Skye

All names, places, and events mentioned are imaginary.

Standard Warning : It is a love story inspired by real world scenarios. There is no sex. If there is, anyone indulging consenting adult.

Standard Apology : English is not my first language. I apologise in advance for the mistakes that you see. Written and self-edited in MS Word.

Skye

Chapter 1

I am not beautiful. Never was -- never will be. But I'm pleasant and nice. I can empathize with boys who say, "Nice men finish last." So do nice women.

I have soft brown hair that I prefer to keep tied back, pale skin that burns too easily in the sun, shy brown eyes hidden behind plain glasses, and an ordinary figure -- okay, I admit it, I'm a bit overweight. Not too much.

I'm the kind of girl who looks "nice" in any setting, but never turns heads.

My dressing sense isn't great either. I copy my mom -- she dresses for comfort. At home, it's cotton shirts and worn slippers. When going out (rarely), she favors conservative dresses and long skirts. My dad likes her that way.

I had very few friends growing up, and even they were like me. Maybe I was never meant to be exciting. Maybe books and quiet kitchens are where I belong. Maybe I'm just my mother's daughter, after all.

I feel guilty sometimes -- my parents have invested so much in me, believing I'd shine brighter than they ever could. Both teachers. Both underpaid. They poured everything into me. And I wanted to prove they were right.

University was supposed to be my escape. I imagined freedom and success. Possibly love. But I ended up lonelier than ever.

I chose Computer Science -- ambitious, maybe. I'm one of just five girls in a class of seventy-five. So much for feminism. STEM still scares most girls off, I suppose.

But being a girl in a sea of boys has its own advantages. For me, it was a curse. I'm constantly -- politely -- pursued. It makes me wonder: I am no catch at all. It makes me nervous. Occasionally, I'm awkwardly harassed, which makes me scared. I distrust compliments. I avoid group hangouts. I keep to myself.

And it's not just the people. The coursework is harder than I imagined. I like studying -- I always have -- but coding? It just doesn't click. Everyone around me seems to breeze through. I'm stuck staring at the screen, wondering what's wrong with me.

Maybe I don't belong here after all.

Chapter 2

I ended up partnered with Dillon for the semester's major project -- not because I wanted to, but because all the other girls avoided me. That stung more than I wanted to admit. Being avoided again, like some unwanted shadow, only added to the loneliness I was already fighting.

Dillon was good-looking, sure, but pushy from the start. The moment we were assigned partners, he suggested we meet in his dorm room to "work without interruptions." I said no. I wasn't looking for privacy -- just a quiet place to get the project done. I proposed the library instead. He agreed at first, but soon began pressuring me to come to his room, hinting it would be "more convenient" -- and something more, though he never said it outright. I kept resisting.

The first presentation -- the introduction and the project idea -- was a disaster. I struggled. No, I sucked. The professor wasn't convinced at all and fired off questions that left me stumbling. Dillon, instead of supporting me, cruelly blamed me for our poor showing. Then, as if the humiliation wasn't enough, he made a disgusting proposal:

"Maybe we should even things out... you know, sleep together. Now I'll have to work harder to pull up the grades."

I was stunned. Disgusted. I refused him outright. In hindsight, I should have complained to the TA. His eyes darkened, and he accused me of being a "zero contributor." The next day, he pushed to have me removed as his partner.

I was left alone again -- not just lonely, but crushed.

And I wondered: how did I even get here?

Chapter 3

Out of pity -- or maybe because he just had no other options -- the TA paired me with Skyler. Everyone called him the "creepy, aloof boy." Even other guys avoided him like he was some kind of ghost.

At first, I didn't get why. Skyler kept glancing at girls during class, and not in a smooth way. More like a deer caught in headlights -- too long, too stiff. People whispered he was weird, but I saw something else: nervousness, maybe even fear. I didn't know then that he was painfully shy, probably on the spectrum or something like that. It explained why he didn't know how to "look normal." His awkward stares made people uncomfortable -- including me -- but I started to feel sorry for him instead of judging.

Skyler respected my boundaries from day one. He insisted we meet only in public places -- the library, the park -- no dorm rooms, no privacy that felt unsafe. He always carried that heavy laptop everywhere, like a shield or a weapon.

He was blunt and socially awkward. Once, when I fumbled through some code, he didn't sugarcoat it.

"You're terrible at this," he said flatly.

I almost cried. But then, unexpectedly, he made a suggestion that surprised me:

"You test. You document. I code."

It was simple. He always spoke his mind -- without thinking, I reckon.

We met often in the library. Our conversations stayed strictly about the project. Code this. Test that. Did you write the documentation? Did you review the module? Never anything beyond the work in front of us. But something strange began to happen in those silences between tasks. The air between us stopped feeling awkward. Just... quiet. Comfortable.

Sometimes, he'd make a weird, deadpan joke I didn't quite understand -- and I'd surprise myself by laughing anyway. Sometimes I'd catch him staring again, but it felt different now -- not creepy, just... unsure. Like he was still trying to figure out if I was real.

And I started to realize -- Skyler never once interrupted me. Never talked over me. Never made me feel small or stupid. He never called me "sweetie" or "babe" or "princess."

He just... respected me.

And in a world full of people who didn't even bother to look at me twice, that felt extraordinary.

Our project was one of the best in the class. Bug-free. Absolutely clean. The professor actually smiled when he handed back our report.

A+.

My first ever.

I clutched the grade sheet like it might disappear if I blinked.

But after that -- nothing.

No message. No thank you. No "we made a good team." He didn't even meet my eyes in class. It was like I'd imagined the whole thing. Or worse -- like he regretted it.

I tried not to care. I told myself it was fine. It was just a project. He didn't owe me anything.

But a tiny part of me felt hollow.

Like something I hadn't even realized was blooming had suddenly been pulled out by the roots.

Chapter 4

Angie, my roommate, was one of the few people who saw me -- really saw me. She was an attractive girl. She had this way of being blunt without being unkind, and I think that's why I listened to her when she said,

"You've gotta put yourself out there, Skye. I'm serious. It's time."

I tried to smile. I wasn't sure if she meant it like a battle cry or encouragement.

She helped set up a couple of dates for me.

The first date was at a loud party. Everyone looked like they'd stepped out of a music video -- sharp clothes, sharper smiles. I felt like I was dressed for a different century.

I had chosen a pale floral dress -- safe, soft, a little vintage maybe. Something Mom might've called "sweet." Angie had helped me with light makeup and even curled my hair. I thought I looked... nice.

Jared looked me up and down and said, with a grin,

"Wow. You look like my aunt at family reunions."

I laughed awkwardly, even though it stung. He was disappointed by my looks.

He didn't offer to get me a drink. He wandered off halfway through my sentence.

By the end of the night, I was sitting alone on the back porch, trying not to cry and texting Angie that I'd gone home early.

Phil was smoother. He smiled like he meant it and made me feel, for maybe half an hour, like I belonged on the same wavelength as everyone else. But something shifted halfway through the coffee. He leaned in too close. His hand on my knee didn't move when I stiffened.

When I said I wasn't comfortable, he tried to laugh it off, like I was being dramatic.

I managed to leave. I don't remember how. The cold air outside hit me like a slap, and I didn't stop shaking until I got back to the dorm.

Angie didn't push me for dates after that.

But she said gently,

"Skye... the world's not like the one you grew up in. I'm not saying that's fair -- it isn't. But if you stay exactly who you are, you'll have to fight harder. Or..."

She hesitated.

I finished the sentence for her in my head:

Or change.

I didn't say anything out loud. I just stared at the ceiling, my throat tight.

The thing was --

I didn't want to change. Not for them. Not for this.

Chapter 5

The university's annual Corporate Tech Event was the biggest deal of the semester -- especially for someone in Computer Science. Companies lined up to sponsor coding competitions and tech challenges, and those who placed well -- not necessarily won -- often landed job offers even before placement season began.

I wasn't even thinking of signing up. I knew my limits, and they ended well before competitive coding began. There were first-year students who could out-code me with one hand and a blindfold.

So I was surprised -- genuinely stunned -- to see Skyler waiting outside my class one afternoon.

He stood there stiffly, holding his laptop bag like a shield.

"Hi, Skye. My name is Skyler. We did a project together last semester..." he started, in that twitchy, half-stammering way of his.

I blinked. "I know you, Skyler. We attend many classes together. How are you?"

His eyes widened. "You remember my name? Oh wow. I... Do you have a few minutes? I need to propose you. I mean-- not propose you--"

Someone walking past laughed. I wanted to sink into the floor. Skyler, mortified, rushed on: "I have a proposal. For the coding event. That I wanted to discuss. With you."

We ended up in one of the quieter corners of the park -- a place where nobody could overhear him stumbling through words, and I didn't have to pretend I wasn't embarrassed.

"Thanks for coming," he said, then winced. "I mean coming-- not cumming--"

He cut himself off, eyes wide with horror. "Sorry. I'll just talk about the code now."

He pulled out his laptop like a lifeline.

"I wrote this algorithm a while back. I've been refining it -- and I think it's finally ready. But I don't want to enter the event alone."

"I don't code well, Skyler. You know that," I said gently, already bracing to decline.

"I'm not asking you to code. You are not good at it, I know." Then he added quickly, seeing my face. "It's the part I can't do that I need help with."

"What part?"

"You test my code," he said simply. "You're really good at it."

At first, I didn't respond. His eyes weren't quite meeting mine -- kind of staring at the space near my shoulder.

Was he staring at my boobs? They are big, I know, but it was creepy as hell.

"I'm not sure..." I began.

"But you are," he interrupted -- his voice unusually steady. "Remember our project? There were other groups with good code. Ours was the only one that caught all the bugs. We got that A+ because of you. It wasn't just clean code. It was perfect code."

No one had ever said something like that to me. Not a professor. Not even my parents. And I could tell -- from the way he fidgeted and swallowed between words -- that he meant it. Skyler wasn't charming. But he saw me -- not as a girl to impress, or flirt with, or ignore -- but as someone whose work mattered.

I said yes.

We started meeting regularly -- in all the quiet places where Skyler seemed most at ease: tucked-away library tables, sun-dappled park benches, empty bleachers when there were no matches on.

We still didn't talk much outside of project work. Our conversations were mostly bug reports and logic checks. But I started noticing things -- small, awkward gestures that didn't fit his reputation.

He'd bring me coffee. My coffee. With two creams and two sugars, just how I liked it. He offered me water bottles when I coughed -- too quickly, sometimes, like he'd been waiting for a cue.

And the emails. Long, over-formal things with subject lines like "Formal Appreciation for Collaboration."

I once received a six-paragraph thank-you for updating a comment in his code.

Then there were his verbal fumbles. Oh, the fumbles.

"The code's getting top-heavy. I'll restructure it... maybe make the top section lighter so it loads faster. Like... topless."

A pause. His face froze in horror.

"I mean the code, not you. Not anyone. I mean... okay I'll shut up."

It was infuriating.

And a little funny.

And... kind of sweet?

I didn't know what to make of him.

Chapter 6

Skyler's project made it into the Top 5 finalists of the Corporate Tech Event -- a really big deal, given the class of competition. No one had expected it. Not the professors. Not the other students. Not even Skyler himself.

He wasn't exactly known for brilliance. Most people called him "average," or worse, "creepy." He wanted to include my name as a co-author. I said no -- I hadn't written a single line of code. I wasn't about to take credit. That wasn't who I was.

He didn't win, but his algorithm generated a lot of buzz during the event. And when he walked up to the stage -- smile too wide, foot tapping in odd little bursts -- he looked like he had. The certificate trembled slightly in his hand. So did the cheque.

"Skye," he beamed. "I got five hundred dollars. Can I feed you for your efforts?"

Then he paused, visibly panicked. "I mean lunch you. I mean -- take you to lunch."

I couldn't help it -- I nodded. I'd spent hours testing that code. I'd earned a sandwich, at the very least.

"Thanks," he said, scratching his neck. "I would have invited you for dinner, but that might seem weird. Like I'm asking you on a date or something." He chuckled awkwardly. I left him to stew in whatever that meant.

Angie, of course, had opinions.

"That guy's a creep, Skye. Why do you even talk to him? No normal girl would look at him twice."

"It's just lunch," I said. "I worked hard."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, don't come crying to me if he ends up touching you. Or himself. During the date."

I groaned. "We're going to a crowded café, Angie. I'm pretty sure if anything happens, the mob will be on my side."

We laughed. But it wasn't all funny.

The truth? I was still lonely. And part of me craved connection -- even if it came from someone like Skyler.

It started out... surprisingly okay.

Skyler showed up dressed decently, if a little overdressed for a sandwich shop. He was tense, but I noticed he spoke slower than usual -- like he was actively thinking before letting words out. I appreciated that. Maybe he did understand how often his mouth made things worse.

We ordered simple -- burgers, fries, and sodas. I wasn't picky. I didn't need fancy.

"I wasn't sure if you'd like Chinese or Thai or something," he said. "So I picked this place. We can go somewhere else next time if you want."

He was already planning for the next time? Wow.

"This is great," I smiled. "Simple food makes me happy."

