Chapter 6: A Promise, Broken
653 Words
“Promise me,” I whispered that night in late October, just outside the gym, my fingers locked with Rowan’s as the autumn wind curled around us.
He leaned closer, resting his forehead against mine. “We’ll apply to the same school,” he said. “Together. No matter what.”
I smiled through the chill. “Even if we don’t get in, we’ll try again next year.”
“Even if we end up in a tent somewhere, you’ll be my dormmate.”
It was silly. Romantic. Teenage love at its most fragile and most fierce. But I believed him.
I believed us.
By spring, things changed.
He started missing study sessions. Practices ran late. He stopped replying to my “Good night” texts until the next morning. Then one day, after school, he pulled me aside in the library.
His expression was tight, conflicted. I already knew before he said a word.
“I talked to Coach Rivers,” he said. “He thinks I have a shot at a sports scholarship. But it’s at State University.”
Not our school. Not the one we promised. Not the one we’d circled in the catalog, shared campus pictures of, and dreamed about under blankets during movie nights.
I blinked. “You already applied?”
“I had to,” he said quickly. “The deadline was last week. I wasn’t sure how to tell you…”
“But you told Coach.”
He winced.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “So what happens now?”
“I still want us,” he said, grabbing my hand. “You can come with me. We can still make this work.”
His voice was hopeful. Too hopeful.
I stared at him. “You want me to give up the school I’ve worked for just to follow you?”
He hesitated. “No—I mean, it’s not like that. I just… I thought we could stay together.”
Stay together.
That phrase used to sound like a dream. Now it felt like a weight.
The same week, Emily announced she was leaving.
“I’m going to London,” she said in class, voice polished like always. “Royal College of Music. My parents pulled some strings.”
I watched her pack up her books—flawless nails, monogrammed pencil case, zero hesitation in her voice. A life already mapped out in airports and ivory towers.
She looked at me with a faint smile. “Some of us were born with choices. Others have to create them.”
I should’ve hated her for saying that. But strangely, I didn’t.
She wasn’t wrong.
Two weeks later, I held two acceptance letters in my hand.
One from the Conservatory of New York—my dream school, the one Professor Hill had once told me I belonged at.
The other from State University, where Rowan was going.
I stared at both, night after night, while the piano in the corner of my room remained silent.
In the end, I chose him.
I told myself love was worth it. That I could still play music anywhere. That people sacrificed for love all the time, and this—this was mine.
At graduation, I walked the stage in a dress my mother stitched by hand and smiled for pictures with classmates who still didn’t really know me.
Rowan kissed my forehead afterward, whispering, “Next stop, State.”
My fingers clutched the hem of my gown as I nodded.
But inside, something quiet broke. Not loud like a snap—more like a thread pulled from the inside.
That summer, as I boxed up my sheet music and marked textbooks with notes, Lucas found me crying in the hallway.
“I thought you were happy,” he said gently, holding out a tissue.
“I am,” I lied.
He didn’t believe me.
Neither did I.
- Writer
