.
The words felt hollow.
Want to meet later? she typed.
There was a long pause before his reply.
I can’t tonight.
Her chest tightened.
Okay, she wrote, even though it wasn’t.
⸻
That evening, Lila went home for dinner.
Her parents were arguing softly in the kitchen about groceries, about nothing important. It was the kind of disagreement that ended in laughter and compromise.
It struck her then—how safe it sounded.
“How was your day?” her father asked as they sat down to eat.
“Hard,” she admitted.
Her mother looked at her. “Because of Evan.”
Lila nodded, blinking back emotion. “I think he’s pushing me away.”
Her mother set her fork down. “People who’ve been hurt often confuse distance with safety.”
“I don’t want to pressure him,” Lila whispered.
“You don’t have to,” her father said gently. “But you also don’t have to disappear for his comfort.”
The words stayed with her long after dinner ended.
⸻
Across town, Evan sat on the edge of his bed, phone clenched in his hand.
He had almost kissed her.
The thought made his chest tighten with equal parts longing and panic.
He could still feel the warmth of her breath, hear the softness in her voice when she’d said You don’t have to. He’d wanted to lean in, to finally give in to the thing he’d been denying for months.
But then the phone rang.
It always rang.
His father’s voice was sharp and angry, cutting through the moment like a blade.
Don’t get comfortable, it had said. Comfort doesn’t last.
Evan scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing the memories down. He couldn’t drag Lila into this. Couldn’t risk her seeing the worst parts of him.
She deserved better.
⸻
The next day, rain poured over campus in steady sheets.
Lila spotted Evan standing under the awning near the science building, soaked hair plastered to his forehead. Relief and frustration collided in her chest.
“Evan,” she called.
He turned, surprised—and then wary.
“Hey.”
“You disappeared,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm.
“I told you I was busy.”
“You told me nothing,” she replied.
The rain soaked through her sweater, but she didn’t care.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quietly. “I just needed space.”
“From me?” she asked.
He hesitated. Too long.
“From… everything,” he said.
She stepped closer. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then tell me,” she said, voice trembling. “Because I’m already here. I already care.”
For a moment, the rain was the only sound.
Evan looked like he might break.
Instead, he shook his head. “I can’t.”
Something inside her cracked.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Then stop acting like we’re more than friends.”
The words hurt them both.
He flinched. “Lila—”
“No,” she said, stepping back. “I can’t keep doing this halfway thing. It hurts.”
His eyes darkened with something like pain.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know,” she said softly. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t.”
She turned and walked away before he could stop her.
⸻
That night, Nora sat cross-legged on Lila’s bed, handing her a mug of tea.
“You did the right thing,” Nora said.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Standing up for yourself rarely does,” Nora replied. “But it matters.”
Lila stared into the mug, heart aching. “What if I lose him?”
Nora squeezed her hand. “Then he’ll lose the best thing he never thought he deserved.”
⸻
Across town, Evan stood in his dark kitchen, staring at his phone.
He replayed her words over and over.
Stop acting like we’re more than friends.
The truth hit him harder than anything else had.
They were more.
He just hadn’t been brave enough to say it.
His phone buzzed.
Not Lila.
Home.
His jaw tightened.
As he answered the call, Evan made a decision he wasn’t sure he was ready for.
He couldn’t keep running.
Not from her.
Not from the truth.
And not forever.
- Writer
