Chapter 3: Promises We Can’t Keep

The pizza place where we’d shared our first awkward dinner, the thrift shop where she’d found that ridiculous sequined jacket, the tiny park where we’d watched fireworks on the Fourth of July. Each place felt like a chapter in our story.

I never thought she’d bring me here.

A hotel room felt so final, so adult. Honestly, I never thought it’d come to this. I’d always imagined our first night together would be after graduation, maybe on a road trip to the coast, not like this, not as a goodbye.

Before I knew it, she’d already pulled me inside.

Her hand was steady, her steps sure. I followed her, my heart pounding, not sure if I was ready for what came next, but unwilling to let her go.

As soon as the door closed, she threw herself into my arms, hugging me tight.

She clung to me, burying her face in my chest. Her breath hitched with every sob. I stroked her hair, murmuring nonsense, anything to soothe her, but knowing nothing I said could make this easier.

I remember the first time I tried to touch her—when I hugged her and slid my hand up, she’d grab my wrist, her whole body tense.

She’d always been shy, pulling away if I got too close. Cheeks flushed pink. I’d laugh it off, but inside, I loved how much she cared, how much it meant to her.

But now, as we kissed, she started unbuttoning her blouse, scared but determined. “Let me remember you for a lifetime, okay?”

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons, her hands shaking. She looked up at me, searching my eyes for reassurance. I nodded, brushing her hair back from her face, trying to steady her trembling hands with my own.

My breathing sped up.

My chest rose and fell too quickly, my heart racing. I tried to slow down, to be gentle, but the urgency of goodbye made everything feel more intense.

Seeing her bare shoulders, I picked her up, and we tumbled onto the bed together.

She squealed softly, surprise and laughter mixing with her tears. The mattress creaked beneath us, and for a moment, it felt like we were kids again, playing and tumbling, before the weight of the world settled back in.

Our kisses got deeper. Whenever I tried to kiss down her neck, she’d cup my face, not letting me go lower.

She wanted to keep our eyes locked. To hold onto the intimacy of the moment. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, wild and fast.

I knew she wasn’t just scared—she wanted to look at me a little longer.

She searched my face, memorizing every line, every freckle. Like she was afraid to forget.

Seeing her face, so lost and sad, my heartache swallowed my desire.

Desire faded into tenderness. I just wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to make the pain go away, even if only for a moment.

I wondered, is this really the right thing?

Doubt crept in. Was I doing this for her, or for myself? Was I helping, or just making the goodbye harder?

I promised I’d protect her—does this count as protecting her?

I’d sworn to keep her safe, to never hurt her. Was I breaking that promise now, letting my love get in the way of what was best for her?

I’m not old-fashioned.

I never cared much for traditions, never thought of myself as the jealous type. But suddenly, all those old worries crept in.

But I know—even if there’s only a tiny chance, maybe someday, when she gets married, her husband might make a big deal about her not being a virgin.

It sounded ridiculous in my head, but I couldn’t shake the thought. Not really. What if her future husband was one of those guys who made a big deal out of it? I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to hurt her, not even in some distant, imagined future.

Maybe he will, maybe he won’t.

I tried to reason with myself. Most people didn’t care about that stuff anymore, right? But the doubt lingered, stubborn and persistent.

But even if it’s a one-in-a-million chance, I don’t want to risk her happiness.

Even if the odds were tiny, I couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt because of me. I wanted her to have every happiness, every chance at love, even if it wasn’t with me.

Suddenly, I realized how pathetic I was.

Here I was, holding the girl I loved, and I was worrying about some hypothetical guy she might meet years from now. It felt cowardly, selfish, and it made me hate myself a little.

The girl I love most is in my arms, and I’m thinking about some guy in her future.

I wanted to be better than that, to focus on her, on us, on the love we shared right now. But my mind kept wandering, tripping over old fears and insecurities.

Thinking about that made my heart ache, and I loosened my grip on her.

I let my arms fall away, giving her space, even though every part of me wanted to hold her tighter.

When I slowed down, she looked up at me, confused, asking why I stopped.

Her brows knitted together. She searched my face, trying to read my thoughts. I couldn’t meet her eyes, afraid she’d see the doubt there.

I didn’t know what to say.

Words failed me. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to explain the tangle of thoughts in my head.

If we don’t have a future, I don’t want to take this from you now.

The words came out rough, barely above a whisper. I wanted her to understand it wasn’t about her, that I was trying to protect her, even if it didn’t make sense.

She didn’t answer right away. She turned her head, and her tears soaked the sheets.

She stared at the ceiling, silent, letting the tears fall. I reached for her hand, but she pulled away, lost in her own pain.

The room went quiet, except for her soft sobs.

The air felt heavy, the silence broken only by her muffled cries. I wanted to say something, anything, but I didn’t trust myself not to make it worse.

I once swore I’d never let her cry.

I remembered promising her, late at night, that I’d always make her laugh, always keep her safe from sadness. Now, I was the reason she was hurting.

Now she was sobbing so hard she covered her face with her arm, trying to hide it from me.

She turned away, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Her shoulders shaking. I wanted to pull her close, but I knew she needed space.

But I could see right through her.

I knew her too well. Even when she tried to be strong, her pain was obvious. I could hear it in her breathing, see it in the way her fingers twisted the sheets.

At first, she just bit her lip, but then she started shaking with every sob, barely able to breathe.

Her whole body trembled. Her breaths came in shallow gasps. I reached out, but stopped myself, not wanting to push her further away.

I didn’t cry out loud. I just took deep breaths, trying to keep it together.

I stared at the ceiling, blinking hard, willing myself not to break down. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, trying to hold onto what little composure I had left.

“I love you, I love you so much…” she suddenly wailed. “I always wanted to marry you. I know you love me too—why can’t we be together?”

Her voice cracked. Raw and desperate. Each word cut deeper than the last, and I felt my own resolve slipping away.

I had no answer.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wanted to give her a reason, something to hold onto, but all I had was silence.

I love her with everything I have.

That was the only truth I knew. Everything else felt flimsy, insubstantial, compared to the weight of my love for her.

But breakups don’t always have a reason.

Sometimes, things just fall apart, no matter how much you want them to work. I hated that I couldn’t give her a better answer.

Sometimes, life just doesn’t work out.

We’d done everything right, loved each other as hard as we could, but sometimes love isn’t enough. Life throws curveballs you never see coming.

Maybe it’s because we graduated college and have to move back home. Everyone knows love doesn’t always survive the miles.

Her family was in Chicago. Mine in Cleveland. The thought of long-distance, of months apart, made the future feel impossible.

Maybe it’s because I can’t save enough for a down payment, and I’m giving up because I can already see the struggle ahead.

Every time I checked my bank account, the numbers felt like a verdict. I wanted to give her everything, but I couldn’t even promise her a place to live.