Chapter 129
Summer's POV
The silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward. Lily looked between us uncertainly, her small face creasing with worry.
"I was just showing Summer my Valentine's cards," she said in a small voice, as if she needed to explain herself.
"I saw." Kieran's eyes hadn't left my face, and there was something hard in his expression that made my chest tighten. "That's nice. But it's late. You need to get to bed."
"But—"
"Now, Lily." His voice was firm but not unkind, though I could hear the edge of exhaustion in it.
Lily's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Okay." She turned back to the camera and waved sadly at me, her earlier excitement completely deflated. "Bye, Summer. Thank you for calling me."
"Of course, sweetie. Sleep well." I tried to smile, but it felt strained. "Sweet dreams."
Lily scrambled off screen, and I heard her footsteps padding away down the hall, then the sound of a door closing softly. I expected Kieran to just hang up, to end the call without another word, the way he'd been ending everything between us lately.
But he didn't.
Instead, he reached out and picked up the tablet, angling it so I could see his face more clearly. We stared at each other through the screen, and the weight of everything unsaid pressed down on my chest like a physical thing.
He looked terrible. Not just tired—hollowed out, like he was running on nothing but willpower and stubbornness. His eyes were dark and flat, that careful mask he wore when he was trying not to feel anything. The dim light from his room cast shadows under his cheekbones, making him look gaunt.
"You didn't have to call," he said finally. His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it much today.
Something inside me snapped.
"Are you serious right now?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but I was so tired of this—tired of him pushing me away, tired of pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn't. "I called to talk to your sister. To make her Valentine's Day a little less lonely. And that's what you have to say to me?"
His jaw tightened. "I didn't mean—"
"What did you mean, then?" I sat up straighter, my hands clenching into fists on my comforter. "Because honestly, Kieran, I have no idea anymore. One minute you're—you're there, you're present, you actually seem to care. And the next minute you're pushing me away like I'm some kind of inconvenience you can't wait to get rid of."
"That's not—"
"Then what is it?" My voice rose, and I didn't care. All the frustration I'd been swallowing for weeks came pouring out. "Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like every time I try to get close to you, every time I think we're actually connecting, you find some new way to shut me out. You won't talk to me at school. You barely look at me in physics class. And now I can't even call your sister without you making it sound like I'm doing something wrong?"
"I never said you were doing something wrong." His voice was tight, controlled, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand gripped the tablet a little too hard.
"You didn't have to say it. It's written all over your face." I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. I wasn't going to cry. Not now. "You know what? I'm tired of this. I'm tired of trying to figure out what I did to make you hate me so much."
"I don't hate you." The words came out strangled, like they'd been torn from somewhere deep inside him.
"Then why won't you talk to me?" My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "Why won't you let me in? I thought—after the library, after we studied together, I thought things were different. I thought we were friends, at least. But you can't even stand to be in the same room with me anymore."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" I laughed, but it sounded bitter even to my own ears. "Name one time in the past week you've voluntarily talked to me. One time you didn't look like you wanted to be anywhere else but near me."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The silence that followed was answer enough.
"That's what I thought." I reached for my phone, ready to end the call, to stop this conversation before I said something I couldn't take back or before the tears I was holding back finally spilled over.
"Wait." His voice was quiet but urgent. "Summer, please. Just—wait."
I hesitated, my finger hovering over the screen. "Why should I?"
"Because I—" He stopped, and for the first time since we'd started talking, the careful mask on his face cracked. He looked away from the camera, his throat working. "Because you're right. About all of it."
The admission caught me off guard. I lowered my phone slowly.
"I have been avoiding you," he continued, still not meeting my eyes. "And I know it's not fair. I know I'm confusing you, and I know I'm hurting you, and I—" He broke off, his hand coming up to rub his face. "God, Summer. I'm so tired."
The raw exhaustion in his voice made something in my chest twist. My anger didn't disappear, but it softened slightly around the edges.
"Then tell me why," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just tell me what's going on. Please."
He was quiet for a long moment, and I watched the play of emotions across his face—conflict, fear, something that looked almost like longing. Finally, he looked back at the camera.
"I'm not trying to avoid you," he said slowly, like each word cost him something. "I have... reasons. Things I can't explain yet. It's not about you, it's—" He stopped, his jaw clenching. "I just can't say more right now. But I need you to know it's not because I don't care. It's because I do."
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. I wanted to push, to demand a real explanation, but something in his expression stopped me. He looked so tired, so worn down, like he was barely holding himself together.
"Okay," I said finally, my voice softer now. "I don't understand, but... okay."
His shoulders sagged slightly, relief flickering across his face. We sat in silence for a moment, the tension between us easing slightly but not disappearing entirely.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable. The anger had burned itself out, leaving behind something more fragile. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
I bit my lip, then forced myself to meet his eyes through the screen. "Did you... did you think my dress was pretty? Today, I mean. At school."
He went very still. The silence stretched so long I thought he might not answer at all. Then, slowly, a faint flush crept up his neck, coloring his cheekbones.
"Yes," he said quietly, his voice rough. "It was beautiful. You were beautiful."
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. "Really?"
"Really." He looked down, and the flush deepened. "You always are, but today—" He stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. "The pink looked good on you. It made you look... soft. Happy."
Warmth bloomed in my chest, chasing away the last remnants of anger. "Thank you," I said softly. "I wore it because... well, because I wanted to look nice. For Valentine's Day."
His eyes flickered up to meet mine, and something passed between us that I couldn't quite name. The air felt charged suddenly, electric in a way that made my skin feel too tight.
"Summer, I..." He trailed off, then seemed to make a decision. "I actually prepared something. For you. For today."