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PIPER

M id-March brings Boston's hesitant spring, cherry blossoms tentatively appearing only to be slapped back by occasional frost.

Convincing Julian that I can finish the podcast alone is much harder than I thought.

But I have no choice. I have to salvage what's left of the project that's become central to my fellowship application.

I never knew how much can change in one week.

It’s only been seven days, but it feels like an eternity.

One whole week has passed since Liam and I destroyed whatever was between us in the rain outside the hockey arena. Seven days of avoiding each other across campus and pretending the hurt isn't consuming me from the inside.

When I enter the studio, dark circles under my eyes betraying my sleepless nights, Julian blinks quickly at me.

“Holy hell, you look terrible,” he says, settling in.

"Thanks for the professional assessment.” I set down my notes—twice as thick as usual to compensate for Liam's absence. "I'm fine."

“Okaaaay. And that's why you've rescheduled our planning meeting three times and your last email about the finale had thirty-three typos?"

"I've been busy with fellowship preparation. The podcast is still a priority."

"About that." He shifts uncomfortably. "I've been getting calls from listeners. They're wondering why Sullivan wasn't on yesterday's episode."

"I explained that in the intro. He's focusing on hockey before the Brampton game."

"Right, except Ryan Martinez told my roommate that Sullivan's been benched from practice for fighting."

I flinch, remembering the vicious punch Liam threw during the Hartford game—so unlike him. "The podcast will continue with or without him."

Julian hesitates, then pulls out his phone. "Have you seen what fans have been making?"

He shows me a TikTok compilation titled "Love & Logic: Best Moments."

The video cuts between our earliest arguments, our gradually evolving banter, the softening in Liam's voice when discussing vulnerability during the 36 Questions episode.

The comments section overflows with observations about our chemistry, our growth, our impact on listeners' relationships.

"There's dozens of these," Julian says gently. "People connect with what you two built together."

"What we built was a research project," I insist, ignoring the tightness in my throat. "The content can stand on its own."

"Can it?" He plays another clip—Liam challenging my perspective on relationship timelines, pushing me to consider emotional factors alongside my data. My own laughter follows, genuine and unguarded in a way I rarely allow myself to be.

"This isn't helping," I say, turning away. "I need to prep for solo recording."

Julian sighs but doesn't push further. "The live finale is still scheduled for next Friday. Let me know if you change your mind about the format."

"You're making a mistake," Abigail announces that evening, folding herself onto our couch beside me. "A huge, stubborn, typical Piper mistake."

I look up from my fellowship application materials, spread across the coffee table in organized chaos. "Not now, Abigail."

"Yes now," she insists. "Because I just ran into Professor Bennett, who mentioned your podcast quality has taken a nosedive, which is kind of important since it's central to your fellowship application."

"It's a temporary adjustment period. I’m handling it."

"Are you? Because what I see is you retreating into work and pretending you're not heartbroken."

"I'm not—" I begin, then stop when I see the look on her face.. "Fine. It hurts. But that doesn't change anything. New York is still my plan. It's still the right choice."

"Is it the only choice, though?" Her dark hair swings as she leans in. "Have you even considered alternatives? Talking to Liam? Finding a compromise?"

Before I can answer, my phone rings—my father's photo lighting up the screen. I answer, grateful for the interruption.

"Dad! How's the conference?"

"Just finished my presentation," he replies, his warm voice instantly comforting despite the distance. "But more importantly, how are you? Derek mentioned there was some drama with your podcast partner."

I shoot Abigail a warning look as she mouths "tell him" at me. "It's fine. Just a creative disagreement."

"Piper Olive Thompson," my father says, using my full name in a way that instantly transports me to childhood scoldings. "I've known you your entire life. 'Fine' is your code for 'absolutely not fine but I don't want to talk about it.'"

"It's complicated," I sigh, retreating to my bedroom for privacy.

"Relationships usually are," he says gently. "Want to tell me what actually happened?"

The wall of emotion that had been in my chest cracks. Just a bit.

But the pressure is enough.

The whole story pours out.

The fellowship. My silence. Liam's discovery.

Our explosive fight.

My father listens without interrupting, a skill I've always admired and never managed to master myself.

"You know," he says finally, "you sound exactly like your mother right now."

"Because I'm pursuing my career?"

"Because you're running away from connection under the guise of ambition," he corrects softly. "Your mom did the same thing before we got married. Almost took a job in London without telling me, convinced I'd hold her back."

This revelation stuns me. "But Mom always seemed so certain about everything."

"She was—once she actually made a choice, instead of letting fear make it for her." His voice turns reflective. "She almost missed out on us because she assumed I wouldn't understand her dreams. Sound familiar?"

“But-But the fellowship?—"

"Will still be there whether you talk to Liam or not. The question isn't whether you should choose your career or him. It's whether you're brave enough to have an honest conversation about what might be possible together."

My throat goes dry, and the next words nearly turn to glue inside my mouth.

"What if it's too late?" I whisper, voicing the fear that's been haunting me for days.

"Then at least you'll know you tried," Dad says. "Instead of wondering 'what if' while staring at fellowship acceptance letters in an empty New York apartment."

After we hang up, I sit on my bed staring at my phone, the last text I sent Liam still unanswered on the screen.

My father's words echo, illuminating a pattern I hadn't recognized—one inherited from my mother, perpetuated by my own fear.

I've been hiding behind plans and research and career goals, assuming Liam wouldn't understand or support my ambitions—without ever giving him the chance to try.

The realization settles like a weight, then gradually transforms into something lighter…

Something like clarity.

It might be too late for us.

But I owe us both the conversation we should have had months ago.