Chapter 38
TIANA
I’m sitting in business class with a knot in my chest and six days of work ahead of me.
The boarding process finishes, and I force myself to focus on literally anything else.
The flight attendant gives the safety demonstration and the engines roar to life.
I take a few quick videos for my Instagram stories as the plane begins taxiing down the runway, and by the time we’re cruising above the clouds, replies have already started rolling in.
I scroll through them absentmindedly.
Then one notification catches my eye.
@built2last replied to your story.
My stomach does that stupid little flip it’s been doing whenever his name appears.
I open the message.
@built2last
Where are you jetting off to, Trouble?
A smile pulls at my mouth. Somehow this faceless stranger has become the one constant thing in the middle of a storm I can’t seem to navigate.
It’s ridiculous when I think about it. I don’t know his name or what he looks like. I don’t know how old he is or where he lives or whether he leaves dishes in the sink.
But over the last few weeks, we’ve talked almost every day.
Sometimes for five minutes, other times for hours.
And somewhere between shelf critiques, sarcastic comments, and late-night conversations, he’s become important to me.
Not in a romantic way… At least I don’t think so.
There’s something freeing about not knowing who he is.
No expectations, pressure or wondering where it’s headed and what it means. Just two people talking, getting to know each other one message at a time.
Maybe that’s why I keep coming back. Because there’s safety in the unknown.
This stranger doesn’t know about my living situation or the disaster that is Griffin Hayes.
He doesn’t know the way my chest still hurts every time I think about how quickly everything fell apart.
And despite all of that, he somehow knows when something is wrong.
He’s noticed I’ve been quieter, more withdrawn. But unlike everyone else, he never pushes or demands answers I’m not ready to give.
He simply stays, and lately, that feels like more than most people are willing to offer.
My fingers hover over the keyboard before I type back.
@tianawithlove
los angeles.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
@built2last
City of Angels. Fancy. Business or pleasure?
@tianawithlove
work trip. not as glam as it sounds.
@built2last
Ah. One of those. You gonna be okay?
The question jabs at the soft spot right under my ribs.
I’ve been trying very hard not to think about whether I’m okay. Mostly because the answer is complicated.
I’m still trying to get over the fact that I’m not saving up to buy Willow’s anymore.
For so long, that was the dream. Every dollar I tucked away instead of spending on something stupid and sparkly, had a purpose. I was working toward something.
And now that plan is gone.
I couldn’t even find it in me to stay employed there, pretending it doesn’t already feel like it belongs to someone else. Demi and Eric don’t even know what their futures look like at the café anymore either.
Mr. Patel was kind when I gave him my notice, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I won’t be taking shifts at Willow’s anymore.
That part of my life is just… done. One day I had a routine, a place to show up to, a reason to keep moving, and now it feels like the floor shifted beneath me and everything changed.
And technically, without Willow’s, I don’t really need to keep working for Griffin as his nanny.
There’s no practical excuse tying me to his house anymore. I could pack my things, go back home, and create distance before this gets any messier than it already is. Except the thought of leaving Sylas makes my chest feel like it’s caving in.
And leaving Griffin, even while I’m avoiding him, feels impossible in a way I’m not ready to examine too closely.
Ever since Sylas’s birthday party, I’ve barely exchanged more than a handful of words with Griffin.
Not because he hasn’t tried. If anything, I can feel him trying in all the quiet ways—lingering in doorways, watching me as if waiting for an opening, softening his voice when he asks if I need anything, giving me chances to say more than “yes,” “no,” and “Sylas already brushed his teeth.”
But I don’t take them, and I avoid him like it’s my full-time job.
I stay busy with Sylas. I take longer showers.
I answer emails in my room. I make excuses to leave the kitchen the second he walks in, because keeping him at a distance feels easier than looking at him and remembering what he said in the shed and how small and stupid I felt standing there, realizing that somewhere along the way I’d let myself want a man who still didn’t know what to do with me.
I can tell it’s been bothering him, in the way his jaw tightens when I brush past him without stopping. The way his eyes follow me across the room. The way he looks like he wants to say something, then decides against it, as I’ve made it painfully clear I’m not ready to hear it.
I appreciate that he’s giving me space instead of forcing a conversation I’m not ready to have.
I appreciate it so much I almost resent him for it.
With a sigh, I wrestle with the answer, then type one-handed.
@tianawithlove
I’ve survived worse.
