Page 46 of Heartstruck

Alli

I toss a pair of thick socks onto the growing pile on my bed, followed by my coziest sweater. My suitcase is half-packed, but I’m stalling, mentally debating whether I really need a second pair of boots. Packing has never been my strong suit.

I fold the sweater over my arm, but my thoughts wander to everything waiting for me back home: my mom’s endless questions, my dad’s overbearing advice, and Evelyn’s invisible powers for making me feel like I’m falling short.

A knock on the door breaks through my mini spiral.

I glance at my phone. No one had said they were coming by. After a second of hesitation, curiosity wins out. When I open the door, Jared is in front of me, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, his eyes shadowed like he’s been sitting with his thoughts too long.

“Hey,” I say, my voice low as I lean against the doorframe.

“Hi.” His voice is duller than usual, tinged with something I can’t identify.

I consider making an excuse to brush him off. I’m busy, I’m packing, I’m leaving early tomorrow, but the tightness in his jaw stops me. Instead, I step aside.

“Come in.”

He hesitates, eyes scanning the room before crossing the threshold. “Am I interrupting?”

I gesture toward the mess of clothes scattered across my bed. “Nope. Just trying to fit everything into one bag.”

He smiles, but it’s like the expression barely sticks. “Going home for the holidays?”

I nod, watching him. “Yeah. You?”

“Not sure yet.” He shrugs, eyes wandering. “Maybe.”

My body moves on instinct, ready to comfort him, but my brain slams the mental brakes. Instead, I stay back and find myself digging my hands, just like his, into my pockets.

“Do you want something to drink?” I offer, needing something to fill the quiet.

“Anything’s fine,” he says, lowering himself onto the couch.

I move to the kitchen, whisking the matcha carefully. I’m hyper aware of Jared behind me, shifting on the couch, the faint creak of the cushion breaking the silence.

When I turn, he’s watching me, like he’s trying to figure me out like I’m a math problem.

“Matcha?” I ask, holding out the cup.

“You made me matcha?” He sounds surprised, and I laugh, stepping closer as I hand it to him.

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” Our fingers brush for a second longer than necessary. Jared doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does, and his focus stays on the cup rather than taking a sip.

“Thanks. When did you learn how to make matcha?”

I shrug, trying to act casual, but my pulse speeds up a little. “A while ago. I learned to make it for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice low. He meets my gaze then, and it feels like maybe he’s seeing me in a way he hasn’t before.

I give a small shrug. “I know I didn’t. I just… wanted to.”

I study him for a moment, trying to get a read on his expression. He’s not quite here, not fully with me. I take a step closer and debate whether to sit or not.

“Want to talk about what’s going on?” I finally ask.

He hesitates, his knee bouncing, agitated. “It’s nothing.”

I watch him in silence, waiting for him to say more.

He exhales, slow, like he’s working through something more than he’s saying. “My mom texted me earlier.”

The words land heavier than I expect, and my insides churn.

“She wants to see me,” he explains, voice tense, a harshness in the way the words come out. “She’s ready to make things right.” He snorts, half-laughing, like he can’t believe it. “Whatever that means.”

I sit beside him quietly, watching the frustration play across his face. His jaw clenches as if the effort to stay calm takes all his energy.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, shifting to sit closer.

He’s still just staring ahead, like he’s trying to work it out. “Nothing, I guess. Haven’t even replied.”

“Are you okay ignoring her?”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “What else am I supposed to do? Pretend everything’s fine now because she says it is?”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty awful,” I meet his gaze. “But you don’t have to have that conversation if you’re not ready.”

“Doesn’t make it go away.” He stands abruptly, pacing a few steps, hands in his hair. “She said she’s proud of me.” He scoffs, humorless. “I haven’t heard her say that in years. Now she’s suddenly proud? About what? She doesn’t even know me! It just feels fake.”

The pressure builds in my chest, and I close the distance. “Maybe it’s not fake. And even if it is… you don’t owe her forgiveness on her timeline.”

He lets out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping.

“It’s not as easy as you’re making it sound,” he mutters, slouching down onto the couch.

I move closer without thinking, my hand brushing his like it’s second nature. “No. It’s not easy. It’ll never be easy, but it’s not impossible, either.”

He stares at the floor, lost in thought. I resist the urge to run my hands through his hair, to pull him into a tight hug.

“My mom always made me feel like I wasn’t enough,” he says quietly, his voice like gravel. “Like she could never be proud of me. When she says she is now… I don’t know what to believe.”

“It doesn’t matter what she says.” I slide my hand to his knee, then reach for his hands, pulling them toward me. “It matters what she does. She made choices that drove you away from her, not the other way around. End of story.”

He looks down, his body tensing at my touch, before raising his vulnerable—broken, I would even dare—gaze to mine.

Neither of us says anything. His gaze drops to my hand still resting on his knee. He swallows, like he wants to speak, but the words don’t come.

“You’re not… dragging me down, Jared,” I break the silence.

“I’m not?” he aims at the verge of a cry.

“You’re not,” I give him a tight-lipped smile. “You’re not a burden. You’re worth so much more than whatever she says.”

“You mean that?” he asks, his voice barely audible. I catch the tremble in his words, the way he’s holding back like he’s about to break.

“Of course.” I lean closer, almost unconsciously. “You just have to see it.”

“Thanks.” His voice comes out rough but genuine.

“For what?”

“For believing in me,” he says. The words feel heavier this time, like he can’t believe them himself.

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I always have, Jared.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the faint hint of a smile on his lips says more than words ever could.