His shoulders relaxed. "This place is kind of my go-to," he said. "The hostess treats me well. I mean... she ignores when I say something stupid."

I smiled politely. He gestured subtly toward the server bringing us drinks. "Not her, though."

I glanced over. Our waitress was probably pushing sixty. Stern face. No-nonsense.

"Ah," I said. "I can never remember waiters anyway. I'm bad with faces."

"Same," he agreed. "But I use other features. For example... this hostess has much bigger boobs--"

He stopped. Too late.

The air shifted -- sharp and silent. My smile dropped. My appetite did too.

I didn't say anything. Neither did he. Not right away.

He looked down at his burger like it might save him.

My thoughts tangled. I didn't know if it was just a slip. Or if this was who he was underneath the weird charm -- another guy with one eye on the code and the other... lower.

I finished my food quickly, every bite tasting duller than the last.

"I just remembered," I said, standing. "I've got some work I need to wrap up."

He started apologizing -- tripping over words again. But the moment had cracked something open inside me. Something raw. Something I didn't want to name.

And honestly? A little hurt.

I had wanted to believe he was harmless. But now I wasn't sure.

When I got back, Angie didn't say anything. She didn't gloat or scold or smirk.

She just hugged me. Her eyes asked if I was okay.

I wasn't. Not really.

I had wanted to be seen. Not just noticed.

But maybe Skyler wasn't looking at me at all.

Chapter 7

After the lunch disaster, I didn't speak to Skyler for months. He tried approaching me once, near the library steps -- half-wave, half-apology on his face.

I turned and walked the other way.

He got the message.

Thankfully, we had no more group projects. No shared classes either. Avoiding him became easy. Easy and necessary.

I finished the term with average grades and no job offers from the career fair. No interviews. No callbacks.

It didn't feel like failure, not at first. More like something quieter. A slow deflation. Like all the ordinary fears I'd been trying to outrun had finally caught up with me -- and instead of crashing into me, they just sat there, heavy and patient.

Maybe I should've stayed in my town. Studied at the community college. Saved my parents the money, the hope, the long-distance pride. The illusion.

Then came Convocation Day.

My parents were there -- beaming, proud, tearful. They didn't mention the job hunt. Not once. But I saw the flicker in their eyes, that quiet, worried question they didn't ask out loud.

Still, their daughter had a degree. That was enough. At least for today.

As we waited for the ceremony to begin, I saw Skyler.

To my surprise, he looked... not bad. Slightly wrinkled suit, but the hair was combed, the posture practiced. His family stood nearby -- too many people, too much noise, like they'd been plucked out of a sitcom and dropped into the auditorium. Loud laughs. Photos from every angle. Calling his name like it was a rodeo.

It was chaotic. But oddly... warm.

When he spotted me, he walked over.

"Hello Skye. I am Skyler. We did a project toge..." he started, like he was rehearsing some bizarre introduction.

"I know, Skyler. We've had classes together."

"Oh, you remember me. Great. I mean... congrats on finishing university."

His smile was careful. Contained. Like he was trying not to be himself.

"Thanks, Skyler. You too."

Then -- awkward as ever -- he turned to my parents.

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Larsson. I'm Skyler. Skyler Lawson. I'm the weirdo she had to work with."

My parents smiled politely. Said nothing.

Skyler pressed on. "So, where are you planning to work?"

I hesitated. "I don't have any offers yet. What about you?"

"Oh. I got a few," he said, like it was no big deal. "Being a finalist in that coding competition really helped. So... thanks again for your help back then."

I nodded. Even he had offers. Plural.

And then -- barely audible -- he muttered, "Maybe you shouldn't have joined tech."

The words hit like a slap.

I blinked. For a moment, I wasn't sure I'd heard him right.

But the way he looked down, unsure and twitchy, told me I had.

Something inside me snapped.

"Wow," I said, my voice sharp and cold. "You really couldn't be more misogynistic, could you?"

He opened his mouth. Started to stammer. Too late.

I turned, grabbed my parents' arms, and walked away.

I didn't want this day -- this one moment of recognition -- to end with me crying in a bathroom stall.

Not today.

Chapter 8

I moved back in with my parents.

Back to my quiet, familiar childhood room -- the one with faded posters and a closet full of clothes that no longer fit -- dragging the weight of failure behind me like an invisible suitcase.

Not getting a job crushed something fundamental in me. Something I thought I had -- potential, maybe. Direction. Value.

My parents were kind. Understanding. Gentle in their concern. But that only made it worse. Their kindness was a spotlight. It lit up everything I hadn't become.

I started applying everywhere. Big tech. Small startups. Unpaid internships. I even considered a part-time teaching role at the local community college -- lecturing half-interested teenagers about loops and conditionals. The pay was tiny, but at least I'd contribute something. Maybe that was all I was meant for. Something small. Simple. Contained.

Then one evening, an email pinged.

From Skyler.

It was stiff and awkward -- like a written version of him -- riddled with typos and strange phrasing. But I got the gist.

He said he had to "creepily Google around" to find me. That alone should've made me block him. But then he mentioned a job opening -- a Quality Assurance role at his company.

"It's perfect for someone like you," he wrote. "They don't care about technical brilliance, so you'll be fine."

If I hadn't been desperate, I would've flipped him off through the screen.

But I was desperate.

So I called. "Hi, Skyler. This is Skye."

A pause. Then: "Oh hi, Skye! I'm Skyler. We studied together--"

"I remember you, Skyler." I kept my voice even. "Can you tell me more about the job?"

"Oh! You remember. Great. Thanks. Uh, yeah -- there's an opening in our QA team. They're looking for someone solid. Detail-oriented." He cleared his throat. "I told them about you. They seemed interested."

Another pause. Then, like he was trying to be reassuring: "It's a different team from mine, so you wouldn't have to, like, deal with me or anything. It's mostly older women, so... you'll like it."

He let out a nervous laugh -- then stopped abruptly, maybe realizing how weird that sounded.

I asked a few more questions. This time, he answered seriously. No awkward jokes. No backhanded compliments. Just the details -- the manager's name, the responsibilities, the pay.

When we hung up, I sat staring at the wall.

Maybe it was risky. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe I should've been insulted.

But what was I doing here anyway?

Sometimes a drowning person doesn't get to choose who throws them a rope.

Chapter 9

I traveled into the city for the interview.

The interviewer was a director himself -- not very old, sharp suit, firm handshake, easy smile. I'd expected a panel or some HR drone, not someone that high up. But what truly surprised me was what he said halfway through.

"Skyler told me you tested his code for the contest. He showed me your documentation and test cases. Honestly? Very impressive -- especially from a student."

I stared at him, stunned. Skyler had kept my work. He'd shown it to someone.

I didn't know what to say.

If that caught me off guard, the salary offer knocked me flat: $65,000 a year. Plus benefits. Medical. Dental. Possible stock options after three years. Twenty-two days of vacation annually. Maternity leave for three months.

I'd been about to accept a teaching job back home for maybe $38,000 if they were generous.

I said yes immediately. Offered to start the next week.

So I moved back to the city.

As Skyler had said, he was on a different team -- a different floor, even. I never saw him.

I heard things, though. That he'd risen fast. Promotions, praise, awards. A genius in his silo. Just... socially broken.

The job wasn't glamorous, but I liked it. It gave me purpose. Structure. Something to wake up for.

The QA team was almost exactly how Skyler had described -- mostly middle-aged women. Tough. Kind. Gossipy. Fiercely loyal to each other. And, weirdly enough, they adored me. I was new blood -- respectful, curious, hardworking.

Eventually, someone found out I'd studied with Skyler.

I never mentioned he'd recommended me. It felt weird -- like I was cashing in a favor I never asked for.

Still, I was curious. So I asked.

"Skyler? He was kind of aloof in university," I said casually over lunch. "Not harmful. What's the story here?"

Freya, our unofficial social chair, leaned in.

"Avoid men in this company. Especially ones on your team. Never ends well."

Alice, the office sleuth, chimed in. "And definitely stay away from that Skyler. Total creep."

I blinked. "Really? I didn't think he was that bad."

Lana, the oldest and most grounded among us, gave me a look. "He's not just awkward. He's got no sense of boundaries. Makes women uncomfortable. Doesn't even realize it."

They didn't offer details. Just warnings.

And Skyler?

He never came near me.

Even when we passed in the hallway, he'd stiffen like a soldier under inspection, mutter something unintelligible, and scurry off like he was guilty of something.

I never even got to thank him.

Maybe he didn't want me to.

Chapter 10

Stevie was warm. Friendly. Kind in a way that didn't feel performative or forced.

He was about my age and on a different testing team. We first connected over a debugging issue at work -- nothing big, just a normal exchange that slowly grew into casual chats. Then we started having lunch together. Then a weekend coffee here and there. Gradually, it became something more.

I'd always told myself to avoid dating coworkers -- especially after all the warnings I'd heard. But Stevie felt like an exception. He never made me feel self-conscious or small. He didn't push.

We kept things quiet, of course. Neither of us wanted to fuel office gossip. But those stolen moments -- casual lunches, shared glances during team meetings, weekend movie nights -- they became my favorite part of the week.

Eventually, he came as my plus-one to a family function. He met my parents -- and they liked him. I could tell. My mom kept calling him "that sweet boy," and my dad offered him a second helping of pie, which in their language meant full approval.

Later, I met Stevie's mother and sister during a family picnic. At first, his mom looked me up and down like she was inspecting for damage. His sister didn't say much. I could tell they were a bit uneasy -- me, the white girl in their family. But Stevie held my hand the whole time, and by the end of the day, his sister had followed me on both Facebook and Instagram. She even asked me for advice on some university courses.

Physically, I was still hesitant. Things had become a little more intimate -- kisses, long hugs, late-night cuddling, the occasional heated make-out session. But I kept boundaries. I wasn't ready for more, and I still carried fears I hadn't fully unpacked.

Stevie never pushed. "For you, I'll wait, babe," he said once, gently brushing hair from my eyes.

That was the moment I knew I was falling for him.

For the first time in what felt like years, I felt normal.

Like I belonged.

Like I could finally exhale.

Chapter 11

The news spread through the office like spilled coffee -- sudden, hot, impossible to ignore. Skyler had resigned. Whispers filled every corner of the floor.

"He was asked to leave."

"Harassment complaint."

"Cornered her during the offsite and tried to--"

"He's lucky they let him resign. Management just didn't want the press."

No one seemed shocked. Not even remotely. But no one seemed to know the full truth either. The engineers rolled their eyes. The women in Quality muttered, "Finally." His team acted like they'd known all along. No one defended him. Not even those who used to quietly admire his brilliance. Not even the manager who once bragged that Skyler had rewritten an entire module in a weekend.

I stayed quiet.

Skyler. Harassment. Tried to force himself. It didn't sit right.

He was awkward, yes. Always had been. Rarely looked people in the eye. Mumbled. Kept to himself. But that? Socially inept? For sure. Entitled sometimes? Maybe. But predatory?

I remembered how he couldn't even meet my gaze in the hallway. How he flinched and bolted if we accidentally made eye contact, like he was ashamed of something, like he didn't believe he had the right to speak.

And still -- someone said he tried to corner a woman. That he made her feel unsafe.

That's the kind of thing you don't make up.

I didn't know what to believe.

Later, through a web of half-whispers and LinkedIn stalking, I found out who filed the complaint.

Laurie. Sharp, rising star. On Skyler's team. She had a confident laugh, always got invited to product meetings, and the CTO had mentioned her in an all-hands once.

Laurie had nothing to gain by lying. She was already climbing. Already respected.

Which made my doubts feel... dangerous.

I didn't speak of it to anyone.

Skyler disappeared from the company chat groups the next day. His desk was cleared. His codebase reassigned.

Chapter 12

I think I knew something was wrong before I had the words for it. Little things. Missed texts. Last-minute cancellations. A shift in tone -- less warmth, more tolerance. Like he was doing me a favor by showing up.

Then one afternoon, his sister messaged me. Just a short, awkward sentence:

"Skye, you should know Stevie might be seeing someone else too."

She didn't elaborate. She was warning me.

I found the rest myself. Social media makes it too easy. Photos. Comments. Her arms wrapped around him, lips pressed to his cheek. A beach picture where their silhouettes were locked in a kiss. Public. Happy. Physical. He wasn't even hiding it.

When I confronted Stevie, my voice trembled the whole time. I still remember how my hands were cold despite the heat of summer outside.

"Stevie... why? Why would you do this to me?"

He didn't flinch. Didn't even look sorry.

"You make it impossible to even touch you," he snapped. Then came the line that broke something inside me: "You think a guy will stay a monk for someone fat like you?"

I have been called fatty, heavy weight and what not before. I have gotten used to hearing those. But this hit harder than I thought words could. Maybe because it came from someone I was slowly falling in love with.

I didn't reply. Couldn't. I walked away before the tears exploded. My vision blurred anyway.

I avoided eye contact with anyone at the office. I wanted to vanish into the keyboard.

That's when the women on my team noticed.

