Chapter 5 #2
And for that same moment, I’m terrified.
Because if this works—if she lets me back in, if we find our way back to what we had—eventually I’ll have to explain.
Eventually she’ll want to know why I blocked her kiss, why I froze, why I’m like this.
And I’ll have to tell her the truth. And then she’ll look at me differently, and I’ll lose her all over again.
But then the moment passes and the warmth disappears. The wall slams back into place.
Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe the wall is protecting both of us.
“Can you model that by tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
It doesn’t feel better.
“Good.” She stands, gathering her notes. “Send me the simulation parameters tonight. I want to review them before the morning standup.”
“Audrey—”
“9 a.m work for you?”
I should let her go. Keep this professional, like I promised. Like she clearly wants.
But I can’t.
“I’m sorry.”
The words hang in the air between us. She freezes, her back to me, one hand on the door.
I want to cross the room. Turn her around.
Show her what I couldn’t say that night—that it was never about not wanting her.
That I’ve wanted her so much, for so long, that the intensity of it terrifies me.
That when she leaned in to kiss me, my whole system crashed because I had no framework for wanting someone this much and actually having them. I simply didn’t know what to do.
My hands stay at my sides. Useless. The six feet between us might as well be an ocean.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” I continue, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “And I know you said there’s nothing complicated between us. But I need you to know that I’m sorry. For what happened. For how I handled it. For—” I swallow. “For hurting you.”
She doesn’t turn around. But I see her shoulders tighten. Her hand grips the door frame, knuckles whitening.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say quietly. “I know that doesn’t change anything. But I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just... I didn’t know how to...”
I trail off. I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
I didn’t know how to tell you I’ve never kissed anyone. I didn’t know how to explain that I wanted you so much it terrified me. And when you leaned in, I panicked. I was so afraid I’d fuck it up.
But I can’t say any of that. Because if I do, she’ll know. And the careful distance she’s maintaining will become permanent.
Some things, once seen, can’t be unseen.
The silence stretches.
“Send me the parameters by end of day,” she says finally. Her voice is steady. Controlled. Giving nothing away.
Then she’s gone.
I sit in the lab for a long time after she leaves. The servers hum. The screens glow. The data I’ve been working on for weeks blurs into meaningless shapes.
I’m sorry.
Two words. The two most important words I’ve said in three months, and they weren’t enough.
I think about opening the chatbot. The folder is right there on my desktop, waiting for me to pour all the things I can’t say into a simulation that will never judge me. I could type out everything. The apology I botched. The explanation I couldn’t give. The truth I’ve never told anyone.
But there’s no point. She’s not real. And it didn’t work. Never did.
Three months of rehearsing conversations with a simulation, and when the real Audrey was standing in front of me, I still couldn’t say the thing that mattered. I still couldn’t tell her the truth. The chatbot didn’t teach me how to be honest. It just taught me how to keep hiding.
I open the folder. Select all. Delete.
Are you sure you want to permanently delete these items?
Yes. I’m sure.
The files disappear. Months of work. Thousands of simulated conversations. Gone.
It doesn’t make me feel better. But at least I’m not pretending anymore.
Instead, I pull out my phone and text Dominic.
Me:
You free for a drink?
The response comes in under thirty seconds.
Dominic:
Always. Bad day?
I consider how to answer that. The reunion I’ve been stressing about for months. The apology that landed like a stone in water. The way she looked at me—through me—like I was already gone.
Me:
Something like that.
Dominic:
Whiskey or beer?
Me:
Whiskey.
Dominic:
That bad, huh? Give me 20 minutes. I’ll meet you at O’Malley’s.
I pocket my phone and start shutting down my workstation. The simulation parameters still need to be sent. But I’ll do it from home. Or from the bar…
The lab feels colder than usual when I leave. The servers keep humming, indifferent to the fact that the only person who ever made this work feel meaningful told me there’s nothing complicated between us.
Nothing complicated. Just two colleagues. Just work.
Not even friends anymore.
This is what happens when you let someone in. They get close enough to see you clearly, and then they leave. I should have known. I did know. I just let myself forget.
I take the elevator down to the lobby, trying not to calculate the exact number of interactions we’ll have over the next eighty-two days. Trying not to think about morning standups and lab meetings and the specific frequency of awareness that spikes every time she enters a room.
Eighty-two days is a long time to work closely with someone when it feels like they’re still on another continent emotionally. Shit.
I fucked this up so bad.
If only this brain of mine was smart enough to build a time machine. Now, that would be the key to solving my problems.
Outside, the Chicago air is sharp and cold. I start walking toward O’Malley’s, hands in my pockets, head down.
My phone buzzes.
Dominic:
For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for texting me instead of the robot.
I almost smile. Almost.
Me:
How do you know I didn’t?
Dominic:
Because I know you, Professor. Now hurry up. First round’s on me.
He’s not wrong. He does know me.
Dominic was the one who found me, after all. Fourteen years ago, when I was twenty and running a grade-fixing operation I was certain no one could trace. Then Dominic Cruz knocked on my door, furious that some idiot I’d helped was about to steal his internship.
I’d never had anyone crack my system before. I was impressed. Told him so.
His anger shifted into calculation—that finance brain I’d eventually learn to recognize. By the end of the conversation, he’d proposed a deal: I stop screwing with grades, he invests what I’d already made, we split the returns, and he never breathes a word to anyone else.
I didn’t need a partner. Didn’t need the money. Didn’t need anyone.
But Dominic didn’t care what I needed. He decided I was worth his time, introduced me to Bennett and Caleb that same month, and never let me disappear back into my own head.
As close as we’ve become over the years, even he doesn’t understand my brain the way Audrey does. Can’t follow my tangents or see the elegance in clean code. But he’s the first person who looked at the freak and decided to keep him.
Audrey was the second.
But that’s past tense, now.
I can’t even blame her. I’d un-keep me too.