He sends back a meme of a cat clinging with one paw to a shower curtain, which is so stupid and so perfectly timed that I laugh out loud, earning a look from the guy across the aisle.
It feels good, that laugh. Even if it only lasts for about two seconds before reality crowds it out again.
I slip my phone into the seat back pocket and stare at the miniature bottle of water on my tray table.
I’m thinking I might actually vomit.
I can see my reflection in the tiny porthole window: chin tucked, hair pulled back, lips pressed hard enough to erase them.
I. Am. Miserable.
My phone buzzes.
@built2last
Usually people say that five minutes before a breakdown.
My mouth twitches.
@tianawithlove
are you always this comforting?
@built2last
Only with people who lie badly.
There’s something intimate about being read accurately by someone who has never even seen my face in person.
Or maybe he has seen my face too much—my whole life is online, after all.
Curated smiles, pretty coffee shots, outfits, skin-care routines, brand reels, little slices of a version of myself that knows how to be bright on command.
@tianawithlove
I’m not having a breakdown.
@built2last
Sure…
@tianawithlove
I’m having a very elegant crisis. there’s a difference.
@built2last
Naturally. What’s the difference?
@tianawithlove
waterproof mascara, obviously. I’m a professional.
@built2last
Haha. Then you’re prepared.
The plane shifts, a small bump of turbulence that makes my stomach swoop. I grip the armrest with one hand and stare hard at the seat in front of me.
@tianawithlove
there’s turbulence. I’m being brave about it by white-knuckling the armrest and silently bargaining with god.
@built2last
Very dignified.
@tianawithlove
I thought so.
Another bump rocks through the cabin, and my stomach drops again. I close my eyes, trying to breathe through it, but all that does is make me more aware of the fact that I’m stuck in a metal tube in the sky while my life back home sits in pieces I don’t know how to pick up.
My phone vibrates again.
@built2last
Look around and tell me five things you can see.
I frown.
@tianawithlove
are you grounding me through dms?
@built2last
Is it working?
Annoyingly, maybe. I take a shaky breath and look around the cabin.
@tianawithlove
tiny water bottle. Blue seat. Bald guy sleeping with his mouth open. Woman knitting something long. My own reflection.
@built2last
Four of those are good.
@tianawithlove
which one is bad?
@built2last
The bald guy didn’t ask to be involved.
@tianawithlove
did I just hit a nerve?
@built2last
If you’re implying that I’m bald, swallow your words, Trouble.
Another laugh slips out, and this time, I don’t even care when the guy across the aisle glances over again.
@built2last
Four things you can feel.
I swallow, pressing my palm flat against the armrest.
@tianawithlove
armrest. seatbelt. phone. anxiety.
@built2last
Anxiety doesn’t count.
@tianawithlove
it does if it’s trying to crawl out of my skin.
@built2last
Try again.
I roll my eyes, but I do it anyway.
@tianawithlove
armrest. seatbelt. phone. my sweatshirt sleeve.
@built2last
Good girl.
My breath catches, and I stare at the screen for a long time while warmth climbs up the back of my neck.
That should not affect me, but it absolutely does, which is embarrassing.
@built2last
Three things you can hear.
I let out a slow breath, grateful he doesn’t make it weird.
@tianawithlove
engines. someone opening a bag of pretzels. a baby crying three rows back.
@built2last
Two things you can smell.
@tianawithlove
coffee and fear.
@built2last
One thing you can taste.
I glance at the tiny plastic cup on my tray table.
@tianawithlove
ginger ale.
@built2last
Better?
I hate that the answer is yes.
@tianawithlove
yes.
@built2last
Good.
I look out the window again. The clouds stretch endlessly beneath us, bright and unreal, as if the world has been covered in cotton. For a moment, everything almost feels peaceful.
Almost.
Then my mind drifts back home. To Griffin.
My throat tightens, and the peaceful feeling disappears.
I wonder how pathetic it would be to tell a stranger the truth.
Unfortunately, my standards are currently somewhere beneath the plane.
@tianawithlove
do you ever wish feelings came with an off switch?
@built2last
All the time.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
@tianawithlove
there’s someone back home.
The typing bubble appears, then stops. A few seconds pass before he answers.
@built2last
Someone?
I close my eyes. This is stupid. But I’m tired, and hurt, and thirty thousand feet in the air, and it feels easier to confess pieces of myself to a faceless stranger than to say one honest thing to the man who actually broke my heart.
@tianawithlove
it’s complicated.
@built2last
Isn’t it always?
@tianawithlove