Freya brought me chocolate. Alice sat beside me in the breakroom one afternoon, pretending to scroll her phone. Lana gave me a hug without saying a word. They pulled everything out of me, bit by bit.

"You need a modern upgrade," Freya said gently. "We'll show you how to be the heartbreaker next time."

"Not the heartbroken," Alice added, arms crossed.

I gave a weak smile. I wanted to believe them. But the truth was: I felt hollow.

They didn't give me much of a choice. Freya, Alice, Lana -- my own team -- suddenly became my personal cheerleaders, with a heavy dose of cheerful bullying.

"No more plain Skye," Freya declared one morning, brandishing a bright lipstick like a weapon.

"You need to turn heads, not hide in the shadows," Alice said, rolling her eyes but smiling.

Lana just winked and passed me a fashion magazine.

So, I tried.

I revamped my wardrobe. Gone were the baggy hoodies and oversized sweaters. In came slimmer cuts, colors I never dared wear before, skirts that felt unfamiliar against my skin. I even let Freya convince me to try some light makeup -- just enough to brighten my eyes, she said. And maybe as a sign of surrender, I tinted my hair a little lighter.

It felt strange looking in the mirror at first.

I started practicing flirting -- awkward at first. Laughing a little louder than usual. Holding eye contact just a second longer.

Compliments started coming my way, some subtle, some not so subtle. Numbers slipped into my hand after casual conversations. Dates followed.

It felt good, like discovering a new part of myself.

But beneath the surface, there was a quiet sadness I couldn't shake.

This wasn't really me.

And maybe that was the hardest part of all.

Chapter 13

After Stevie, I thought I just wanted something simple. Safe and easy.

That's how I met Mark.

He was working as a caterer at an office event. Charming without trying too hard. Laid-back. And--yeah--handsome enough. Not a movie star, but someone you could relax around.

We started hanging out. Casual lunches, quiet walks, lazy evenings with movies and takeout. We kissed--soft, gentle kisses that didn't feel like fireworks but like warm blankets.

We made plans. Nothing wild, nothing rushed. I kept my heart guarded, cautious not to fall too fast. He was nice, no drama. Just steady.

But something niggled in my mind. He was always in and out of jobs. When I asked, he shrugged it off like it didn't matter.

Then one day, he told me he'd been kicked out of his apartment. Rent unpaid. His eyes were pleading when he asked if he could stay with me. He promised he'd figure things out. I said yes.

At first, it was fine. He helped me with work at home. Rest of the time, he spent looking for a job.

But slowly, the dishes started piling up. The house got messy. He lounged while I worked overtime. I watched him do nothing--not struggling, just... nothing. Not even looking for a job.

It hit me hard: he wasn't struggling. He just liked being taken care of.

I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or furious. Or both.

And that scared me. Because I thought I was finally safe.

But maybe I was just trapped again.

Mark and I were out for dinner--the usual quiet place he liked. Nothing fancy, nothing loud.

I was half-listening to his ramble about some TV show, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Skyler.

He was sitting alone at a corner table, head bent low over his plate like he wanted to disappear. That stiff, awkward posture--it was unmistakable.

The moment he caught sight of me, he froze, then practically bolted out the door.

Curiosity gnawed at me later.

I googled him and found out he was still here in the city, working at some small tech company.

Days passed.

Then one evening, Mark bailed on our dinner plans again--"Something came up," he said, not bothering to explain.

I decided to go out alone.

And there he was again. Skyler. Eating alone, quietly.

This time, I walked over and sat down.

His eyes flickered with panic.

"You shouldn't sit with me," he muttered.

"Why not?" I asked.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting around nervously.

"I harassed a woman at my old office."

I frowned, leaning in.

"Did you actually do it? Or did you just start believing that because everyone said you did?"

He looked stunned, silent.

For the first time, it seemed like he was really thinking, really reflecting.

We sat in awkward silence, sharing that simple meal.

Before I left, he quietly thanked me.

Chapter 14

I finally forced myself to confront Mark one chilly evening. The apartment smelled stale, thick with all the promises he never kept. My hands trembled as I said, "Mark, you're not even trying."

His eyes flickered with something like guilt--or was it just annoyance?--and he muttered, "I'll change, Skye. I'll start applying for jobs. I'll do better. You'll see."

I wanted so badly to believe him. For a few days, I held onto that hope like a lifeline. But the silence stretched longer.

Then one morning, I woke up to find my wallet missing. The cold pit in my stomach dropped even further when I checked my accounts--drained, every last cent vanished. Credit cards maxed out, savings wiped clean.

Mark was gone too. Vanished without a word or a trace.

I collapsed onto the floor, the emptiness of the apartment pressing down on me. The walls, once filled with laughter and small hopes, now echoed only silence.

I curled into myself, tears blurring my vision.

I wasn't just crying for Mark--I was mourning the weight of every broken promise, every betrayal, every lie that had slowly built a wall around my heart.

Finally, with a shaky breath, I dialed my mother's number. Her voice was a small island of warmth in the cold storm swirling inside me.

"Skye," she said softly, "you've been knocked down, yes. But you are stronger than you think. This is not the end. It's time to stand up again."

I let her words wash over me, a fragile thread of hope weaving through the darkness.

Because even if I was lost now, I wasn't ready to give up.

The next day, I wandered into the café to clear my head, my mind still heavy from last night's heartbreak.

Maybe I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but somehow, there he was--Skyler, sitting alone at a corner table, his usual awkward slump softened by the quiet hum of morning light.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, I wondered if I had been searching for him all along without knowing it.

He stood up slowly, that familiar nervousness flickering in his eyes.

He saw my red eyes. Without thinking, he reached out and gave me a tentative pat on the back--a gesture so awkward and unpolished it felt strangely genuine.

"Mark... he's gone. Took everything. I feel broken."

I sighed and spilled out everything.

Skyler nodded, his face unreadable for a beat, then in his blunt, weird way, said, "Losing him now is better than losing yourself slowly over years."

His words hit me harder than any pity or consolation ever could.

"You dodged a life of being his mother, not his partner," he added quietly.

I couldn't help but laugh--a wet, shaky laugh that carried more relief than amusement.

In that moment, Skyler's rough-edged honesty was more comforting than all of Mark's sweet lies had ever been.

Maybe there was something to be said about truth, no matter how jagged or awkward it comes.

Chapter 15

The next day, I summoned whatever courage I had left and went to the police station. Filing a complaint felt like admitting defeat, but I needed to do something--for myself, if nothing else.

Sitting across from the officer, I explained everything: how Mark moved in, how he drained my savings, how he vanished without a trace.

He listened with sympathy, then leaned back with a sigh. "This sounds like a domestic dispute."

My heart sank. Domestic dispute? Was that all it was? Just some petty personal mess?

He continued, "The amount stolen... it's too small for us to prioritize. You let him live with you willingly, right? That complicates things."

The words stung more than the betrayal.

I wanted to shout that it wasn't about the money--it was about trust, about being used. But all that came out was a quiet, defeated nod.

Sometimes the hardest battles aren't with others--they're the ones we fight within ourselves.

At work, the whispers started quietly but spread fast. Laurie--yes, her--had been promoted. Skyler's old responsibilities, the project he'd poured himself into, were now all hers. I felt a strange mix of awe and apprehension toward her.

The next time I met Skyler, I found myself telling him the news. He listened, eyes flickering with something like resentment.

"I knew she was after my role," he said, voice low and bitter. "I just didn't know how fast she'd take it."

His words hung heavy in the air. There was a vulnerability in him I hadn't noticed before--the same vulnerability I sometimes felt inside myself.

The truth is, after all our awkward encounters, the stolen moments in hallways and cafes, if anyone outside saw us together, they'd probably assume we were more than just colleagues. And weirdly, that thought made me feel... warm.

Skyler's voice dropped to a softer, almost shy murmur. "I get freaked out around women. Especially pretty ones."

My breath caught. Me? Pretty? That thought buzzed inside me like a sudden, unexpected warmth.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes flickering away like he was ashamed of his own confession. "I say stupid things when I'm nervous... sometimes even naughty things. I guess I'm trying to sound confident. But it never works."

He let out a short, embarrassed laugh that was more honest than any rehearsed apology or charm I'd ever heard from anyone before.

"That's why I used to avoid you too."

His words hung in the air, fragile and genuine.

I stayed quiet for a moment, my mind racing. For years, I'd thought he was just arrogant, maybe creepy, or even dangerous. But now, hearing this side of him--vulnerable, awkward, painfully human--everything shifted.

He actually thought I was pretty. Not some throwaway line or shallow flirtation, but that his clumsiness came from a place of genuine, if imperfect, admiration.

It surprised me how deeply that touched something inside me--a part that had been locked away after so many disappointments and betrayals.

Here was this awkward, strange guy who couldn't hide behind words or charm--just raw, honest truth.

And somehow, it was more comforting than anything I'd heard in months.

Chapter 16

We started meeting more often--cafés bathed in soft afternoon light, quiet corners of the library where words floated between us, long walks through the park as the world slowed down around us.

Sometimes, I'd break down. Cry over the terrible things I'd been through--the betrayals, the lies, the loneliness that gnawed at my heart.

Skyler mostly just listened. Not many words, but when he did speak, it was usually a quiet mutter, like a mantra for the unseen: "At least you got attention. I was invisible."

His voice wasn't bitter. It was sad. A quiet confession that somehow made me feel less alone in my own scars.

One evening, after I had emptied my soul, after the tears had dried and silence stretched between us, he looked at me with that odd, crooked smile. "You know... we should just marry each other. Losers like us gotta stick together."

The words hit me like a slap.

"Losers?" My voice was sharp, disbelief and offense tangled together. I stood abruptly, grabbing my bag. "How dare you call me a loser?" I stormed off, heart pounding with a mix of anger and hurt.

But later, lying awake in the quiet of my room, his words echoed--not the insult, not the sting. There was something else there--a strange kind of comfort hidden beneath the roughness. Maybe he wasn't calling me a loser. Maybe he was saying: "We're both tired of pretending. We see each other."

The next day, I apologized to Skyler for storming off. He blinked, surprised--emotions clearly not his strong suit--but he nodded, awkwardly touched.

We decided to give dating a shot.

The first attempt was at a restaurant. Skyler ate like he was in a race and said, completely serious, "This chicken feels like chewing on slugs."

I laughed. Kind of.

Next was a club. Terrible idea. Skyler was visibly uncomfortable with the noise, sweating, and accidentally stared too long at a girl dancing in a very short dress. Her boyfriend noticed. The punch came fast, loud, and messy.

Later, sitting outside with Skyler holding an ice pack to his cheek, I exhaled. "This isn't going to work, is it?"

He gave a small nod. Almost relieved. "You deserve someone better than... me."

We both laughed--quiet, honest, tired. "I guess we're just not it," he said with a shrug.

I nodded, even though my throat was tight. "Yeah. I think we gave it a fair shot."

I wanted someone who saw me, not someone who just... wandered into my life.

Skyler didn't seem hurt. Just unsurprised. "I knew it wouldn't last," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I'm not really boyfriend material."

I wanted to protest, say something kind, but the words wouldn't come.

And yet, walking away from him, I felt something worse than heartbreak--disappointment.

Chapter 17

At work, I broke down. Tears spilled before I could stop them, right there in front of the women who had once been my lifeline.

"I'm going to end up alone... like a cat lady," I sobbed, trying to laugh through it.

They didn't mock me. Not exactly. But they wanted more details -- including the "juicy" ones. They laughed--amused, indulgent--like I was part of their afternoon entertainment. A real-life soap opera to fill the lull between meetings and email pings.

The next day, I walked into the office kitchen, eyes puffy behind carefully blended makeup Freya had once taught me to apply.

"Oh honey, mascara before coffee," Lana teased, breezing in with Freya and Alice.

They surrounded me like usual--smiles, warm hands, sympathetic noises. But it felt different. They wanted the story. The juice. The twist in the next episode.

Not to help me heal. To be amused.

Later that evening, I'd forgotten my ID card at my desk. On the way back to grab it, I passed the pantry--and stopped.

My name floated out.

"She's just drawn to damaged types," Freya said.

"Stevie, then Mark, now that Skyler guy. You'd think she'd learn."

Lana laughed.

"Honestly, it's like watching a little sister try to adult."

Alice added,

"She really thought Skyler was a serious option? I almost choked on my salad."

That was it. The tone. I wasn't a friend to them. I was their hobby. A bored office's lunchtime diversion.

I didn't go in. I didn't breathe. I turned around and walked to the stairwell. Sat on the cold concrete for twenty minutes, letting the air sting my cheeks and steady my hands.

The heartbreak from Skyler had been quiet. This was something else.

I had let them in. Shared every messy part of myself. Let them paint my nails, pick my dresses, whisper advice over martinis. I thought they cared. But I was just material.

That evening, I declined the Friday dinner invite. Said I was tired. Muted the group chat.

By Saturday, I had opened my CV. Reached out to two recruiters.

Not out of rage. I wasn't going to confront them. That would still mean I cared.

But I wouldn't be anyone's punchline again.

