Harry: Please, I need to talk to you.

I stare at the message on my screen, my heart sinking. I know we have volumes to discuss, but what's the point? The outcome remains unchanged—Harry is leaving, and I'm not.

My phone lights up again just as I start drying my hair.

Harry: Come on, please, Ella. I gave you space, but it's been three days. How much more space do you need? I have to talk to you.

Avoiding him isn't the answer, and I know that. But what am I supposed to say? Talking about it would mean facing reality—accepting that he's going, accepting that he won't be mine anymore. If he ever truly was.

I focus on finishing my hair, then force myself to study for my finals. At least I can control that. The manager at Shadows offered me a full-time position for the summer now that Chrys has quit, and I accepted without hesitation. Staying busy is my only option. Going home would mean too much free time, too many opportunities to drown in self-pity, and I refuse to let that happen.

My phone lights up again, but this time, it's Ed.

Ed: I need heeeelp. Please come over and save me from failing World History. I'm way behind, and we're working tonight. Bring your stuff, and we'll go together. Pleaaaaaase.

I exhale in relief. Ed's text gives me the perfect excuse to avoid Harry without outright ignoring him.

Me: Sorry, Ed needs help with finals, and I have work right after. Can't meet tonight.

Childish? Yes. Immature? Definitely. Effective? Absolutely.

Harry replies almost immediately.

Harry: I get it. Another time, then.

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I pack my bag—an outfit for work, my makeup, my laptop—and head out. Twenty minutes later, I arrive at Jimmy's.

I have a key but never use it unless Jimmy asks. You never know what you'll walk into at his place. And let's be honest—I don't need to be traumatized by witnessing one of his adventures.

I ring the bell, expecting Ed's familiar lazy grin when he opens the door. Instead, when he swings it wide, my stomach drops.

Harry is sitting on the sofa bed.

His elbows rest on his knees, fingers laced together, shoulders hunched. His expression is unreadable—serious, hurt.

My heart pounds. My breath catches.

I should have known he wouldn't let me run forever.

"I'm sorry," Ed whispers, shifting uncomfortably. "But you wouldn't talk to him otherwise." He gestures for me to step inside.

I swallow hard, disappointed but choosing not to say anything. What could I even say? I feel like I've swallowed a rock—heavy, suffocating. My steps are hesitant, my breath shallow. I notice a small bag by the door—Ed's, most likely. He's leaving. By the looks of it, Jimmy isn't here either.

And then I dare look at him again. His face drawn and tired. He looks... broken.

When his eyes meet mine, I swear I die a little inside.

"Ella," he mutters.

"Harry."

"I'm going to Anne's," Ed announces, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Harry will give you a lift to work if you don't want to drive. I gotta go."

The door clicks shut behind him.

And just like that, it's just us.

"So we've come to this," Harry finally says.

"This?" I frown, not following.

"Tricking you into seeing me. Just so we can finally talk about us." His voice is low, edged with hurt, bitter even.

I exhale sharply. "I just don't know what to say to you, Harry."

He leans forward. "Ella, you have to believe me. I was going to tell you."

"When?" My voice rises before I can stop it. "The day you were leaving?"

His eyes flicker with pain. "There was never a good time, baby. There was always something in the way."

I scoff. "When did they make their offer?" My fingers twist together in my lap.

He sighs. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, Harry. It matters!"

"Why?"

"Because it just does!" I exclaim, my frustration boiling over.

His gaze drops to the floor. "The day after Manhunt."

I freeze.

The day after Manhunt. 

And still, he came after me.

Still, he asked me to be his.

Still, he let me fall for him, knowing he was leaving.

My voice shakes. "Then why, Harry? Why did you start this? Why ask me to be yours when you knew it was doomed? When you knew you might be leaving?"

His eyes flick back up, pleading. "Because I wanted you."

Tears threaten to spill, but I blink them away. "How often would you even be coming home?"

He hesitates.

"You could fly there in the summer," he offers, his tone unsure. "Or—"

"How long is the contract for?" I cut in. A sliver of hope clings to my voice.

"A year."

I could deal with that. A year isn't forever.

"...With a possible renewal for two more."

And just like that, hope crumbles.

"You can't be serious." A dry, hollow laugh escapes my lips.

"Ella..." he whispers, reaching for me. "Look at me. Please, look at me."

My eyes meet his, searching, desperate. "How could you do this?"

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath. "Sometimes you just follow your heart, even if you know it'll break in the end," he admits. "I couldn't stand being away from you anymore. I wanted to be with you. That's why I did this."

"But you didn't choose this, did you, Harry?" My voice cracks. "It chose you. It happened to you. To us. And now we're just... collateral damage."

He hesitates. "We can Facetime—"

I shake my head.

"I don't want to hold you back," I whisper. "This is your chance. You should travel, experience the world, live. You don't need to worry about facetiming your girlfriend after long shoots. You don't need me weighing you down."

His voice is urgent now. "Come with me. We can look at schools there—"

I keep shaking my head. "I can't, Harry."

He stands abruptly, running his fingers through his hair. "You never even gave me a chance, Ella!"

"What?" I blink up at him.

"You always act like you don't need me," he says, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Like you don't need anyone. Like you're your own person, and that's that." He lets out a harsh laugh. "So don't stand there and ask me why I didn't tell you, because we both know the answer."

I shake my head, completely thrown. "I don't understand."

"Bullshit," he snaps.

He paces the small living room, his hands clenched at his sides. "You never depended on me. Never really committed. You were never mine, Ella. Not fully."

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

"I didn't say anything," he continues, his voice lower now, raw, "because I was waiting."

"Waiting for what?" My voice is barely a whisper.

"For you to love me." He exhales sharply. "To need me."

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.

"But I do love you," I protest, my heart pounding.

"But you don't need me," he says simply. "Not like I do."

I stare at him, stunned. His words are bullets, and I'm standing here without a vest.

"That's why I didn't tell you," he murmurs, looking down. "I was waiting. Waiting for you to need me enough to say yes. To come with me." He lets out a broken chuckle. "I guess I failed."

I don't know what to say. Maybe he's right. Maybe I was holding back. I never wanted to depend on anyone. Michael taught me that much.

"I don't want this to end," he admits, voice cracking.

"Neither do I," I whisper. "But I don't see how this works, Harry."

His jaw clenches. "That's the difference between you and me, Ella." He hesitates. "I want this so bad that I lied, I concealed, I fought for it. And you... you just sit there, waiting for it to be easy."

Tears slip down my cheeks, but I say nothing.

"Things will always be complicated," he says. "Why not try?"

I shake my head. "Harry... you've never had a relationship before. Not a serious one. Not a girlfriend. You weren't even faithful before. And now you expect me to believe that in a matter of months, you're willing to do long-distance?"

His expression darkens. "So you don't trust me?"

"I love you, Harry," I whisper. "But I'm letting you go. You need to live. And if we're meant to be, we'll find our way back to each other."

His chest rises and falls in a shuddering breath.

"Promise me you love me," he whispers, voice breaking.

"I do," I say, wiping my tears. "To the moon and back."

A single tear slips down his cheek. My heart shatters.

"Hey, that's mine," he tries to joke, stepping forward.

I collapse into his arms, burying my face in his chest, inhaling his scent, memorizing the warmth of his hands on my back. Memorizing him.

"I love you, baby," he whispers into my hair. "To the moon and back."

"I know, Harry," I whisper. "Me too."

And just like that, I let him go.