Page 24

PIPER

T he day of the podcast finale dawns clear and warm.

A cool March Friday that carries the promise of new beginnings as graduation looms just six weeks away, cherry blossoms scatter across campus pathways like pink confetti.

Among the blossoms, students emerge from libraries in sunglasses and t-shirts, celebrating the arrival of proper spring.

As for me, today is a day not made for celebrating.

Probably because I’m preparing record the most honest podcast episode of my life, speaking my truth about love, fear, and mistakes…

Even if the person who needs to hear it most won't be there to listen.

"You're not seriously wearing that, are you?" Abigail asks, appearing in my bedroom doorway as I examine my reflection in the mirror.

I glance down at my perfectly professional blazer and button-up. "What's wrong with this?"

"It's your podcast funeral outfit," she replies, crossing to my closet. "You've worn it for every recording since the breakup. It screams 'I'm fine, really, don't worry about me' while actually saying 'I've given up on joy.'"

“Abs, it’s completely professional.”

"It's completely armor." She rifles through my clothes, emerging with the burgundy sweater I wore to the Winter Formal. "This is what you should wear. It says 'I'm vulnerable but strong.'"

"It says 'I'm pathetically nostalgic about my ex.'"

"Maybe. But at least it's honest. Isn't that what today is supposed to be about?"

I take the sweater reluctantly. "I hate when you're right."

"No, you don't. You love having smart friends who call you on your bullshit." She checks her watch. "Julian says the live audience starts arriving at six. We should head over early for setup."

"We?"

"You really think I'd miss the grand finale?" Her tone softens. "Plus, you might need backup if it gets emotional."

"It's just a podcast wrap-up," I insist, though we both know it's far more than that. "A professional conclusion to a successful project."

"Keep telling yourself that," she says, patting my shoulder as she leaves the room. "And wear the sweater."

An hour later, the campus radio station buzzes with unusual energy when we arrive.

Julian has transformed our small recording space into something resembling a proper studio, with additional microphones, new soundproofing panels, and a small area with chairs for the live audience.

"Wow," I breathe, taking in the transformation. "You didn't have to do all this."

"Are you kidding? This podcast broke download records for the station.” He grins, adjusting levels and switches on the sound board. "Plus, we've got a waiting list for the live audience. Had to turn away at least thirty people."

"For a research podcast about relationship communication?"

"For the unexpected love story that played out on air all semester," he corrects. "People are invested. They want to know how it ends."

My stomach twists. "They'll be disappointed. There's no love story, just two people who couldn't make it work."

"Speaking of your co-host…have you heard from him?"

"No." I set down my notes, ignoring the ache that accompanies that single syllable. "He made it clear he won't be participating."

"Right." Julian exchanges a glance with Abigail that I can't quite interpret. "Well, the show must go on. I've got some last-minute preparations to finish. You've got about an hour before audience arrival."

As he disappears into the production booth, I sink into my familiar chair, letting my fingers trace the worn edge of the table where Liam used to sit.

His absence feels almost tangible, a negative space that highlights how much his presence had come to mean.

"Ms. Thompson." Professor Bennett's voice startles me from my thoughts. "Apologies for the intrusion. I wanted to wish you luck before the finale."

"Professor Bennett," I stand quickly. "I didn't expect you. Thank you for coming."

"I wouldn't miss it," he says, glancing around the transformed studio. "Quite the production your little experiment has become."

"Just wrapping up loose ends," I gesture to the studio around us. "The fellowship committee seemed pleased with the podcast's innovation, even with the recent... format adjustments."

"Ah, yes. Your solo episodes." His diplomatic tone doesn't quite mask his assessment. "Technically sound, academically impressive, but—if you'll permit my candor—missing the spark that made this project special."

"The debate format was effective," I acknowledge, staring at my notes.

"It wasn't just the format, Ms. Thompson." He takes the seat across from me—Liam's seat. "It was the chemistry. The genuine evolution of perspectives. Your willingness to challenge each other and grow through the process."