Chapter 18

I stirred my mother's stew without much interest, watching the chunks of carrot and potato tumble around like they were trying to avoid me. Everything smelled warm and familiar, but my appetite had abandoned me somewhere between exhaustion and too many thoughts.

At the other end of the table, Dad hummed softly behind the newspaper. Same way he always did. Same page rustling, same soft breath through his nose. A quiet routine, so predictable it could've been background noise in a movie. And yet, sitting there now, it felt foreign. Like I'd grown up inside a story I'd never really understood.

My spoon clinked against the bowl again. I kept staring at it.

"I broke up with Skyler," I said, suddenly.

The words dropped like a stone into a still pond. Mom didn't even blink.

"Wasn't expecting a wedding invite."

I gave a hollow laugh. "You know, he wasn't awful. Just... wrong. Clumsy. Weird. Sometimes just too much all at once."

She didn't answer right away. Just waited. Then, gently: "And before him?"

I sighed, resting my spoon on the rim.

"Yeah. Stevie the cheater. Mark the thief." I rubbed my forehead. "God, Mom. I keep screwing this up. I keep picking them."

She didn't say anything comforting. No platitudes. No You'll find someone. Just quietly ladled more stew into her bowl and took a slow, measured bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then the question slipped out--bitter and raw, before I could pull it back. "How do you stay married to Dad?" I asked. "He's so... boring."

From behind the newspaper, Dad chuckled. "Thank you, sweetheart."

I cringed. "I didn't mean it like that."

But Mom was already looking at me, sharp and unblinking. "You did. And that's okay."

She paused, setting her spoon down. "You've been hurt. You're still hurting. But let me tell you something." Her voice softened, but there was still steel in it. "The best relationships? They're not built on fireworks. They're not movie scenes or grand declarations. They're built on small, quiet things. On steadiness."

She glanced at Dad. "They're made of arguments over grocery bills and taxes. Of eating stew in silence after a long day."

The back of my throat tightened. I blinked fast, but my eyes stung anyway.

"Stability," she went on, "is so underrated by your generation. Everyone's chasing sparks. No one wants the steady hand."

I looked at Dad just then. Still behind the paper, humming gently, like nothing in the world had changed. And yet--without even looking up--he nudged the butter dish toward her. He always knew what Mom wanted. Even if Mom didn't ask.

I let out a long breath. "What if I've been chasing all the wrong things? The wrong people?"

Mom met my eyes. "Then maybe stop chasing. Not the version from a screen. But real life."

Later that night, lying in my childhood bed, I stared at the ceiling, blankets pulled up to my chin. The room hadn't changed--posters I outgrew, fairy lights that still worked, the faint hum of the old ceiling fan.

But inside, something was shifting.

Maybe love didn't look like a rush of adrenaline or a heartbreak song waiting to happen. Maybe it looked like stew. A butter dish. A humming man behind a newspaper.

Maybe love was quiet. Maybe it was boring.

I was one of Angie's bridesmaids--an honor that surprised me more than anyone. She'd been my roommate in college, and one of the few people who had ever truly seen me without trying to fix or label me.

She was marrying Darren Wei, a university geologist with kind eyes and a calm laugh. Her family had disapproved from the start. Not overtly--they were too polished for that. But the coldness was obvious. You could feel it in the stiff hugs, the clipped smiles, the way her mother's lips thinned whenever Darren spoke.

After the ceremony, over glasses of warm punch and half-eaten cake, I leaned toward her.

"Your mom doesn't look... thrilled," I said gently.

"They're not," Angie sighed, glancing toward the family table.

"They wanted me to marry someone successful--" she made air quotes with a half-laugh, half-scoff. "You know. A startup founder, an investment banker. Not a guy who teaches geology and collects rocks for fun."

She swirled her drink and added, "My sister actually made a comment about Darren having 'squint eyes.'"

I was unable to hide my disgust. "Aren't you scared, though? That they'll always resent it?"

Angie looked up then, her gaze following Darren as he laughed at something one of his friends said across the room.

"I was," she said quietly. "But then I realized something, Skye. This is my life. Not theirs. And I have to wake up next to that choice every day--not them."

I nodded, slowly.

She smiled, this soft, glowing kind of smile that settled in her eyes. "You can't live for other people's approval. You have to choose your happiness. I chose mine--and I won't let anyone take that from me, not even my family."

I hugged her, the tight kind, the kind you give someone who just said something brave.

Later, I watched her on the dance floor--her hair slightly undone, her shoes off, laughing as Darren twirled her clumsily to a popular K-pop song.

Chapter 19

Returning to work, I told myself I could survive this. Just keep my head down. Get through the day.

I stopped lingering in the pantry. Stopped joining the lunchtime laughter or answering those harmless "So what's new?" questions with anything real. My life wasn't anyone's small talk anymore. But silence doesn't always create distance. Sometimes, it creates curiosity. And cruelty.

The jabs started small.

"Rough night, Skye?" when I didn't wear makeup.

"Wow, finally brushing your hair?" from Alice, all saccharine smiles and loud enough for the room. Always in front of others. Always with plausible deniability.

Worse were the whispers when I passed by.

Rumors had started. That Skyler and I had some weird secret thing. That he was manipulating me. That maybe I liked the drama.

I swallowed it. For days. Until one afternoon in the break room, something inside me shifted. Like a string pulled too tight had finally snapped.

Freya leaned in with her syrupy concern, voice dripping fake empathy.

"Just checking--you okay? You've been... distant. We're worried."

I turned, slow. I smiled.

"Oh, you're worried?" I said. "That's cute."

The room froze. Silence dropped like a pin.

"You mean the same way you were worried when I was crying in the stairwell and you were laughing over your overpriced salads?" My voice didn't shake. It cut.

"Don't pretend to care now. You never did. You just wanted front-row seats to the fallout. My heartbreaks were your lunchtime entertainment."

Lana opened her mouth. I didn't let her.

"You?" I turned to her. "You judge like it's a hobby. Like you don't go home to a husband who flinches every time you raise your voice." Her face went pale.

"And you, Freya. Dating a guy who cheats on you with anyone who breathes and still tells you you're the problem. But hey, let's talk about my bad choices."

I looked at Alice last. "Three Tinder dates ghosted you in a row, and you still act like you're some relationship oracle."

They stared at me like they didn't recognize me. Maybe they didn't.

"I'm not your entertainment," I said, voice quiet now but steady. "I'm not the 'quiet girl' you get to dissect for fun. Maybe instead of fixing me, you should fix your own damn lives."

I turned and went back to work. My heart was pounding. But underneath the adrenaline, there was... stillness.

That night, I sent out my resignation email.

The next day, the office felt different. I expected side-eyes. Maybe more pettiness.

But instead, it was them--Freya, Lana, Alice--who wore the silence now.

Word had spread. Fast. People had overheard. Others had heard why I'd snapped and why I was leaving.

And for once, instead of turning me into a spectacle, the tide shifted.

Sarah from HR gave me a small nod by the elevator. Jenna from accounting, who I barely knew, stopped by my desk just to say, "Took guts. Good for you." Even the receptionist, who rarely looked up from her phone, glanced at me and smiled--quick, approving.

But Freya, Lana, Alice? Their circle shrank overnight. People still smiled at them, sure.

But the warmth was gone.

Conversations dried up when they entered a room. No more lunch invites. No more laughing along.

Chapter 20

I stared at my laptop screen, jaw clenched, chest tight.

My inbox was a graveyard. Rejection emails, "We'll keep your resume on file" platitudes, or worse--silence.

I'd started a spreadsheet back when I was still optimistic. Now it just mocked me: columns of dashed hope, color-coded failure.

Rent was looming. My savings were thinning. And my confidence... it was barely breathing.

I hadn't spoken to Skyler in weeks. Not since we'd ended whatever it was we had. It hadn't been a dramatic breakup. No yelling. No door slamming. Just two people quietly admitting it wasn't working.

Still, the thought of calling him now made my stomach twist with shame.

But desperation is louder than pride.

I opened my contacts. Three rings.

"Skye?" His voice. Warm. Flat. Familiar.

"Hey... yeah. Hi." My words came out thin, almost brittle.

There was a pause--like he was trying to figure out why I was calling. "Hi Skye. I am Skyler. You remember me? We studied together in univer--"

"I know," I cut in, too fast. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't call if I wasn't..." I trailed off, then forced myself to continue. "Look, I'm in a bad spot. I can't find anything. I thought maybe... you might know if your company's hiring?"

Another pause. Then: "Sure. I'll check. They are, actually."

I swallowed. "Really? You'd... do that for me?"

"Of course. You're good at testing," he said.

That stung more than I expected. Like being reduced to a role I no longer even felt good at.

He went on. "Honestly, I'm leaving. New place, new job. Getting away from all this."

"All what?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.

"The labels," he said. "You know. 'Weird guy.' 'Awkward.' 'Creep.' You hear it enough, you start skipping lunch just to avoid the looks."

I winced. I remembered the whispers from college. The way people laughed behind his back.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"I'll send your name in," he added. "Some people in HR still like me. You'll get a call. You're smart. Capable. And... less weird than me."

A laugh escaped me--sharp and real. "Thanks, Skyler. Really."

I sat in a sunlit cubicle, surrounded by quiet. The air was filled with the soft clicking of keys and murmurs from neighboring desks.

No one asked invasive questions.

No one whispered behind their mugs.

No one cared who I dated or what went wrong.

It was... peaceful.

The offer had come faster than I expected. Better pay, too. The hiring manager never asked how I'd landed the interview. I didn't offer it. It didn't feel like a secret--just something private.

On my first day, I sent Skyler a short thank-you email.

He never replied.

LinkedIn told me he'd moved. He'd launched a startup of his own.

Some people exit like slammed doors. Others slip out quietly, leaving just enough space open behind them for you to step through--and start over.

Chapter 21

Pastel balloons drifted lazily above the backyard, like they didn't quite know where to go. Everything was soft and sweet--polka-dot banners, pink lemonade, folding tables full of cupcakes topped with tiny rattles. Laughter floated around in clusters, mostly from women I didn't recognize, all cooing over diaper cakes and onesies like it was the most magical thing in the world.

I stood on the edge of it all, feeling oddly out of place. A guest, but not really part of the celebration.

Then I saw her--Angie, waddling toward me in a floral dress that barely contained her bump, glowing in that tired, radiant way only moms-to-be seemed to manage.

"You made it!" she said, grinning.

I pulled her into a gentle hug, careful not to squeeze too tight. "Of course I did. You're literally the only person from uni I still like."

She laughed--an honest one--but there was something behind her eyes. Something heavy. It wasn't just pregnancy. It was the kind of tiredness that comes from trying too hard to smile.

We found a bench away from the noise, the kind of quiet corner Angie always used to claim during parties. She sat with a soft sigh, one hand resting on her belly like it had always belonged there.

I noticed the way her fingers lingered--not absentmindedly, but like she was guarding something precious.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

She hesitated, eyes scanning the guests. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. "We're moving. After the baby's born."

I blinked. "Wait, what? Why?"

Her gaze flicked to the house. "You saw my aunts. The way they whisper. It's been like this for a while. They say things about Darren--how he's too quiet, how he's Half-Asian, how he's only a professor."

My stomach twisted. "That's disgusting."

She nodded slowly. "It's not getting better. Darren pretends it doesn't bother him, but I see it. It bothers me. So... we're moving to Taiwan. His parents live there and they're excited to have us." Then she added bitterly, "I don't want someone from my family to make a comment on my child's eyes too."

I reached out and squeezed her hand. It was warm. A little shaky.

"That's brave," I said. "And smart. I'm proud of you."

We hugged again, gently. No need for more words. There was something about being with Angie--this quiet, unflashy loyalty--that reminded me not everyone who drifted from your past had to stay there.

Mom was stirring her tea in slow, precise circles when I mentioned the new job. I tried to sound casual.

"It's going well," I said. "A lot more professional. Better salary. And no office politics."

She didn't say anything at first--just gave a slight nod, then asked, "Did you ever properly thank that boy?"

I blinked. "Who?"

"Skyler," she said, her tone sharp and unmistakable. "The one who got you the job."

"I sent him an email."

"An email," she repeated, her voice cool and metallic. "You used someone you broke up with. Not even a month later. And didn't have the decency to call and thank him?"

I could feel my spine stiffen. "That's not fair."

She set the spoon down gently, but the sound it made against the mug felt louder than it should've.

"I met him once," she said. "Do you remember?"

I did. I just didn't say anything.

"He was awkward," she went on. "But polite. Nervous, in that way people are when they're trying too hard to do the right thing. You treated him like a temporary fix for your loneliness. But even then--even then--he's done more for you than all of your friends combined."

I looked away, toward the window.

"And the worst part?" she added, softer now, like that somehow made it hurt less. "He didn't hold it against you. He could've ignored your name when the job came up. But he didn't."

"I didn't ask him for anything," I muttered.

"That's not the point." Her voice cracked like dry ice--sharp enough to make Dad twitch behind his paper.

"He is creepy" I tried deflecting the discussion.

