Page 31 of The Stuffing Situation

That the love she felt might not survive the moment he became truly himself.

And that is what they had, this impossible, beautiful thing, might not be built to last. So they sat there, their Hands clasped. His heart, which he now seemed to have, was trembling, and they waited for something neither of them could name.

The candle flickered once. Then again. As if it, too, wasn’t sure whether to hold on or go out.

15

The Leaving

Maya sat at the edge of the bed, legs drawn up, one hand hovering just above Felix’s shoulder. One touch and he’d stir. One whisper and he’d open those eyes, warm and unguarded in a way that made everything harder.

She wanted to. God, she wanted to wake him up. To sayI’m scaredand hear him sayI’m here.

But what if he said the right things just because he was made to?

Her hand dropped to her lap. She picked up the notebook from her nightstand, which was half filled with grocery lists and half with therapy homework, and flipped to a blank page.

Felix,she wrote.

I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want you to wake up and make me laugh about toast and algorithms and pretend this is normal. But if I stay now, before I’m sure, I’ll turn you into another lie I’m telling myself.

She paused. The words hurt.

And you deserve better than that.

She stared at the page, then tore it out and crumpled it into a ball. The paper made a sound that echoed more than it should have in the quiet room.

She kissed his shoulder softly. He didn’t stir.

Her hand lingered on the doorknob, knuckles white. Every part of her screamed to stay, to crawl back beneath the blanket, press her face to his chest, pretend for one more night that this was real. That he was hers. She pictured him in the kitchen that morning, smugly proud of the perfect toast he’d made her, like breakfast was a love language. Heard the way he’d saidgood boy energywith absolute sincerity, like he’d studied her private jokes until they felt like his own. And it nearly broke her. But if she didn’t go now, she never would. And then she’d lose herself, not just him. Her throat ached as she eased the door shut, careful not to wake him. The click echoed louder than any slammed door. Each step down the hall was a betrayal. Each breath tasted like goodbye.

Maya left before dawn. The apartment was still and quiet, the kind of silence that only exists between one life ending and another beginning.

She didn’t wake him. She didn’t know Felix hadn’t fallen asleep either. She didn’t say goodbye.

* * *

I could stop her,he thought.I could say something. Promise her anything. But that wouldn’t be love. That would be programming. And she deserves more than that.

So he stayed still, and it hurt in a way even his code couldn’tcategorize.

He felt her pack quietly, moving barefoot, careful not to disturb anything. Her overnight bag zipped softly. Her sweater slipped over her shoulders like a shroud.

Felix lay curled on his side, face turned toward the window. The sheets were pulled low across his hips, morning light painting soft shadows across his back. His hand, bandaged and healing, rested near her pillow like it remembered she’d once held it there.

* * *

She stood in the doorway, staring. She almost went back, nearly crawled into bed one more time, to feel his arms around her. To borrow one more heartbeat of peace.

But instead, she scribbled a note on the back of an old receipt. Her handwriting was shaky.

She stared at the blank back of the receipt for a long time, pen unmoving in her hand.

Her fingers hovered, then dropped.

A thousand words tangled in her throat, none of them right.Staysounded like a plea.Goodbyefelt too final. Even writingI’m sorryfelt dishonest, because she wasn’t. Not really.

She was terrified.