My throat tightens. "I tried to maintain the quality?—"

"You maintained the academic rigor, yes. But if I may say so…you lost the heart. Journalism isn't just about facts and research—it's about human connection. Finding truth through authentic exchange."

"I know," I admit quietly. "I think I forgot that somewhere along the way."

Professor Bennett stands, straightening his tweed jacket. "Well, you have one more episode to remember. Use it wisely." He nods toward the notes I've prepared. "And perhaps consider speaking from here—" he taps his chest, "—rather than just from here." He taps his temple.

After he leaves, I stare at my prepared script, suddenly seeing it for what it is.

Another shield. Another way to hide behind facts and figures.

As if the very act of controlling my entire life down to the minute details would save me from a fate like my mom’s.

As if following all my own rules would keep the universe from screwing me over.

But now, I know the universe has its own plans. And I’ll never control it.

Because life doesn’t work that way…

And from what I can gather, neither does love.

With sudden resolve, I push the papers aside, pull out a blank notepad, and begin to write what I actually need to say, what I should have said weeks ago, what I desperately wish Liam could hear.

By the time the audience begins filtering in, I've filled three pages with the kind of unfiltered honesty I've been avoiding all semester.

A hand on my shoulder nearly jolts me out of my seat.

I turn to see Abigail, clutching me, giving the limb a squeeze. “Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I reply, smoothing the burgundy sweater.

Julian counts down through the booth window. "Live in five, four, three..."

I take a deep breath, staring at the empty chair across from me.

"Welcome to the final episode of 'Love & Logic,'" I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. "I'm Piper Olive Thompson, and today's episode is going to be a bit different. Rather than analyzing relationship dynamics through research, I want to talk about what I've learned through personal experience."

The honesty feels both terrifying and freeing as I continue.

"This podcast began as an academic project—a controlled experiment in relationship communication. But somewhere along the way, it became much more than that. It became a journey of personal growth, unexpected connection, and... if I'm being completely honest, falling in love."

A murmur ripples through the small audience.

I press on, heart racing, throat tight.

"My co-host and I started as complete opposites—me with my research and statistics, him with his spontaneity and intuition.

I thought these differences made us incompatible.

What I didn't realize was how much I needed that challenge—someone who would push me to look beyond the data and actually experience life. "

My voice wavers slightly as I approach the hardest part.

"But I made a mistake that research couldn't fix. I kept parts of myself hidden, afraid that my plans and ambitions would somehow threaten what we were building. Instead of trusting him with my dreams, I created distance that eventually became impossible to bridge."

I glance down at my handwritten notes, then back up at the audience, who hang on every word.

"So, if there's one thing I've learned from this experiment, it's that true connection requires courage—the courage to be vulnerable, to share your fears alongside your dreams, to let someone see the messy, unplanned parts of your life. I didn't have that courage when it mattered most, and?—"

"I disagree," a familiar voice interrupts through my headphones, sending shock rippling through me.

I freeze, certain I'm imagining things.

"You've always been the bravest person I know," Liam's voice continues, warm and real in my ears. "Brave enough to ambush a complete stranger into being your co-host. Brave enough to defend me to your professors. Brave enough to challenge every one of my assumptions about relationships."

My head jerks up toward the production booth window, where Liam sits beside Julian, microphone in hand, watching me with an intensity that steals my breath away.

Wren and Abigail flank him, matching conspiratorial grins on their faces.

"What—" I begin, but words fail me as the booth door opens and Liam steps out, making his way toward the studio, toward me.

The audience buzzes with excitement as he enters, taking his familiar seat across from me.

His dark hair mussed, his Henley shirt rolled up to his sleeves, he looks exhausted…and more alive than I've ever seen him.

His hazel eyes are unwavering on my face, and quite honestly…he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

My heart squeezes in my chest as he moves his chair closer.

"Sorry I'm late," he says into his microphone, a ghost of his usual grin appearing. "Traffic was terrible."