Chapter 3: I Need to Learn How to Let Go

Iris's POV

The campus coffee shop is packed, like always.

I'm tucked into a corner with a lukewarm latte and a sketchbook that's been open to the same blank page for the past hour. My pencil hasn't moved. I can't seem to focus on anything lately.

"...I'm telling you, Adrian Hawthorne and that woman from London? They're perfect together..."

My hand stops mid-air.

Two architecture students are sitting at the table behind me, and their voices carry right over my shoulder.

"Have you seen Celeste? God, she's incredible. International architect, and she's what, thirty? That's insane."

"Plus I heard she's had a thing for Adrian for years. Now that she's back, you know..."

"They're both architecture geniuses. When they work together, it's like watching some romantic movie or something."

"Right? I saw them in the studio yesterday. Celeste was leaning against Adrian's shoulder, looking at blueprints, and the way they were."

Laughter.

The pencil slips from my fingers.

"Wait, isn't Adrian really close to that art student? The one with the color thing?"

"You mean Iris? Come on, that's just childhood friends. Someone like Celeste, that's who belongs with Adrian."

My coffee cup tilts. Dark liquid spills across the table, soaking into my sketchbook pages.

"Shit, my notes."

I'm already standing, grabbing my bag, pushing through chairs. The door swings shut behind me and I'm outside, gulping cold November air.

The next week blurs together.

Adrian texts. I tell him I'm swamped with my thesis.

He shows up at my studio. I have a classmate tell him I'm at the library.

He suggests lunch. I say Martinez wants to meet.

The lies stack up, one after another.

"Iris, you've been dodging me all week."

It's day five. Adrian corners me in the hallway between classes, and there's nowhere to run.

"I'm not dodging you," I say, looking past his shoulder at the wall. "Just really busy. Thesis stuff."

"Then let me help."

"No need." I cut him off. "I have to do this myself."

He's frowning now. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Adrian." I force something that might pass for a smile. "Just need to focus. You've got your own project anyway, right? The one with Celeste."

Something flickers across his face when I mention her name.

"That project... Iris, actually."

"I really have to go," I say. "Professor's waiting."

I turn and walk away before he can say anything else.

Around the corner, I press my back against the wall and close my eyes.

This is better. Distance is better.

If I pull away first, it won't hurt as much when he eventually chooses her.

Right?

The clock says nine when my studio door swings open.

I look up and there's Adrian with takeout and my favorite hot chocolate. I thought maybe he'd finally given up on me.

"We need to talk." He puts the bags on my worktable.

"Adrian, now's not—"

"When is?" He turns to face me. "You're avoiding me. Don't pretend you're not."

I bite my lip.

"Why?" His voice cracks a little. "Did I do something?"

"No. You didn't." I make myself look at him even though it hurts. "I'm just buried in thesis work. That's all."

He's watching me with those eyes that see too much. He knows.

"If something's wrong—"

"Nothing's wrong." I turn away and grab a sculpting tool off my bench. "You should probably go. I've got a lot to finish tonight."

Silence.

I can feel him standing there behind me, trying to work out what to say.

Just go. Please just go before I break down.

"Okay." Quiet now. "But you know you can talk to me. About anything."

I nod without turning around.

"Tomorrow then. Thanksgiving."

My hand goes tight around the tool. "Actually I might stay here. This deadline—"

"Iris." Something breaks in his voice. "It's Thanksgiving. Mom's making your pie."

I close my eyes. "I know. Sorry. I'll try to make it."

Silence again.

Footsteps. The door opening.

"Food's still warm," he says. "Don't forget to eat, okay?"

The door clicks shut. Soft.

I'm standing here staring at the containers on my table. The hot chocolate's steaming. That blend he always gets because he knows I want extra whipped cream.

He remembers everything. And I'm pushing him away like he's the problem.

I drop onto my stool. What am I doing?

This is Adrian. The kid who stood up for me on the playground. Who held my hand when his parents asked if I'd come home with them. Who's never made me feel broken.

And I'm lying right to his face because I'm scared.

Scared of losing him? I'm already losing him. To Celeste and whatever perfect thing they're building together.

My phone vibrates across the table.

I grab it hoping it's Adrian saying he's coming back.

It's not him.

"Congratulations! NYC Design Internship - Interview Invitation."

I sent that application a month ago.

New York. My escape route.

I should be excited. This is real. An actual shot at starting over.

But I just feel empty.

The studio suddenly looks different. Failed paintings in the corner. My sculptures on the shelves. That color app on my tablet mocking me.

Four years here. Fifteen years with the Hawthornes.

And I'm running away from all of it.

The takeout's cooling on the table. Adrian's kindness getting cold while I watch.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to be at the Hawthorne house laughing with his parents. Playing along like everything's normal.

But I can't do it. Can't sit there pretending my heart's not shattering. Can't look at Adrian knowing what I'm planning.

I need to learn how to let go.

Even if it kills me.