Three months.
The number followed Nora everywhere.
It echoed in the hallway when she passed Eli's closed door.
It sat between them at breakfast.
It ticked quietly behind every ordinary conversation.
Three months until he left.
Three months until the space she asked for became permanent.
She hadn't meant for it to feel like this.
She thought space would calm her fears.
Instead, it sharpened them.
—
The first time she tried, it was small.
After school, she lingered by the soccer field.
Eli was finishing practice, sweat-damp hair pushed back, laughing with his teammates. She hadn't watched him like this in weeks.
He looked lighter.
Focused.
Less tangled in her.
When practice ended, he grabbed his bag and turned toward the parking lot.
She stepped forward.
"Hey."
He slowed, slightly surprised. "Hey. Didn't know you were here."
"I just… thought I'd wait."
A small pause.
"Oh."
That was all he said.
Not unkind.
Just not what she expected.
They walked toward the car together.
Side by side.
Not touching.
"How was practice?" she asked.
"Good. Coach thinks we've got a real shot this season."
"That's amazing."
"Yeah."
Silence.
She used to fill silence easily with him.
Now it felt like a test she didn't know how to pass.
When they reached the car, he unlocked it but didn't open her door like he used to.
She told herself that didn't matter.
It shouldn't matter.
But it did.
—
At home, she tried again.
She knocked on his door that evening.
A real knock this time.
There was a pause before he answered.
"Yeah?"
He looked surprised to see her standing there.
"Can I come in?"
He stepped aside.
His room was half-organized now. Books stacked. Old posters taken down. A suitcase sitting open on the chair.
The sight of it made her stomach drop.
"You're packing already?"
"Just sorting," he replied. "Didn't want to leave it all for the last minute."
Last minute.
As if this wasn't already too soon.
She sat on the edge of his bed.
He remained standing.
That difference alone hurt.
"I was thinking," she began carefully, "maybe we could go see that lake again. Before you leave."
His expression softened slightly.
"We haven't been there in a while."
"I know."
He considered it.
"Maybe."
Maybe.
It wasn't yes.
But it wasn't no.
She held onto that.
—
The shift didn't go unnoticed.
Mr. Callahan had always been observant.
He watched the way Nora hesitated before speaking.
The way Eli answered politely but without lingering.
The way their laughter no longer overlapped.
One evening, he found Nora alone in the kitchen.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
She smiled automatically. "Yeah."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You've been saying that since you were fourteen."
Her smile faltered.
He leaned against the counter. "You know, space is healthy. But only if it's not hiding something."
Her throat tightened.
"I don't want to mess things up," she admitted quietly.
"With who?"
She didn't answer.
He didn't need her to.
"You think loving someone guarantees losing them," he said softly.
Her eyes snapped to his.
"How—"
"I've seen it before," he replied. "In you."
The words landed gently, not accusing.
"Eli's leaving," she whispered.
"Yes."
"And what if he doesn't come back the same?"
Mr. Callahan smiled slightly. "People always come back different. That's not the question."
"Then what is?"
"Whether you'd rather lose him without trying… or risk it."
The kitchen felt smaller.
Warmer.
Harder to breathe in.
"You don't get many people in life who feel like home," he added quietly. "Don't let fear convince you that protecting yourself is the same as being strong."
Her eyes burned.
She nodded once.
But courage didn't arrive instantly.
It never did.
—
Meanwhile, Eli was changing too.
Not cold.
Not cruel.
Just… redirecting.
He spent more time at practice.
More time researching housing.
More time out with friends.
He wasn't avoiding her.
He was preparing.
Preparing to leave.
Preparing to survive it.
And every time she saw him choosing something that wasn't her—
It hurt.
—
One night, she heard laughter from the living room.
Real laughter.
She stepped into the hallway quietly.
Eli was on the couch, video chatting with future classmates.
Talking about dorms. Orientation. New beginnings.
He looked excited.
Alive.
Unburdened.
She realized something then.
He was building a version of himself that didn't revolve around waiting for her.
And she didn't know where she fit in it.
He glanced up and noticed her.
For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes.
Old warmth.
Old softness.
But it faded quickly.
"I'll call you guys back," he said into the phone.
The screen went dark.
Silence filled the room.
"You seem happy," she said carefully.
"I am."
That shouldn't have hurt.
But it did.
"I'm glad," she managed.
He studied her face.
"You don't look glad."
"I just…" She exhaled shakily. "I didn't realize how real it was until now."
He leaned back against the couch.
"It's always been real."
Three months.
The countdown pressed against her ribs.
"Eli," she said softly.
He waited.
And for once, he didn't interrupt.
Didn't rescue her from her own hesitation.
She had to do this herself.
"I don't want you to leave thinking I didn't care."
His expression shifted slightly.
"I never thought that."
"But I was scared," she admitted. "And I pushed you away because it felt safer than losing you."
He stood slowly.
The space between them felt fragile again.
"I know," he said.
"Do you?" she whispered.
He looked at her for a long moment.
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
This was the edge.
The place where something could change.
Or remain broken.
"I don't know how to stop being scared," she confessed.
He stepped closer.
Not fully closing the distance.
But enough.
"Then maybe," he said quietly, "you stop waiting until you're not."
Her heart pounded.
Three months.
And suddenly, it didn't feel like time was the enemy.
Fear was.
He walked past her toward the hallway.
Paused.
And added softly—
"I'm not gone yet."
Then he disappeared into his room.
Leaving her standing there with a choice.
Not about love.
Not about distance.
But about courage.