Silence followed, stretched taut like a held breath. Then Dad, without looking up, said quietly, "You know, you're a little... creepy yourself sometimes, Skye."

I blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"You can be intense," he said simply. "Staring too long. Saying things too bluntly. You dress in a weird way. You always have."

Mom crossed her arms. "Remember that time at the grocery store? The cashier told you to have a nice day and you asked if he meant it, or if he was just trained to say it?"

"That was last March," Dad chimed in, unhelpfully.

"Oh, and what about at Vera's anniversary dinner?" Mom added. "You told her husband he was 'settling into comfortable mediocrity.' Right after the toast."

"It was a joke," I said, but it sounded weak even to me.

"And then," Mom continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "ever thought about what people say about your fashion?"

I exhaled sharply. "Seriously? I dress like Mom."

Dad spoke this time. "We are not discussing your mother, Skye. But think of this--you dress your way and expect others to accept it. Don't you? And you should be. Do you think Skyler hopes for the same? Accepted the way he is?"

I sank back into the chair, suddenly small.

That night, lying on my back in my old bed, the ceiling looked exactly the way it used to when I was sixteen and overstimulated by the world. My brain played a cruel little highlight reel--the cashier's forced smile, the weird silence at the dinner party, Vera's stiff laugh. People mocking my dresses.

I'd always thought of those moments as blips. Just... people not getting me. But now? Now I wasn't so sure.

Maybe I was intense. A little... off-rhythm. Maybe I had been weird. Like Skyler.

But here's the thing: I never paid for it the way he did.

God. I had judged him. I am no better than anyone else.

Chapter 22

The house was silent when I got back from my parents' place.

I dropped my bag in the hallway and kicked off my shoes like muscle memory. I didn't bother turning on any lights. Just wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table, staring at nothing. The wall. The counter. The faint smudge on the fridge I never remembered to clean.

Mom's voice was still ringing in my ears.

"He's done more for you than all your friends combined."

And Dad's.

"You're a little creepy yourself sometimes, Skye."

I opened my laptop. Not because I had anything urgent to work on. I just... needed to do something. I hesitated for a moment. Then opened my email.

To: Skyler@somemailserver. com

Subject: I should have said this a long time ago

I typed:

Hey Skyler,

I don't know if this is the right time, or even the right medium, but I needed to say this properly: Thank you.

Not just for the job lead -- though that honestly saved me -- but for everything. For being decent, kind, and consistent... even when I wasn't.

I've been going through a lot lately, and somewhere in that mess, I realized how much I took your support for granted. Even back when we dated. You were awkward, yeah -- but never unkind. I never said it properly, but I do appreciate you.

I hope the new city's treating you better. I hope your startup takes off. And more than anything, I hope you find people who see you for who you really are -- and value that.

Take care,

Skye

I stared at the screen.

The cursor blinked at the end of my name like it was waiting for me to hit send. My thumb hovered over the trackpad.

And then -- I hit delete.

It didn't feel right. I picked up my phone before I could talk myself out of it. Scrolled to his name. My thumb hovered again.

Then -- one impulsive breath -- I tapped.

It rang once. Twice.

"Hey, Skye!" His voice was bright. Surprised, definitely. But not annoyed. He added quickly, like he wasn't sure how to act casual, "I am Skyler. Remember we studie--"

"I remember you well, Skyler," I said, and blinked. "I... I was writing you an email. But it felt... too formal. I thought maybe I should just call. See how you were doing."

There was a pause. I could almost hear him smiling through it. Then a laugh -- warm, real, but with something tired tucked beneath.

"I'm okay," he said. "You know. New city. New place. Trying to build a startup."

"Alone?" I asked, before thinking.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice dimmed. "Figured that's safer. I've been through too many HR calls where I didn't even know what I did wrong. People read me the wrong way. Women, especially."

He cleared his throat. "Not blaming them. I get it. I... come off weird. People think I'm too intense, or too quiet, or just... off. So now I mostly talk to the delivery guy and my plants."

I didn't know what to say. The silence stretched, thick and awful.

Almost like he was trying not to make a big deal of it, he added, "You're the only person who even called to ask how I was. Everyone else just... disappeared after I left."

That landed like a stone in my chest.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. All I could manage was a soft, "Oh."

We talked for a few more minutes. He told me about his co-working space, a pitch that didn't go anywhere, and the ridiculously overpriced dumplings down the street. I laughed, but it felt brittle.

Then he said, "Thanks for calling. This really meant a lot, Skye."

"Of course," I said. "Talk soon?"

"Sure," he said. But I heard the hesitation, like he didn't believe it.

After the call, I just sat there.

Then, quietly, the tears came. Not the kind you wail into a pillow. Not the kind that steal your breath.

Just silent tears. Slow, unshowy. Heavy.

I cried for him. For how alone he'd sounded. For how hard he still tried to sound okay. For how he laughed while talking about things that clearly hurt.

But mostly... I cried for the realization that he had always been lonely. And through all of that... he had helped me. Even when I was selfish, distracted, careless -- he had shown up.

I had always had someone. Even if it was shallow. Even when it was a mess. There were people.

He had no one.

And somehow, I had never really seen that before.

Maybe I had always assumed I was the lonely one. But maybe... I was just louder about it.

Chapter 23

I adjusted my monitor's brightness and skimmed the test report one last time before closing the laptop. Another clean rollout. The QA lead even gave me a shoutout during retro. I was finally thriving. After everything that went down at my last job, I didn't think I'd find this again -- respect, momentum, a name people trusted.

Funny how Skyler had seen it before I ever did.

"You are the best tester." Back then, I laughed it off. Thought he was just trying to be nice. Just Skyler being awkward and overly generous.

But maybe... he saw something in me I hadn't yet believed in.

Tea between us, cardamom in the air, my mom watched me like she was decoding me. "You look weak."

"It's stress," I lied.

"You don't look stressed. You look closed."

I told her I was doing well. Good job. Respected. Stable.

She shook her head gently. "That's not what I mean. You don't talk about people with joy anymore. Just... distance."

I paused. Then said, "I've been burned too many times."

"I know," she said softly. "But you used to hope. You used to try." She reached over and touched my hand. "Solitude isn't the same as safety."

Then, more quietly: "A good partner doesn't complicate your life. A good partner transforms it."

Back home, I tried dating again. No coworkers. I needed boundaries.

But the dating apps drained me. Everyone was trying to sound clever in the same five lines. The same dolled-up filtered photos. The same half-hearted conversations that evaporated after a day or two.

Sometimes, late at night, I'd scroll through my contacts and pause on Skyler.

I never called again.

"You're the only person who ever called to ask how I was."

That stayed with me.

One night, toothbrush in hand, I caught my reflection in the mirror -- hair tied back, eyes tired but clearer than they'd been in a long time.

And I whispered to no one: "What if I already met the person who transformed my life... and didn't even realize it?"

Chapter 24

The tech fair buzzed around me--demos, jargon, too many men in tight startup T-shirts. It was a forced work-vacation mandated by my boss. I adjusted my lanyard and tried to look interested. I didn't expect to hear his laugh behind me.

Skyler.

He looked mostly the same--messy hair, awkward posture. But thinner. Tired. And beside him was a pretty woman with too-firm handshakes and too-watchful eyes.

Amy.

Possessive wasn't even the word.

I smiled, said hi, tried to stay normal. But when he reached into her bag, his sleeve pulled back--and I saw it. A dark bruise on his forearm. Old, but big. My stomach knotted.

Amy never left his side. Not for coffee. Not even when he went to the bathroom--she waited outside the door like a sentry.

I tried three times to talk to him alone. She blocked each one with syrupy charm.

The last time, I just asked, "Are you okay?"

Skyler glanced at her, then back at me. "Yeah. Just tired."

But I saw the way his hands shook. How he wouldn't meet my eyes. How tightly she gripped his fingers.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

What if I was right? What if he was being hurt? And if I said that out loud, people would laugh. A guy being abused by his girlfriend? That's a meme, not a crisis.

I typed a message.

Hey, I saw something today that worried me. If you ever want to talk, I'm here.

Then deleted it.

By Tuesday, the guilt was unbearable. I sent something neutral.

Me: "Hey, did you check out that ML booth? Curious about the paper."

Read. No reply.

Hours later:

Me: "Hope I'm not bugging you. Was nice seeing you."

Delivered. Not read.

I stared at his name on my screen. It didn't feel like silence. It felt like a cage.

So I changed tactics.

Subject: Collaboration Proposal -- Community Tech Mentorship

I sent it from my business email. Made it look legit. A volunteer project. A fake PDF. Just enough cover. Inside, the real message:

I don't know what's going on. But if you ever need to leave Amy--I'd be there. As a friend. Someone who sees you. You don't have to go through anything alone. You shouldn't.

Then I hit send. And waited.

It was barely 7:15 AM when my doorbell rang. I was still in pajamas, hair in a tragic bun, scratching my tummy, coffee halfway to my mouth.

Skyler stood there--pale, hollow-eyed, wearing the same canvas jacket I remembered from college. No bag. Just his phone in one hand.

"Hi Skye. I'm Skyler. We studied tog--" He started as usual.

"Skyler?" I blinked. "Are you okay?"

He looked... different. Not just tired--emptied out. But somehow lighter too.

"I left Amy," he said, with the tiniest, exhausted smile. "Didn't know what to do."

Something in me broke a little. "Oh... Skyler." I pulled him gently inside.

"I told her I wanted peace. Said it calmly, in private. She came at me with a knife," he added, almost offhand. "Mrs. Doyle--neighbor, you wouldn't know her--called the cops. She bakes really good cakes. Anyway... I pressed charges."

I set my mug down. "Jesus. Are you hurt?" My hands were shaking with concern.

He shook his head. "Just... free. I wanted to thank you," he said. "For what you said. About being my friend. I don't think I'd have done it without that."

"I'm proud of you," I said.

"That fake pity in the mail gave me enough courage," he laughed.

"I didn't fake anything. I meant it. You deserve someone in your corner. I'm that person. I'll always be on your side." I said sincerely.

He blinked, glancing around my little apartment like he didn't know how he'd ended up there.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here."

I handed him a plate. "You're going to eat. Let me cook something quickly. Take off your shoes. Don't dirty the carpet. And if the garbage hasn't been taken, bring it in. Water the plants on the balcony too."

He needed direction. Something normal. Tasks, not questions.

Later, he devoured the eggs like he hadn't eaten real food in weeks. Which, I'd learn, was true.

I offered him the guest room. He started to protest. "You almost got murdered, Skyler," I said flatly. "You're staying."

That evening, while I was sorting emails, he walked in straight from the shower. Dripping wet. Holding a loofah like a torch. Wearing exactly zero clothes.

I screamed. He screamed. Then he slipped, tried to apologize while fleeing, and nearly took out the lamp.

"I was searching for towels," he said behind the bathroom door.

"Towels are in the bathroom itself, genius!"

The next morning, still red-faced from the towel incident, he shuffled up while I sipped tea.

"Would it be completely stupid," he asked, "if I asked you on a date?"

I stared. He was nervous. Sweet. Way too close to my toast.

"Yes," I said, grinning. "But I'd like it a lot."

It was exactly as awkward as I expected. He wore the same clothes--he'd shown up with no luggage.

He complimented the waitress's handwriting by implying she didn't need to wait tables if she "tried harder." She probably spit in our drinks.

Then he launched into a monologue about VR dating and how sports were "regional propaganda." People at the next table laughed--not cruelly, just... out loud.

I sat there quietly, watching him.

He was weird. Unfiltered. Trying so hard. Too much, in every possible way.

And I wasn't sure if that was a dealbreaker anymore.

The next morning, he came down, dressed and packed.

"I figured you'd want me gone," he said, avoiding my eyes.

"I don't," I replied simply.

He looked up. "You're not embarrassed?"

"I mean, a little. But not enough to give up... this." I waved a hand.

"This?"

"This weird, messy thing that feels honest. Safe. Maybe even..." I hesitated. "Happy."

He blinked. Then smiled--that lopsided, late-arriving smile I'd always secretly liked. "I don't know what to say."

"Try not saying anything inappropriate for five seconds," I said.

He took a breath. Then, predictably, failed. "So... I guess I'll finally meet your parents soon. I'll wear pants this time."

I burst out laughing. One of those real ones--deep and sudden, like something cracked open. The kind of laugh that only comes when nothing's perfect-- but everything's real.

Chapter 25

The café was quiet, save for the low hum of conversations and the occasional clink of cups against saucers. A whiff of cinnamon floated through the air, cozy and warm, but it didn't reach me. I sat across from him, nursing a lukewarm chai I didn't even want. Skyler was pretending not to fidget, but I could feel it -- something was swirling behind his eyes.

He shifted in his seat for the third time. I finally looked up from my cup.

"Skye," he said, like he was stepping into a minefield barefoot. "I need to ask you something. I don't know if it's weird, but I'm just trying to... understand things better."

That caught my attention. His tone already made my stomach clench.

"Okay..." I said warily.

"How many people have you slept--uh--been with before?"

I blinked. Hard. My pulse kicked up. "What?"

