The photograph appeared on my phone at 10:17 on a Thursday night, and for several seconds I honestly thought I had opened the wrong account.
Chapter 2
At first, healing was ugly.
I cried in the shower.
I cried after midnight.
I cried once in the cereal aisle because somebody nearby was wearing Felix’s cologne.
Then the crying became less frequent.
I studied.
I picked up extra coursework.
I started eating dinner with my roommates instead of leaving meals early whenever Felix called.
I went entire afternoons without wondering where he was.
Eventually, I went whole days.
Then one morning, my roommate Sarah burst into our room laughing.
“You’re famous.”
I looked up from my laptop.
“What did I do?”
She shoved her phone at me.
Our university had an anonymous student confession page.
Someone had posted:
Claire Bennett, second-year economics. I, Mason Callahan, have decided you’re the girl for me.
I stared at it.
“That may be the worst pickup line I’ve ever seen.”
Sarah grinned.
“Oh, he’s cute.”
“That doesn’t improve the sentence.”
I assumed it was a prank.
It wasn’t.
Mason started appearing outside the library.
The first time, he held a grape tea from the café I liked.
“This is for you.”
“No, thank you.”
“I already bought it.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
He smiled.
“Then send me the money.”
He held out his phone.
I narrowed my eyes.
“That is an elaborate way to get my number.”
“It worked.”
Against my better judgment, I laughed.
Mason was younger than me by a year and studying engineering. He was good-looking in an effortless way, with dark hair that never stayed neatly combed and a smile that appeared mostly in his eyes.
But what I noticed first was not his appearance.
It was restraint.
He did not flood me with messages.
He did not demand replies.
He liked an occasional post and sent an occasional joke.
When I said I was busy, he believed me.
When I said no, he did not pout.
Eventually, his presence stopped feeling like pursuit and started feeling comfortable.
One afternoon we were studying together when I asked why he had chosen our university.
His test scores could have taken him somewhere more prestigious.
He looked suddenly embarrassed.
“Someone I liked was here.”
I stared at him.
“Me?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Maybe.”
“That confession-page post was really yours?”
“No. My roommates wrote that.”
“Thank God.”
He looked offended.
“I could have written something better.”
“That remains unproven.”
He laughed.
I realized later that afternoon that I had gone almost a week without thinking about Felix.
Mason began finding small ways into my life.
If he brought breakfast, he brought enough for my roommates.
If I mentioned wanting to get away from campus, he would ask whether I wanted to drive to a nearby lake or bookstore.
Nothing felt like a transaction.
Then came the strawberry cake.
There was a bakery near my childhood home that made one particular six-inch strawberry cake I had loved since I was little.
It was expensive.
My mother bought one only on my birthday.
As a teenager, I used to stop outside the window and stare.
Felix knew.
“Next time,” he always said. “I’ll get you one.”
Next birthday.
Next semester.
Next year.
There was always a reason he forgot.
One evening in college, I made a casual post saying I was craving that cake.
Two hours later, Mason appeared outside my dorm carrying a white bakery box.
I stared at the logo.
“You went all the way there?”
He was breathing hard.
“I saw your post late.”
“Mason, that bakery is almost an hour away.”
“I know.”
“They close at five.”
“I know that too.”
He smiled sheepishly.
“The owner was locking the door when I got there. I begged.”
I looked down at the box.
My eyes filled.
Mason immediately panicked.
“Wait. Why are you crying?”
I laughed through the tears.
“I’m not upset.”
“Did I get the wrong flavor?”
“No.”
“I should’ve asked Sarah.”
“Mason.”
“I swear, if they messed it up—”
I touched his wrist.
He stopped.
For years, Felix had told me he would eventually do something simple.
Mason had seen one sentence online and driven two hours round-trip without being asked.
That difference reached somewhere deep inside me.
“So this is what it feels like,” I whispered.
“What?”
“To have somebody actually do the thing instead of promising it.”
Mason became very still.
I looked at him.
“You really like me, don’t you?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Claire, I drove across town and argued with a bakery owner over strawberries.”
I smiled.
“Good point.”
He shifted nervously.
Then I said, “Congratulations.”
“For what?”
“You have a girlfriend.”
For once, Mason Callahan was completely speechless.
Then he smiled so broadly I started laughing.
That night, he posted a photograph of us.
Let me introduce you to my girlfriend.
He tagged me.
I replied, Hello.
Thirty seconds later, he messaged.
Miss Bennett, unacceptable.
What?
The appropriate response is hello, boyfriend.
So I posted a photograph of him.
Let me introduce you to my boyfriend.
His comment appeared almost instantly.
Hello, girlfriend.
I smiled at my phone.
Then another notification appeared.
Friend request: Felix Harper.
I stared at it for a moment.
The pain that used to accompany his name was gone.
So I accepted.
His message arrived immediately.
You’re dating someone?
Yes.
Who?
Mason Callahan.
Why didn’t you tell me?
I looked at the question.
Months earlier, I would have searched it for jealousy, regret, hidden affection.
Now it simply irritated me.
We haven’t spoken in months, I replied. Hope you’re doing well.
Then I put my phone away.
Mason arrived at the café carrying two coffees.
“Everything okay?”
“An old ghost.”
He sat across from me.
“Felix?”
I blinked.
“How do you know?”
“Sarah talks.”
“Traitor.”
“And you make a particular face when you’re annoyed.”
“What face?”
“The same one you make when the cafeteria serves meatloaf.”
I laughed.
“He saw our post.”
Mason nodded.
“He asked who you were?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“That’s it?”
“What else should I say?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
Mason reached across the table and tapped my forehead gently.
“Let him know the standards changed.”
Then he pushed my coffee toward me.
And that was that.
There was no jealousy.
No interrogation.
No demand that I prove Felix meant nothing.
Mason trusted what I had chosen.
The difference between them was not dramatic.
It was quieter.
Felix had made me prove love by usefulness.
Mason seemed happiest when I did not have to prove anything at all.
I did not fully understand how much that mattered until the first winter storm.
Mason got sick.
He texted that his throat hurt.
Without thinking, I put on boots and a heavy coat and started walking toward the pharmacy.
Snow was coming down hard.
Campus had issued an ice warning.
Sarah stared at me.
“Where are you going?”
“Mason needs medicine.”
“Claire, there’s a blizzard.”
“I’ve done worse.”
That was true.
I once walked through a thunderstorm to bring Felix an umbrella he forgot.
He took it, thanked me, and left with his friends.
I walked home soaked.
I reached the dorm entrance when Mason called.
“Where are you?”
“Heading to the pharmacy.”
There was a pause.
“You’re outside?”
“Just stepped out.”
“Go back in.”
“You need cough medicine.”
“I have two legs and three roommates.”
“Mason—”
“Claire.”
His voice was gentle but firm.
“I am not whoever made you think you have to freeze in a storm to be worth loving.”
I stopped.
Snow blew across the sidewalk.
“I don’t mind.”
“I do.”
My throat tightened.
“If my girlfriend walks through ice because I have a sore throat, I’m going to feel like an idiot. Go upstairs. Make hot chocolate. FaceTime me in ten minutes.”
I stepped back inside.
When I returned to our room, Sarah looked at me.
“He sent you back?”
I nodded.
She closed her laptop.
“You know you don’t have to earn your place with him, right?”
That sentence broke something open.
I sat on my bed and cried.
But not because I missed Felix.
I cried because I finally understood how exhausted I had been.
