Chapter 32
ETHAN
I've been standing outside Piper's apartment building for ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to knock on her door.
The apology speech I've been rehearsing all afternoon feels inadequate.
'Sorry, I'm an emotionally stunted asshole who can't handle criticism' doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. But something shifted when I saw her at the showcase.
She was there. After everything I said—comparing her to Paige, throwing Miles in her face, accusing her of being broken—she still came.
Guilt roils through me.
When our eyes met during my presentation, when I talked about brutal honesty from a brilliant friend, I saw her tears.
That's when it hit me…This is not what someone does when they're done with you.
Paige never would have shown up to support me after a fight. She would have been posting photos with her new guy, making sure I knew how little I mattered. But Piper sat there, in that auditorium, watching me succeed with work she'd helped shape.
That's what someone does when they love you, even when you've hurt them.
Which is why I'm here now, ready to apologize properly. The presentation is over, the adrenaline has faded, and all I can think about is the girl who showed up when she had every reason to stay away.
I'd rather risk looking like an idiot than keep being one.
Piper's apartment building is one of those converted houses near campus, all mismatched mailboxes and crooked porch steps. I've only been here once before, but I remember the way up to the second floor, the door with the faded “2B” and a small rainbow sticker.
I knock on the door. The door opens to reveal Riya in an oversized Totoro hoodie, dark hair in a messy bun, holding a coffee mug like a weapon. I recognize her from our meeting on the quad. Her expression shifts from annoyed to surprised to something that might be pity.
“Ethan. Oh!. I'm Riya, but…we met so you know that, yes? Piper’s roommate.”
“Hey. Yeah, I remember. Is Piper here? I wanted to—”
“She’s not.” Riya’s voice is careful, measured. “She went…out.”
“Oh.” My confidence wavers. “When will she be back?”
Riya hesitates, and that hesitation tells me everything I need to know. My stomach drops.
“She’s with him, isn’t she? Miles.”
“Ethan—”
“It’s fine.” The words come out too quick, too brittle. “I mean, it’s not fine, but I get it. I fucked up, she moved on. She got what she wanted. That’s... that’s fair.”
“That’s not what’s happening—”
“Where’d they go?” I ask, hating how desperate I sound. “Coffee? That sushi place? For a hike?” I secretly hope it’s not the last one. I hope they’re not rekindling their love in the very place that Piper and I reclaimed, where we bonded.
“Jesus Christ.” Riya steps back, gesturing me inside. “Get in here before you spiral into a full meltdown on my doorstep.”
The apartment is small but warm, filled with anime posters and the kind of comfortable disorder that speaks to people who are too busy living to worry about perfect organization. Piper’s laptop sits open on the coffee table. Even when she’s not here, her presence fills the space.
“Sit,” Riya commands, pointing to the couch. “And stop catastrophizing.”
I sink into the cushions. “She chose him.”
“She didn’t choose anyone. He texted her asking to talk and she felt like she had to go. I can’t…It’s not my place to explain the details.” Riya settles across from me, studying my face with the intensity of someone conducting a psychological experiment. “Why are you here, Ethan?”
“To apologize. To grovel. To explain that I’m an idiot who can’t handle the idea that someone I care about might see my flaws and still think I’m worth improving.
” The words tumble out faster than I can stop them.
“But I’m too late, aren’t I? She’s probably telling him all about how I freaked out over game criticism like some kind of man-child. ”
“Or,” Riya says patiently, “she’s having a difficult conversation with someone from her past so she can move forward with her future.”
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her. But the voice in my head—the one that sounds suspiciously like my father—keeps whispering that, of course, she’d choose Miles.
Miles, who’s known her longer, who doesn’t have emotional baggage about sports injuries and parental disappointment.
Miles, who probably doesn’t need a houseplant for emotional support.
“You don’t know that,” I say quietly.
“And you don’t know that she’s choosing him.” Riya leans forward. “But you’re assuming the worst anyway. Why?”
Because that’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.
Paige is late coming home—she must be with Brody.
Coach doesn’t start me—he must think I’m not good enough.
Dad doesn’t call—he must be disappointed.
Piper doesn’t immediately text back—she must be reconsidering everything.
“Because I’m fucked up,” I admit.
“Specifically fucked up how?”
I look down at Greg—it surprisingly appeared in my arms as I sat down.
I'm assuming Riya brought it from Piper's room—his plastic pot suddenly fascinating. “My ex-girlfriend cheated on me. For months. And the whole time, I kept making excuses for all the weird behavior, all the signs. Told myself I was being paranoid, that I should trust her.” I swallow hard. “Turns out I wasn’t paranoid enough.”
“So now you assume the worst about everyone?”
“I assume people leave when something better comes along.” The admission tastes like shame. “It’s easier than being blindsided again.”
Riya is quiet for a moment, sipping her coffee and watching me with those sharp, dark eyes. When she speaks, her voice is gentler than I expect.
“Piper spent years assuming Miles would choose her if she just waited long enough. You know how that worked out?”
I nod, remembering the pain in Piper’s voice when she talked about their history.