He rushed in to clarify -- badly. "I mean--it's not judgmental or anything. I just think... sometimes past stuff gives insight into future behavior, right? Like, I don't know, trust and... patterns and..." He trailed off, cringing visibly. "God, forget I said anything."

Oh. Oh, hell no.

"You think if I've slept around, I'm just going to lose interest? Cheat?" I crossed my arms. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. "We're supposed to be starting over, Skyler. Clean slate, remember? Why does my past suddenly feel like a report card you're about to grade?"

His face fell. Hands gripped the edge of the table like it might anchor him in place.

"I just..." He exhaled, frustrated with himself. "I don't know. I guess I've been thinking about it. Wondering. I'm not trying to offend you."

"Too late," I muttered.

A brittle silence stretched between us, one of those awkward, paper-thin moments that could tear if you breathed wrong. I leaned forward slightly, narrowing my eyes.

"Alright. Since we're being so scientific--what about you? How many women have you slept with? Including Amy?"

His ears turned pink immediately. He stared at the table like it might offer him a script.

"I... I haven't," he mumbled. "Been with anyone. Ever. I am a nerd, you know."

I blinked again, unsure I heard him right. "Wait. Ever?"

He looked like he wanted to melt into his chair. "Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Amy was... kind of my last desperate attempt to see if something would click. It didn't. It just--wasn't right."

I stared at him. I couldn't help it -- a laugh escaped. Not mocking. Just... surprised. "So basically, you picked Amy as a test run?"

His face was already crimson. "Either that or a hooker," he said, then winced. "God, I can't believe I just said that out loud."

I leaned back and crossed my legs, smirking. "Well, guess what? I'm a nerd. A fat one too. So I'll let you do the math on my end."

His eyes met mine -- a little wide, a little stunned, maybe even a little relieved. He smiled awkwardly. "I guess I should've just asked you directly instead of... all that weirdness."

"Ya think?" I teased, but then softened. "Next time, just ask. Don't try to sneak around the question like some creep from a bad dating app."

He nodded quickly. "Right. Upfront from now on. Promise."

I watched him, this strange, fumbling, deeply sincere man in front of me -- and before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned forward and kissed him. Just a small one. Quick. Honest.

I didn't plan it. I just looked at him -- all flustered and hopeful and real -- and the kiss sort of reached out and did itself.

The poor guy froze, his face going from pink to deep tomato in two seconds flat. He pulled back like I'd just short-circuited his entire operating system.

"I--I didn't expect that," he stammered.

I laughed -- a real one this time. Unforced. Freeing. "It's just a kiss, Skyler. That's kind of a thing people do when they like each other."

He didn't answer -- just smiled like his heart was still playing catch-up.

He was awkward. He was unsure. But he was here. And for the first time in a very long time, that felt like enough.

Chapter 26

Skyler had to go back.

I knew it the moment I saw how tightly he was clutching his planner again -- the way he started talking about code commits and burn-down charts like they were lifelines. Work was his reset button. He needed it, maybe even more than he needed me right then.

I was still a bit uneasy when I heard Amy was out -- released and gone. But she'd moved to some other city.

So, long distance. Right.

It's weird, but at first, it felt kind of magical.

There was something oddly romantic about being apart. Like the space between us created its own kind of closeness. Late-night calls where we talked about nothing and everything. He'd send me memes at 2 a. m. that made me laugh-snort into my pillow. One time, he texted, "debugging love, BRB" with a photo of his whiteboard covered in chaotic flowcharts and coffee stains.

I'd reply with screenshots of release notes annotated with snarky comments, or selfies of me in full death-bun mode, eyes half-dead from testing.

For two introverts with different kinds of scars, it was... safe. Loving someone through a screen gave us space to breathe. No pressure. No expectations. Just a soft hum of affection living in notifications and emoji reactions.

But time has a funny way of peeling back the soft stuff.

Weeks blurred into months. And the silence between messages? It stopped feeling romantic. It just felt... quiet.

We still talked. Sometimes. But the calls got postponed. Then skipped. Then forgotten. I'd ask how he was -- he'd say "Busy. Tired. You?" And honestly? I'd say the same.

Skyler's startup was exploding -- in the good, terrifying way. Investors. Deadlines. A thousand Slack pings a day. And on my end, I was finally getting more responsibility. Regression lead on a pilot feature. Mentoring newbies. Faking confidence. Testing late into the night, sometimes past sunrise.

When we did talk, it felt like standing in front of someone you love and not knowing where to put your hands.

Then came that call.

Sunday night. I was curled up in bed, hoodie sleeves over my hands, earbuds in. His voice crackled through like static.

"I've been thinking," he said. Just that. Nothing else for a beat. My heart dropped like I'd missed a stair in the dark.

Then, softer: "Maybe we're not built for this."

There it was. A sentence with edges sharp enough to cut bone.

I didn't answer right away. Just tried to inhale without choking. Because... yeah. Maybe we weren't. Maybe we were just two broken kids trying to duct-tape a relationship together.

"No." My voice showed up before I could second-guess it -- small, shaky, but stubborn. "I'm not giving up."

He didn't respond.

I pushed on, heart hammering. "You're my strength. I'm a weak girl. You're a weak guy. Together, we're strong."

The moment the words left me, I cringed. Who says that? Who literally calls themselves weak during a potential breakup? But I meant it. Not weakness like failure. More like... honesty. Vulnerability. The kind of raw stuff people usually hide.

Still nothing. I closed my eyes. Braced for the sigh. For the phrase: 'Skye, I care about you, but...'

But then he laughed. Soft. Breathless. Almost boyish. "Yeah," he said, warmer this time. "Let's be strong together."

And just like that, something shifted.

It didn't fix everything. The distance didn't vanish. Work still swallowed us whole. But we started finding our rhythm again.

Little things.

He sent voice notes -- awkward, mumbly reflections on his day or some dumb bug he couldn't squash. I sent back audio clips of me yelling at failed test cases or hosting a fake podcast called Why Is My Life Like This?

Then, one random afternoon, a small box showed up at my door.

Inside was the most ridiculous clay figurine I'd ever seen. A lopsided little robot with googly eyes and a crooked smile. A red heart drawn on its chest with marker.

I kept it on my desk.

Because sometimes, love isn't fireworks or movie soundtracks. Sometimes, it's a lumpy little robot. And a voice note that says, "I miss your dumb sarcasm."

Together. Weak. Weird. And maybe... kind of strong after all.

Chapter 27

It was the first long weekend we'd both managed to wrangle free in months. Skyler had agreed -- with visible dread and excessive disclaimers -- to visit my hometown and meet the parents.

"I'll be quiet. I'll behave," he'd promised like a solemn vow. "Just nod and smile -- like a polite NPC."

I snorted. "You're not an NPC. You're the main glitch in this simulation."

Still, I packed him an extra shirt. He always managed to spill something. Usually curry. Once, toothpaste. Don't ask.

We arrived Saturday afternoon. My parents greeted us like they always did -- my dad asking about the journey and my mom eager to display her Italian cooking skills.

Skyler stuck to his script -- barely spoke, nodded like a deer in headlights, and thanked everyone for everything. Ten times in twenty minutes.

My parents exchanged a look.

"You alright, son?" my dad asked between bites of chicken.

Skyler blinked. "Hmm? Oh -- yes. Just... focusing on not ruining anything."

That got a chuckle out of Dad. But the air still felt thin, like we were all holding in a collective breath.

Dinner was better. The food was warmer, the music softer, and the kitchen windows caught the last of the sun in that honey-drenched way that makes everything feel a little less threatening.

And then, of course, Skyler opened his mouth.

"You know," he said, turning toward my mother with the gentle curiosity of someone about to cause chaos, "you're way more beautiful than Skye. Honestly, I've always wondered what made you choose him."

Dead silence.

My fork froze mid-air. My father's chewing stopped. Skyler looked confused by the lack of response.

"I mean," he continued, completely unaware, "obviously he's charming and dependable -- I'm just saying, genetically, it's surprising. Okay, I'll shut up now."

I wanted to fall through the floor. Melt, disintegrate, become wallpaper -- anything but be present.

But then -- my father laughed. Not just a chuckle. A full, belly-deep laugh that shook the table.

"Finally, someone says it!" he grinned, jabbing a thumb at himself. "No one ever believed when I used to say Skye looks more like me than her mother."

My mom rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. "Oh, stop it. She doesn't look so bad."

Skyler looked like he might cry. From guilt. Or relief. Hard to tell.

But something shifted after that. The rest of the night turned into a roast. Skyler-style. None were spared.

My parents asked him questions just to watch him squirm, and he answered with raw, unfiltered honesty. When my mom asked how he handled arguments, he said, "Mostly by panicking internally."

I was mortified. But also... kind of impressed.

Because as chaotic as he was, my parents didn't flinch. They didn't press or push or act weird. They laughed. They listened. They teased him back. Like he'd always been there.

And I saw it -- the real reason I'd brought him home.

My parents were rooted. Steady. The kind of couple that had weathered arguments, disasters, and mismatched genes with patience and trust. Skyler's awkward bluntness wasn't a threat -- it was just noise. They didn't judge him because they weren't judging me. Somewhere beneath the jokes and side-eyes, they trusted me to know who I was choosing.

Later, while Skyler helped my dad load the dishwasher (badly), I stood at the sink beside my mom, drying plates.

She leaned in and whispered, "Small mistakes don't matter. Not when the foundation holds."

I nodded, and for a second, held the plate a little tighter than I needed to.

That night, I found Skyler curled on the couch like a kicked puppy.

"I blew it, didn't I?" he whispered.

I sat beside him, leaned my head on his shoulder. "You said my mom is hotter than me," I said flatly. "That's... unforgivable."

He groaned. "I meant it as a compliment."

"It was. To her. She's glowing. Me? I got roasted."

He covered his face. "I should've just nodded and smiled like I planned."

I smirked, nudging his leg with my foot. "Relax. You survived. Barely. Welcome to the family."

He looked at me like I'd handed him a golden ticket. And maybe I had.

Chapter 28

We were walking after dinner the next night. The air was cool, not cold -- the kind that makes you breathe deeper. Stars blanketed the sky above my quiet hometown, and for once, Skyler wasn't talking. He was looking up, probably trying to find Orion but accidentally following a plane instead.

Gravel crunched beneath our shoes as we walked slowly down the street where I'd learned to ride a bike, where I'd once scraped my knees and imagined the world ended just past the corner store. Everything felt smaller now. Except him.

He looked softer in the starlight. Less chaotic. We didn't speak. Not at first.

Then he stopped -- right in the middle of the road, under the hum of a lone streetlamp.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, voice low, like he was afraid the night might shatter. "You don't have to answer if it's weird."

I turned, gave him a side glance. "It's you. It's always weird. Go ahead."

He hesitated -- visibly. Then looked at me like he was bracing for impact.

"Am I... just a placeholder for you? Or someone you actually want?"

I blinked.

It wasn't a trick question. It wasn't one of his jokes hiding a fear. It was the fear -- stripped bare, sitting between us.

He wasn't asking for comfort. He was asking for clarity. For truth.

In that second, I saw everything: the way he never quite let himself believe he was someone worth choosing. The way he carried rejection quietly, like another invisible weight, and kept walking.

And I knew my answer. I didn't dress it up.

"We're meant to be together, Skyler."

That was it. No poetry. No grand confessions.

Just a simple, weathered truth. One I'd circled around for months and finally stood in.

His face shifted -- slowly, like thawing. His whole body softened, like he'd been holding tension in his spine for years and only now realized he could let go.

And then he asked -- voice shy but hopeful -- "Can I... start calling you my girlfriend?"

I raised an eyebrow. Crossed my arms.

"Wait. You weren't already?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "I--what?"

My mock gasp was theatrical.

"Oh my god. Were you telling people I'm your 'buddy'? Do you call me 'pal'?"

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"No! I mean--I thought we hadn't officially--like--defined--"

I started laughing. He stared, stunned, then caught on.

"You are evil," he said, shaking his head.

"You love it," I grinned.

And then, like gravity finally got to him, he leaned in. Clumsy. Careful. Like he didn't want to ruin the moment by getting it wrong.

His nose bumped mine. His hand hesitated before finding my waist. He kissed me like he meant it -- awkward and unsure and completely sincere.

And I kissed him back. But it was real.

It wasn't smooth. It wasn't practiced.

But it was ours. And it was perfect.

Chapter 29

I was visiting Skyler, trying to burn off some leaves I'd collected. He was living and working from a small town. It was nice and safe. Lots of green spaces. We hadn't started sharing a bed yet--still sleeping in different rooms. But we were getting comfortable. I'd wear shorts, willing to show my thunder-thighs to him. Though I still felt extremely uncomfortable about my tummy and huge breasts. He was slim. And a guy. So he didn't worry much about his own image.

The morning started soft and gentle--sunlight filtered through a curtain of light clouds. One of those quiet, in-between days that felt like they were waiting for something. I'd barely had my first cup of tea when I noticed Skyler pacing like a malfunctioning robot.

He kept checking his coat pocket like it was whispering secrets. I watched him for a while, amused.

