Page 65 of Collide

“You like him, right?” Riley presses, eyes on me.

“Yeah,” I admit, the word slipping out quieter than I expected.

Until Alex, boys had come and gone like unfinished songs—light verses, no chorus, barely leaving a mark. But he crashed into my life like the sudden beat drop in a song. Inevitable, bursting with quiet anticipation before rising into a crescendo.

Riley watches me for a beat longer, reading the shift in my face, then she softens. “Okay. I’ll give you some privacy. I’ve got to pack anyway. Call your hunk-a-spunk.” She grins, pulling me into a warm hug before stealing one last dramatic inhale of the roses, the scent now wrapping itself around me like a spell.

“Love you,” I call after her.

“Love you most,” she calls back, already halfway down the hall—and then she’s gone.

I can’t call him. Not yet. Not while my fingers itch to capture this ache, this dizzy, spinning feeling still blooming in my chest.

It’s all for him—every beat, every line already humming in my blood.

I slip into my room, barely breathing, grabbing my notepad and guitar from where they wait near the window. I drop to the floor, legs crossed, the weight of the roses still lingering in the air like perfume.

The words spill before I can stop them. The melody follows, simple and slow at first, then rising, lifting like the breath after a kiss.

‘Cause it’s your touch, your hands, your name in my mouth.

First time I let someone in, didn’t shut them out.’

Lost in the melody, my mind drifts.

“So, did you tell Logan that you like him?” my mother asked, her face full of hope, voice light, like we were talking about shoes, not boys.

“I don’t know, Mom.” I sighed, watching her as she chopped vegetables with rhythmic precision. “I feel like guys only want one thing. They call me frigid…and the girls, they make fun of me for being quiet.”

She didn’t pause in her slicing, just gave a small hum of disapproval. “I’m glad you’re being cautious and not letting boys use you. But don’t shut people out, Anak. Give them a chance to know you. You might be surprised.”

“Jason invited me to the movies and basically asked me to suck his—” I cut myself off, lowering my voice, “—you know what before the movie even started.”

She gasped, knife pausing mid-air, looking like she was ready to castrate him. “That boy is a pig. Next time, slap him in the balls.”

“Sure you don’t want to cut them off?” I said.

She barked out a laugh, and I joined in, a high, warm sound that filled the kitchen.

“That’s exactly what I mean! Is it so bad to want the kind of person the singers write about in songs? The one who makes your heartbeat fast like it might burst?”

She smiled at that, slicing the last of the carrots. “My special girl, that’s a lot to ask of one date.”

“Hey, it worked for Romeo.” I shrugged.

“Yeah, and then they died,” she deadpanned.

We giggled like schoolgirls.

There was a pause, soft and fleeting, like the moment before a sigh.

“I’m probably not the best person to take advice from, I suppose. Look how your father and I ended up.”

“Yeah, but he cheated on you,” I said, rolling my eyes.

She turned back to the stove, her shoulders squared, the back of her neck rigid. She shrugged—casual, light—but I caught it. That flicker of regret. The quiet collapse behind her ribs. Pride, cracked years ago. She hid it well, but when she spoke about him, it was always there. Like a scar she could never scrub clean.

The memoriesof my mother crack open something deep in me. Her voice echoes faintly—full of wisdom and comfort, flooding back in waves that leave me hollow and full all at once.