43
Hannah
By Friday night, I have changed outfits four times, ignored Nate’s game schedule twice, and opened the bottom drawer of my dresser once.
Only once. That feels like a significant victory in the war against my own impulses.
Unfortunately, once was enough. Nate’s hockey shirt is still there, tucked beneath a stack of towels and an old sweatshirt that makes me look like I’m preparing for an emotional blizzard.
The shirt is black, soft, and annoying. It has no right to look so innocent when it is, in fact, a cotton landmine.
I stared at it for exactly seven seconds before slamming the drawer shut as if it had insulted my ancestors.
Now, I’m standing in front of my mirror wearing a fitted cream sweater and jeans, trying to decide if I look "date-cute" or "desperately-trying-to-be-normal-cute."
Ella is on my bed, eating pretzels and watching me like a documentary she intends to leave a scathing review about. “You look good, Han. Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You are performing oxygen. It’s different.”
I glare at her, but my heart isn't in it. My phone is on the desk, face down. Nate’s game starts in forty minutes. I am not going. I am not wearing his jersey. I am not sending a good-luck text. I am focusing on Ethan, who has done absolutely nothing wrong.
“I wonder if Nate will notice,” I whisper, the truth finally crawling out from under the rug.
Ella’s hand stills on the pretzel bag. “I think you’re making a choice. Whether it’s good is something you get to find out later.”
My phone buzzes. Ethan. *Outside. No rush.*
A real smile—small, but mine—tugs at my mouth. “He’s here.”
Ethan is standing outside in a navy coat, looking unfairly handsome. When he sees me, his whole face shifts in a way that makes my stomach warm.
“Wow,” he says. “You look beautiful.”
Beautiful. Not *nice*. Not *cute*. My cheeks heat. “Thank you.”
The date is easy. That’s the word I keep using as a mantra.
We go to a burger place downtown—low pressure, high flavor.
Ethan is funny in a dry, observant way. He doesn't push, he doesn't posture.
He reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against mine, and I let him take my hand.
It feels *nice*. There’s that word again. I decide to let nice be enough.
Then, a group at the bar cheers. The bartender has changed one of the TVs to the Northwood game. I see the score: 1-1. Second period. I see a flash of a navy uniform, and my heart reacts before my brain can even confirm if it's him.
“You want to watch?” Ethan asks, his voice careful.
“No,” I say, perhaps too quickly. “I’m here with you.”
He nods, but I can tell he heard the space after my answer—the space where *but* lives.
We go to an arcade afterward. Neon lights, sticky floors, and the smell of sugar. Ethan destroys me at air hockey, and I realize I like making him laugh. I like that he looks at me with clear, uncomplicated interest. By the time we leave, it’s almost ten. The game is likely over.
Ethan walks me to his car, his hand finding mine. The drive back to campus is quiet and comfortable. When he parks outside my dorm, the end-of-date weight settles over the seats. We walk to the steps, and he stands close, but not crowding.
“I had a really good time,” he says.
“Me too. I did.”
He leans in. The kiss is warm, intentional, and more confident than last time.
I kiss him back. I want to be wanted, and I like that he wants me.
But as the kiss deepens, my body stays...
contained. There is no rush of fire. No dizzying urge to pull him closer.
My body notices his hand on my waist, but it doesn't answer the way it answers Nate’s.
*No comparing,* I scream at myself internally.
Ethan pulls back, his forehead resting against mine. “Still okay?”
“Yeah.”
He studies me, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Do you want to come inside? Or I could walk you up. We don't have to do anything. We could just hang out.”
The words are respectful. Honest. But my entire body goes into a hard, sudden freeze. It’s not fear; it’s a locking of the chest. The thought of being alone with him in a room—of his hands finding places Nate’s have been—makes me stop breathing.
Ethan pulls back immediately. “Hey. No pressure.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just... I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“That’s okay.” He looks at me for a long moment. “I like you, Hannah. I just don’t know if you want this.”
I want to want it. But those are two very different sentences.
Upstairs, Ella is out, but she’s left a note: *DATE DATA WHEN READY. NO PRESSURE.*
I sit on my bed, my purse heavy with my phone. I pull up the Northwood game score. They won, 3-1. Nate scored. There’s a photo of him celebrating, looking alive and untouchable. My chest hurts. He doesn't need me there. He doesn't need my texts.
I open our thread. I type: *I saw you won. Good game.* It’s late. It’s careful. I send it anyway.
He replies a minute later.
**Nate:** *Thanks. It was a good one. You okay?*
Not *How was your date?* Just... *You okay?*
The question hits like a hand against a bruise. I tell him I’m just tired. We exchange our usual *Bossy/Consistent* banter, and then he says goodnight.
I set the phone down and cover my face with my hands. Ethan was perfect tonight. He was kind, patient, and he saw me—maybe more than I wanted him to. And Nate did nothing but ask a question. Yet that familiar rhythm is the thing making me cry.
Ella comes in a few minutes later, seeing me shattered on the bed. She doesn't ask for the story; she just sits and wraps an arm around me.
“I froze, Ella,” I sob. “He asked to come in and I just... I wanted to want it, and I didn't. Not like...”
“That’s an answer too, Han,” she says softly.
I lie back in the dark after she leaves. I didn't open the bottom drawer. I didn't touch the shirt. I didn't text Nate again. But as I stare at the ceiling, I finally admit the truth to myself.
Focusing on Ethan was supposed to make Nate quieter. Instead, it just made everything else feel muted.
### The "Body Autonomy" Realization
In New Adult romance, the moment a character "freezes" with a "Safe Choice" partner is a crucial narrative turning point.
* **The Freeze Response:** This isn't about lack of safety, but about **Emotional Incongruence**. Hannah's body is signaling that her heart is elsewhere, creating a physical barrier to intimacy with Ethan.
* **The "Safe" vs. "Electric":** Ethan represents the life Hannah *thought* she wanted, but Nate represents the growth she has actually experienced. The angst comes from the realization that you can't go back to the person you were before the growth happened.
* **The Finality of Choice:** By going on the date during Nate's game, Hannah tried to force a conclusion. Instead, the night served to highlight the void Nate's absence has created.
**Is Hannah's inability to go inside with Ethan a sign that she's already chosen Nate, even if she won't say it?**