"Alright," I finally asked, "what did you spill, break, or hide in there?"

He jumped, way too guilty. "Nothing! Just... thought maybe we could go for a walk? Fresh air. Trees. Photosynthesis."

I stared at him. "Photosynthesis?"

"It's a thing plants do. You could stand to try it."

"I know what it is, Skyler," I laughed. "You're acting weird."

"That's literally my brand."

I didn't press it. We set out on a trail he liked--a semi-wild park on the edge of town, the kind with gravel paths, messy bushes, and stubborn wildflowers that grew wherever they wanted.

I teased him about needing coffee. He laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd ever said. That was the first real clue--Skyler never laughed without a reason. But I let it go.

About twenty minutes in, he slowed near a clearing--quiet, tucked away behind a wall of trees. The moment felt like it was holding its breath.

Then he stopped.

"Skye," he said, voice awkward and too careful, "I, um... need to talk."

I smiled. "You always need to talk."

He didn't smile. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket. His hand was trembling slightly.

"I've been carrying this for a while."

He pulled out a small, scuffed velvet box.

My heart actually paused--just for a beat. But before he could open it, it slipped from his hand and vanished into the underbrush.

"Crap--"

"Wait--NO!"

We both dropped to our knees, frantically parting grass and sticks and leaves. I was laughing by then--helpless, breathless laughter. The kind that spills out when your heart is too full and your brain's short-circuiting.

"This is ridiculous," I managed.

"Welcome to my world," he muttered, eyes scanning the ground.

A minute later, he emerged victorious--dirt on his hands, triumphant and completely absurd--holding a scratched-up silver ring. No diamond, no fancy box. Just something simple and delicate, like him.

Still kneeling, looking flushed and nervous and completely himself, he gazed up at me.

"I'm terrible at this," he said. "But will you marry me anyway?"

And I couldn't help it. I laughed. Not at him, but at the wild, chaotic beauty of it all--the lost ring, the muddy knees, the way he always made things messy and unforgettable.

"You absolute idiot," I said, already blinking away tears. "Of course I will."

He let out a breath like he'd been holding it for weeks. I pulled him up, and he slid the ring onto my finger--after trying the wrong hand first, of course. Strangely, it fit easily.

Then he looked around the clearing, sheepish.

"I picked this place on purpose," he said. "It's kind of far out. I figured if you said no, I could walk back alone and pretend none of it ever happened."

Something inside me ached and warmed at the same time.

I leaned in. "You're lucky I'm not smart enough to run from you."

And then we kissed--warm, awkward, familiar. Not a perfect movie kiss. But ours.

I held up my hand to the camera. The ring caught the light--dented and a little crooked, but perfect in its imperfection.

Angie gasped so loudly I thought she might drop her phone. "Wait--are you engaged?!"

"Yup," I said. "Dirt, panic, lost ring and all."

"No diamond?" She teased me.

"Skyler says diamonds are just carbon. Best to save money for a home. I agree." We laughed.

"Did you cry?"

I smiled. "I thought I would. I always imagined I'd sob like a rom-com heroine."

"And?"

"I laughed instead."

She was misty-eyed by then. "You look happy."

"I am," I told her. "Not in a fairy tale kind of way. But in a real, muddy, absolutely-right-for-us kind of way."

And I meant every word.

Chapter 30

We got married in a small ceremony at Skyler's parents' ranch--a wide, sun-drenched place with creaky fences and open skies. His parents are retired farmers, now content to watch their land be taken over by their kids--Skyler's two older brothers and his younger sister, along with their sprawling, noisy families.

At first glance, they came off like full-blown rednecks--flannel shirts, questionable jokes, a lot of country slang I needed subtitles for. But underneath all that, they were warm and welcoming in a way that felt disarming. They didn't just accept me--they folded me and my parents into their clan like we'd always belonged. No pretense, no politeness-for-show. Just... real.

Apart from immediate family, we invited only a handful of close friends from each side. We didn't want performative clapping or acquaintances pretending to care.

The ceremony went smoothly--mostly. I looked... not bad. Skyler was okay too. He managed to offend the reverend mid-vow by making a joke about parallel universes and faith (don't ask), and later, during his thank-you speech, he accidentally made a crack about his elder sister-in-law's moustache. Everyone laughed, including her. They were used to him. She even pulled him into a selfie afterward, pretending to twirl an imaginary moustache while holding up a peace sign.

It was very... us.

We didn't go on a honeymoon. Skyler's work wouldn't allow him that much free time. I'd made some decisions, too. I was going to move to the town Skyler was based in. I liked it--I was tired of the big city myself. I'd already resigned from my job. Staying behind felt pointless, and if I was honest with myself, I didn't trust a job--or the illusion of "stability"--to make me happy. I wanted a full reboot. A life where I could start fresh and figure out who I really wanted to be.

I knew Skyler was doing okay financially, but I hadn't grasped how well he'd actually done until he said, out of nowhere, "We'll start our life with a new home. This condo is fine for a bachelor, but it's not where I want us to start our family."

"That kind of upgrade needs money," I said, deliberately ignoring the "start a family" part. "Houses aren't cheap."

"I know. I've been saving since I got the job. I've got around 400k put away. You can start looking. I'm hopeless with agents--one wrong joke and we'll be blacklisted across town."

I blinked at him. "Wait. You have 400 thousand dollars saved?"

"423, actually." He scratched his head. "Isn't that enough? I can get a loan from my brothers."

I just stared. "How is that even possible? We've only been working, what, six years?"

He shrugged. "No girlfriend to spend it on. No bad habits either." Then, with his usual timing: "I invested on my sister-in-law's advice. She's an investment banker."

"The one with the moustache?" I mocked.

"No, the younger one. The one who always wears the red bra--" He froze. His face did this slow-motion oh-no realization. "Never mind."

I was already doubled over laughing.

Eventually, I found a small house I loved--cozy, light-filled, nothing extravagant. I did all the house-hunting alone because Skyler insisted he'd somehow say something stupid if left alone with our agent, Joan.

"She's attractive," he'd whispered, panicked. "I will 100% say something weird and ruin everything."

Honestly? I agreed.

The place cost just over half a million. I had some savings left--not much, thanks to my misadventures with Mark--but enough to contribute a little. Skyler didn't blink.

"We'll buy it outright," he said.

And just like that, he added me as a joint owner--no awkward contract talks or postnup discussion. Even though my share was barely a sliver.

"You're not a cunning person, Skye," he told me. "You're a good human. A trustworthy one."

It was maybe the first time he complimented me without a backhanded twist. But he couldn't resist ruining it a moment later.

"If you were smart," he added, "you wouldn't have married me."

Same old Skyler.

Chapter 31

I wasn't sure what I expected married life to be. Maybe long cuddles, playful pillow fights, watching stars together, hot sex--like in the movies. But reality... well, reality unfolded differently. Not worse, not better, just... blurred.

I took a new job, joined a new team, doing the same old things. At first, I was excited. But that quickly faded into endless work, messy weekdays, and a cold ache of distance--even though we shared the same bed.

We're both painfully shy. Our first night together was a fiasco. Tentative touches ended in nervous laughter or quiet retreats.

I tried--I really did. One weekend, I went shopping and came back with what I thought were 'sexy' outfits. Modest by anyone else's standards, but daring for me. Long silk gowns with tiny slits. Oversized lace shirts I didn't quite understand. I stood in front of the mirror, adjusted the fabric, sucked in my stomach... and caught a glimpse of my belly folding when I leaned forward.

That was enough to pull a robe back over.

I even tried calling my mom once for advice. Bad idea.

"Be mysterious," she told me. "Don't give too much. Let the man chase."

I blinked. "Mom, I'm already married to him."

"Still. Make him earn it."

That didn't help. I decided not to ask Angie--she would certainly laugh.

When we tried intimacy, Skyler rarely lasted. He'd apologize, humiliated. I tried to reassure him.

"It's okay," I whispered.

"No, it's not," he'd say. "I hate being this way."

I dared to attempt oral. Neither of us enjoyed it. My body wasn't flexible enough to try anything 'exotic', given my girth. Afterwards, there were long, awkward, exhausting pauses. The pressure to fix it just made everything worse. So we stopped trying.

Eventually, work swallowed us whole. Mornings began in silence--coffee, emails, commutes. Nights ended in the same silence, equally tired. Weekends were for sleep, errands, laundry, groceries, and the occasional binge-watch.

Some days, we barely spoke--not out of anger, just exhaustion.

One Saturday, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling fan. Is this what people mean when they say "stable marriage"? Because it feels like I'm just roommates with a history.

And yet...

He never left a mess. The bed was always neatly made. Towels folded. Garbage taken out. He never made a big deal out of chores--he just did them. The lawn got trimmed, the bathrooms cleaned every Sunday morning like clockwork.

He dropped me off at my work and picked me up without being asked, reshuffling his schedule just so he can see my face in the car.

He remembered my little preferences--flavour of tea, which side of the bed I turn to when I'm sad, which socks make my ankles itch.

But... he won't cook. At all.

"You don't even know how to boil an egg?" I snapped one evening after my third back-to-back meeting, my hands full with dinner prep. "How did you even survive alone?"

Skyler scratched his head, smiling sheepishly. "I... ordered a lot of food. And had cereal. Cooking is like a broken superpower for me. Mine never activated."

I wanted to be mad. But looking at him--guilt radiating off him--I sighed.

"Fine. But you're washing every dish I dirty."

"Deal," he said quickly, relieved.

Chapter 32

One night, the living room was dim, the TV flickering across our tired faces. A half-eaten box of noodles sat between us on the couch. Neither of us had touched much.

Skyler reached for his water bottle, hesitated, then asked softly--almost too casually:

"Do you think we should start trying? You know... for kids?"

I blinked, stunned. My body tensed like a coil.

"Are you crazy?" The words came out louder than I meant. "I can barely handle myself. Work is drowning me, the house is a mess, I'm tired all the time. You think I can grow a baby in this chaos?"

Skyler didn't defend himself. He didn't flinch either. He just nodded quietly, leaned back on the couch, and stared ahead at nothing. Dinner ended without another word.

Hours later, I sat beside him in bed. I felt furious with myself. He hadn't spoken much since dinner. Just brushed his teeth, pulled the blanket up, and lay with his back to me.

I gently touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I snapped. I didn't mean to be cruel. I'm just... overwhelmed."

He turned. There was a pause. Then he spoke. "I'll cook."

"What?"

"From tomorrow. I'll cook. You won't have to worry about it anymore."

I sat there, confused. "But... I thought you said you didn't know how. That it 'doesn't work for you.'"

His face had a tired smile--and a vulnerability he rarely showed. "I do know. A little. Enough to get by. I just... never wanted to. One of my dreams--silly, I know--was always to come home to food made by someone who loved me. It makes me feel wanted. Cared for. Safe."

My breath caught. I looked at him--really looked. The circles under his eyes. The gentle way he always picks up after me. The long commutes because of my detours. The forgotten dreams he quietly shelved to make room for mine. And still, he never asks for anything.

Something inside me cracked open.

"Oh god," I whispered, tears in my eyes. "I never think of your exhaustion. And you never complain. Not once."

He didn't reply. But his eyes said enough.

I leaned in. Cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing the rough edge of his stubble. "Then your woman," I said softly, "will cook for you. Always."

Skyler blinked, surprised. "You don't have to--"

"I want to," I interrupted, my voice trembling. "Because if something so small can make you feel safe... I can do that. I want to do that. I said long back--'I am on your side'. I really am, Skyler. I love you--even if I don't show it as I should."

He pulled my hand to his lips, kissed it gently. "And I'll still learn. I'll cook for you sometimes too. On the hard days."

That night, we lay holding each other--for the first time in weeks--and the silence wasn't heavy anymore. For the first time in a long while, I looked at Skyler and didn't see the awkward boy I once pitied, or the frustrating husband I'd snapped at.

I saw my partner. My equal. My safe place.

"Maybe..." I whispered, "we could start trying. Not because it's time. But because... I want to build something with you."

His eyes widened--not with fear, but with something gentler.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I said, smiling. "Not out of pressure. Just... hope."

"From tomorrow then?" he asked.

"Tomorrow." I crossed my heart and kissed him.

The next day, I stood before the mirror, heart pounding. I pulled out my "sexy" dress--the one I'd shoved to the back of the closet after last time. It was technically sexy--lace and shimmer, a little clingy--but I'd always felt ridiculous in it.

This time, I hardened my heart against self-judgment. No backing out. I walked into the bedroom and didn't suck my tummy in. Let him laugh if he wanted.

Skyler looked up--and froze. Then sat up straighter. Then, breathlessly, said, "Holy hell."

I blinked. "You actually like it?"

He nodded, almost comically fast. "Like it? I--can you--please--wear it more often? Like, every day? To bed? Grocery store? I don't care."

He reached for me like I was magic. And in his eyes, I was.

Later, curled up in the soft hush of night, we made love with an ambition. Skyler didn't last long--and looked mortified. But I just smiled, brushing his hair back.

"We'll learn," I whispered. "We'll teach each other."

