Adrian.
I did not leave because I wanted to. I left because staying would have ruined her.
The day I resigned, I chose not to linger or allow myself to think because I knew that if I did, I might not leave at all.
My colleague had tried to dissuade me from leaving the country.
"You do know you can get a job in any school of your choice in this country, right?" the man said. "You are a high-demand teacher, Adrian. You rejected being a professor because you thought you were too young to become one. New Savors College is weeping to have lost you. And I'm pretty sure they would have expelled the student instead if that wouldn't raise an unfairness alarm."
"That is exactly what I do not want. I want Lilac to finish her studies."
"Why are you protecting her anyway?"
"Because I've fallen in love with her, and I can't bear to see her in pain."
My colleague scoffed hard. "If you love her, you won't leave the country at all. You'd stay to continue your relationship with her."
"I can't." Yes, I truly couldn't
"Why?" The man slid his fingers into his hair. "Gods, you're growing harder to understand by the minute, man."
He didn't understand. Even if I explained it to him, he would not understand that continuing my relationship with Lilac would drag her through more scrutiny. More questions. More judgment.
I refused to let her carry that much weight any longer. I had to disappear. And I had to do it quietly and completely.
The first week without her was unbearable. I caught myself reaching for my phone more times than I could count.
I had to stop myself every time. No contact should mean no contact, even if it hurt.
I thought about Lilac constantly. The way she challenged me, the way she looked at me with both admiration and understanding, the way she had stood in that office and refused to let me take the blame alone.
Those memories stayed with me. They haunted me because they reminded me that she had chosen me and I left anyway.
But I had to give her one gift—a gift of hope that one day we might find our way to each other.
So I reached out to a friend who was the son of a dean in the National School of Art and Science, Rockland. I made the dean an offer—if he would find and approve Lilac's application to his faculty, I would do a few pressing research projects in his faculty for free.
He agreed, thankfully, and sent a timely response to Lilac. I had hoped she received the gift with good faith. I hoped it helped her through the pain I must have put her through, a pain that reflected back to me and lingered for months until it became unbearable.
So I picked my phone one day without thinking twice and typed 'I'm sorry.'
I didn't waste any time sending it so as not to dissuade myself. But I knew those words alone weren't enough.
Months passed. Then a year. Then… two years.
I'd built a new life in Rockland. The research went on until I got approved to be a scholar and an associate professor of the National School of Art and Science.
New job. New routine. But nothing feels as satisfying as it did when I was with Lilac.
Then, I would start a new day with a big smile on my face knowing she was always there. Now, we're divided by a whole ocean and the large weight of emotions and mixed feelings.
Some nights, I wondered if she hated me. Other nights, I hoped she did.
It's only fair that I disgust her after what I did to her.
She must have wondered for nights why I cut off all contacts with her, why I didn't check on her once.
One question must have played over and over in her head. Whose fault was it that I left? Did she do something wrong? Did she say something unpleasing?
If only she knew it had nothing to do with her. But how do I start explaining it to her? I wouldn't forgive myself if I were her.
How do I start telling her that I left to protect her, that I didn't contact her because I didn't want to risk her healing, and that I never stopped thinking about her… not once?
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While crosschecking the list of names that will intern in the NSAS under me, I find a name that squelches the soft spot of my heart.
The latter starts to beat, rapidly, losing rhythm. Now I fear anyone who walks into my office would catch my chest rising.
I quickly close the book, grasping onto the edge of my desk. She's to arrive in a week, but I didn't plan we'd meet this way… not as superior and subordinate again.
When I made that offer to the dean years ago, I did not think I would end up as an associate professor or that Lilac would end up under my supervision. But fate has turned things around again, and who knows what it's leading to.
I check Lilac's image on my laptop. Now I can't help wondering how much she must have changed—emotionally, physically, intellectually… every aspect. And I'm very certain most of those changes would have been influenced by pain.
I'm eager to meet her again, though since I never got a reply to my apology, I'm very certain I will be meeting a pissed Lilac.
I don't mind her screaming at me or even taking a hit at me. I just hope she forgives me even though I don't deserve a pinch of forgiveness.
But first of all I have to take care of the situation at hand. I have to make sure we don't end up in the same position we found ourselves two years ago.
Song I listened to:
Stay (Jeff Satur)