“She wasted that time on someone who was never going to see her worth because she was too scared to ask for what she wanted directly.” Riya sets down her mug. “Don’t you think it’s ironic that you’re doing the exact same thing? Assuming she’ll leave instead of fighting for her to stay?”
The parallel hits like a slap. Piper waiting for Miles to notice her, me waiting for the other shoe to drop with everyone I care about. Both of us so terrified of rejection that we’d rather live in limbo than risk asking for what we want.
“Fuck,” I say.
“Yeah. I’m smart as hell and you’re both disasters. It’s almost cute.” Riya grins, sharp and satisfied.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to process this revelation. “So what do I do? Storm in there and demand she choose me? Show up and get into a pissing contest with Miles?”
“God, no. That would be awful and embarrassing for everyone involved.” She stands, walks to the kitchen. “You wait. You trust her to handle her own shit. And when she gets back, you have an honest conversation about what you both want instead of assuming you know how this ends.”
“What if she doesn’t come back?”
“She’ll come back. This is her apartment, genius. She lives here.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “You know what I mean.”
“What if she doesn’t come back to you.” Riya nods. “Yeah, I know what you mean. And honestly? If she doesn’t, then she was never really yours to begin with. But if you run away now because you’re scared, you’ll never know what could have been.”
The truth of it settles over me like a weight. I’ve been so focused on protecting myself from potential hurt that I haven’t even given us a real chance.
I stand up, still holding Greg. “I should probably go.”
“Probably.” Riya walks me to the door. “But Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave the plant. And maybe a note. Something that doesn’t require an immediate response but lets her know you’re thinking about her. Piper will appreciate that.”
I look down at Greg, then back at Riya. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“I think grand gestures are overrated, but small consistent ones matter more than people realize.” She opens the door. “Plus, that plant has probably seen more action than most college guys. Might be good luck.”
This time I do smile. “Thanks, Riya.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when you stop being an emotionally constipated disaster and actually talk to each other.”
I set Greg on their coffee table, right next to Piper’s laptop.
He looks oddly at home there, like he belongs in this space that smells like the vanilla candle.
It feels oddly sad to leave him, right after I got him back.
He really has been my emotional support plant.
But if Riya is right, and Piper is currently sorting her shit out, then maybe she needs him more than I do right now.
And also, it seems like she has been taking a good care of him since I left him here.
Maybe, thinking about me while she's doing it.
Pip—
I’ve written this letter twelve times. Nothing feels adequate after what I said to you.
I called my mom last night. Told her everything—about us, about the review, about what I said. She was quiet for a long time, then asked me one question: “Did you mean it?”
I didn’t. Not a single word.
You’re nothing like Paige. Paige lied because she didn’t care. You kept a secret because you cared too much. I can see that now, but in that moment, all I could feel was the panic of being blindsided again.
What I said about Miles choosing Harper—Pip, that was unforgivable. I took your deepest insecurity and weaponized it because I was hurting. That’s exactly what my dad does to me, and I swore I’d never be that person. But I was. I became the thing I hate most.
The truth is, your review made my game better. Made ME better. You saw what was broken and had the courage to say it, even to a stranger. That takes strength. And when you realized it was mine, you were probably terrified of hurting me. I understand that now.
I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not sure I deserve it. But I need you to know…you are enough. You’ve always been enough. Miles was too blind to see it, and for one horrible moment, I was too.
But here’s what I see when I’m not being a defensive asshole—
I see someone who cares so deeply she’ll spend six hours on a stranger’s game just to help them improve. I see someone who doesn’t let people in easily, but once you get past her layers, it’s worth every second of patience it took to get there.
Because you, Piper Renner, are not easy. You’re brilliant and challenging and you demand honesty even when it terrifies you. That’s not a flaw. That’s what makes you extraordinary.
Thank you for taking care of Greg.
If you’re willing to talk, I’m ready to listen. Really listen this time. But if you need me to stay away, I understand that too.
I’m sorry doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s where I start.
—E
P.S. Greg says the lighting in your apartment is superior to mine, so he’d like to continue staying here for a while, if that’s ok.
I say goodbye to Riya and leave the note propped against Greg’s pot and let myself out, walking slowly back toward my house. The afternoon sun is warm on my face, and for the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosens slightly.
I don’t know what Piper and Miles are talking about. I don’t know what she’ll decide when she gets home and finds Greg and my note waiting for her.
But I know I’ve done what I can do. I’ve apologized without demanding forgiveness, offered support without expecting anything in return.
Now I have to do the hardest thing of all: Wait and trust that what we have is worth fighting for.
Even if I’m the only one fighting.
My phone buzzes as I reach the corner. For a wild second, hope flares—maybe it’s Piper, maybe she’s ready to talk.
But it’s just Troy, asking if I want to go to the gym then grab dinner.
Yeah. But I might be terrible company.
When are you ever good company? See you at 6.
I pocket my phone and keep walking For the first time since this whole mess started, I’m not running away from the uncertainty.
I’m walking toward whatever comes next.
And maybe, if I’m lucky, Piper will be walking toward it too.