"You're not disappointed? Men in porn do it for hours."

"I'm... happy," I said honestly, pulling him into my arms. "This is real life Skyler. I am no sex goddess myself. I never dreamt of someone with a foot-long. I love you. I love the feeling of you in me. This isn't about perfection. This is about us. Growing. Together."

He tucked his head between my massive bosom, and for the first time in years, sleep came to both of us with ease.

Chapter 32

The hotel ballroom buzzed with champagne, polished speeches, and forced smiles. Skyler stood in a suit near the back, hands in his pockets, watching the logo of his startup now framed beneath the banner of the very corporation he once fled.

That irony didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. They were offering good money, and he was happy to be bought out. His sister-in-law--the one who always wore a red bra--and an extremely shrewd and old Texan lawyer, that his father suggested, were handling all the negotiations and paperwork. He stood silent, mouth shut.

Then, he saw her. Laurie.

Grimmer now, sharper-suited, still walking like she owned every room she entered. She noticed him almost immediately--and made a beeline, drink in hand, smile thin and dangerous.

"Well, well," she purred. "Skyler. I see you've landed on your feet. Kind of."

"Laurie," he said evenly. "Still doing rounds with HR or running things now?"

"Director," she said smugly, ignoring the jab. "And here I thought you'd vanish into obscurity after that... unfortunate incident."

Skyler gave her a long look, but no visible reaction. "Yeah," he said softly. "That was a rough time."

"Not everyone's meant for the corporate world," she added, swirling her wine. "Some people just... don't fit. And some of us climb."

"You're right," he said.

She blinked.

"I'm not meant for this world--of office gossip and politics, and knowing who to flirt with to get ahead," Skyler said calmly, without fumbling. "But I built something from scratch. That startup you now own? It just made me more money than any ten years in any corporate job would've. After taxes."

Laurie's smile faltered.

He set down his drink. "My conscience is clean, Laurie. And I sleep just fine."

He turned to walk away--then paused. His lawyer waved to him to sign some papers.

"Oh, and one more thing--"

She looked up, wary.

"I'm planning another startup. This time? Same sector as your division." He smiled.

"Let's see how you do when the guy 'not meant for the corporate world' becomes your direct competition."

She stared, speechless.

Skyler winked. "See you at the next acquisition."

"She really said it? That bitch?" I was furious when Skyler told me about Laurie. My hormones were running wild with my pregnancy.

Skyler tried to mollify me. "Ignore it, Skye."

"Why? She falsely accused you and tried destroying your career. She knew perfectly well you didn't mean anything. Do you know how many women suffer in silence facing actual harassment at work?" My anger bubbled over. "Women like her make real victims keep suffering."

Skyler watched me, emotionless.

"How are you so calm? She needs to be confronted."

"And what do you want me to do?" He said casually. "We just made nearly 2 million dollars. We should plan for a trip to the Bahamas instead."

"No. I should be doing it. As your wife, I'm going to give that slut a piece of my mind. I'll go to her office tomorrow and flip her desk..."

"You look really hot when you're angry," he said sincerely, staring at my flushed face.

I was taken aback. I blushed even harder.

"Your face reddens and it matches how you look after we've made love," he blurted out.

I burst out laughing and kissed him hard, love and pride bubbling in my chest.

"Skyler, my love. Never change."

"I don't think I can, even if I try, Skye," he said proudly.

I kissed him again, laughing even more.

Chapter 33

The Billing family had invited us over for an informal backyard party. They're an unusual couple, to say the least--he's a quiet surgeon, and she, Nadine, is a tall woman who runs a busy auto garage and is feared by half the town. But she seemed really nice to me. Perception hides the real person. I know it--I'm married to Skyler, after all.

We don't know them well, but their older son is in the same class as our twins--Kepler and Newton.

Yes, those names. And no, I didn't protest when Skyler insisted on naming them. People always assume I must've fought him over it. I didn't. I actually loved it. Kepler and Newton. There's something elegant and quietly rebellious in naming your kids after geniuses--especially when you're awkward nerds who never quite fit into social expectations.

Even the boys love their names. "Our names are cool," Newton once declared proudly. "We're already scientists."

Most of the conversation at the party swirled around that, naturally. Names, twins, our own names.

"Didn't you get confused when someone says 'Sky'? Who responds first?" someone teased, holding a drink and trying not to spill it from laughing.

We were used to this. We laughed too.

"If someone's shouting 'Sky' about an accident, it's probably him," I grinned. "If it's about bad fashion, definitely me."

Laughter all around. Even Skyler smiled--his smile that never quite opens wide but tugs at one side and makes his eyes squint. He tried a clumsy follow-up joke (something about stars and falling objects) and flubbed the punchline, but that only made people laugh more.

We've come far, him and me. Once upon a time, jokes like that would've made me squirm. Now, we're solid. Not invincible. But rooted. In each other. In ourselves. We'd stopped trying to be cool and just became... us.

The party mostly passed in a blur of snacks and chasing our kids, who had a talent for disappearing into bushes, under buffet tables, or behind inflatable castles. Kepler had teamed up with a few other boys to build a "rocket" out of juice boxes and duct tape. Newton, poor thing, was being followed--or harassed, depending on the moment--by Billing's barefoot, chaotic younger daughter, Natalie.

"Your name sucks, and you're dumb," she told Newton after throwing a handful of mud at him.

He blinked. Didn't even flinch. My little philosopher.

"Natalie! Stop that. You use that language once more and no more cakes," Nadine's voice cut through immediately. "Play nicely or help me with plates!"

She rushed over, apologizing profusely to me and to Newton. "She's just a tease, really. I'll keep an eye on her. Please, mingle. Don't worry."

I gave Newton a long side-eye. He shrugged.

Leaning in to Nadine, I whispered, "I think Newton has a tiny crush on your Natalie."

Nadine looked startled, then smiled knowingly. "That makes so much sense. She's acting exactly like I did with her dad when we were kids. Bullied him constantly because he wouldn't look at me. Now he brings it up every time we argue to shut me up."

We laughed together, arms brushing, plates in hand. Then she handed me one of those mini tarts and looked at me quietly.

"You don't seem like you enjoy being around people much."

I paused. Not defensive. Just thinking. "I am," I said eventually. "Just... with the people I care about."

And I looked across the yard.

Skyler, balancing his plate awkwardly, eyed momentarily a busty woman in a sundress walking by. Predictably, he tripped over a garden hose and almost dropped everything. I burst out laughing.

Nadine followed my gaze, and when she saw what had happened, she looked back at me with the kind of smile that comes only from someone who understands. Who's been through awkward love.

I had to drag Kepler and Newton to bed like I was pulling two stubborn goats uphill.

"Sleep now or no books during Grandpa's visit tomorrow," I threatened in my sternest mom voice.

That did it.

Most parents worry about screen time. Mine are terrified of losing reading privileges. One whisper of no Jules Verne or comic-book physics experiments, and they're practically military cadets.

They grumbled, of course. Newton even tried fake-yawning like he wasn't exhausted--but within minutes, their breathing slowed, and they were out.

Honestly, with parents like us--mild-mannered introverts with chronic backaches and existential fatigue--where do they get this much energy? We seriously need to move them into separate rooms soon. They're growing fast, and Newton has already tried taping a "Do Not Enter: Genius at Work" sign on the shared door.

I made a mental note: talk to Skyler tomorrow about painting the other room. Something cheerful. Not grey. I'm done with "minimalist depression beige."

I exhaled, bone-tired but peaceful.

"My boring life," I muttered while folding their socks.

"With my boring husband, boring kids, in our boring house, doing my boring job..."

Then I smiled, brushing invisible lint off their bookshelf.

"And I can't wait for another boring, perfect day tomorrow."

I headed to the bathroom to brush, planning nothing more adventurous than flossing without feeling like sandpaper on my gums. That's when I noticed Skyler--sitting cross-legged on our bed, hunched over, scribbling something in a notebook like a high-school girl journaling about her crush.

That's new.

He looked so focused, so guilty, I paused mid-brush.

Quietly, I changed into my oversized sleeping tee--the one with faded cartoon pandas and a tear near the hem--and tiptoed closer like I was about to ambush a squirrel.

He noticed. Froze. And of course, fumbled the notebook, which landed at my feet like it had personally betrayed him.

"Skye, babe--it's private. Give it to me!"

"Don't 'babe' me, Skyler." I bent down and picked it up, already flipping it open before he could dive across the bed to stop me.

And there it was. The title.

Naughty Adventures to Do with Skye

I blinked. The list. Oh God, the list.

Skinny dipping at the house pool.

Blowjob in a theater.

12 naked days of Christmas.

Lap dance in a school uniform??

I didn't know if I was scandalized or deeply, deeply impressed.

He stood there frozen like a rabbit caught in headlights--except the headlights were me holding his secret little fantasy manifesto.

"Skye--this is a joke. Just ignore it. It's nothing..."

"It's not nothing, Skyler," I said, trying to sound serious. "Are we teenagers? What is this--a checklist or a felony starter kit?"

His face was turning so red I thought his ears might pop off.

"We have two kids, Sky. What if we get caught? Do you really want to scar our children with a parent-rated cabaret in the living room?"

He looked like he was about to pass out. Silent. Ashamed. Horrified.

"We need to do these with a proper plan and secrecy." I laughed.

The look on his face--like a guilty puppy who just chewed a designer shoe--was too much. I wrapped my arms around him. "Skye--you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"So did you with this list! 12 naked days of Christmas?" I was laughing so hard, I couldn't breathe. "What does that even mean?"

He looked mortified. But then he started laughing too--that silent, shaking kind of laugh we both get when we're past exhaustion and just happy to be ridiculous together.

We collapsed onto the bed, still chuckling. I kissed him gently, then looked into those eyes I've known for what feels like forever now.

"Keep this list safe, Skyler. I love this. Not all of it, mind you--but some of it I'd love to do with you."

He nodded with those big, hopeful puppy eyes, and I wiped away my tears that were half from laughter, half from love.

We kissed again--slower this time, deeper, like two people who had built a quiet life together and still kept finding sparks in the silence.

Because even here, in this so-called "boring" life--with groceries, carpools, dental checkups, and PTA potlucks--there's still magic.

Epilogue

A few years later, I sat in a faded lawn chair in our not-so-new backyard, the evening sun slanting low behind the cedar trees we never quite got around to trimming. It was peaceful, as usual -- the kind of ordinary chaos that made up our life. I had grown plumper - but in the right places this time.

Kepler and Newton raced around with oversized water guns, shrieking like tiny maniacs possessed by some joyful spirit of summer. Their laughter echoed off the fence, splashing into my quiet like music.

"You splash even a drop on me or your dad," I warned, raising an eyebrow, "and you're both doing dishes for a week."

They froze. One of them had just aimed too close to my face. You could see the panic register immediately -- the kind of look only kids raised by a woman who weaponized sarcasm and punishment charts could have. They wisely scurried farther away.

They were so us.

Boring in the best way -- bookworms, music lovers, dreamers who'd rather stay home and talk about black holes or bad puns than make "normal" friends. They'd be starting high school soon. Still so young. And already so much like Skyler: intelligent, awkward, clever, stubborn -- and deeply, unshakably kind.

I watched them chase each other across the lawn, and inside, I heard a familiar thud, followed by Skyler's muffled curse. I glanced over my shoulder.

He was in the kitchen, fumbling with the picnic basket, trying to assemble snacks for the backyard. A whole loaf of bread had just escaped his grip and hit the floor dramatically. He picked it up -- and dropped another one.

Instead of swearing again, he just laughed -- that soft, sheepish kind of laugh that always made me love him more. Some things never changed.

I stood up and called out, "Let me help you, dear."

He smiled. "Thanks, babe."

The evening drifted into night.

Later, long after the boys had crashed into sleep with wet hair and sunburned cheeks, after the stars came out and our backyard quieted into that warm hush of family dreams and aging trees, I pulled something secret from under our bed.

The battered, crumpled notebook -- his notebook.

Naughty Adventures to Do with Skye.

We opened it together. The ink had faded on some lines. The corners were dog-eared, touched more in memory than in practice. Some items were marked.

Out of the original twenty-three:

Six had been completed.

Some successfully. Some hilariously. Some partially -- but we agreed some adventures were definitely not for a repeat performance. Yes, even the lap dance. Yes, the theater one too. (No, I'm not telling you which theater.)

Ten were postponed.

We'd scribbled "maybe when the kids move out" next to the 12 naked days of Christmas.

Seven... well, those required a lot more stretching, fewer injuries, and probably an orthopedic consult. Maybe they'd just remain fantasies -- reminders of the spirit, if not the flexibility.

I snuggled closer under the covers, the pages resting on my knees, my hand trailing down the list until I found one near the bottom.

"Skinny-dip at night. In our own backyard pool."

Skyler saw my finger tracing it and kissed my hair. "Whenever you're ready," he whispered softly.

I smiled. "Tomorrow?" I teased.

He gave me that crooked smile. "Always tomorrow, huh?"

I laughed, kissed his shoulder, crossed my heart, and whispered, "Tomorrow it is."