YA/TEEN

I wake up Thursday morning with butterflies in my stomach that won't go away.

Two days. Two more days until I meet A.H.

I grab my phone before I even open my eyes properly. There are three messages waiting for me.

A.H.: Good morning, beautiful. Hope you slept well.

A.H.: Random thought - I dreamed about you last night. We were in a bookstore and you were laughing at something I said. I woke up smiling.

A.H.:  Two more days. I'm counting down the hours.

My heart does that stupid fluttery thing it always does when I read his messages. I'm grinning like an idiot at my phone when Sophie barges into my room without knocking.

"Oh my God, you're doing it again!" She jumps on my bed, making me spill coffee on my shirt. "That lovesick face! You've got it bad, Em."

"Shut up." But I'm still smiling.

"What did he say this time?"

I show her the messages. Sophie squeals loud enough to wake t

I woke up Friday morning with my stomach in knots.
One day. One more day until I meet A.H.
I should be excited. I am excited. But there's this weird anxious energy buzzing under my skin that won't go away. I try to eat breakfast Sophie made scrambled eggs and toast but I can barely get three bites down before my stomach rebels.
"You need to eat something," Sophie says, sitting across from me at our tiny kitchen table. "You're going to pass out if you don't."
"I can't. I'm too nervous."
"About tomorrow?"
"About everything." I push the plate away. "What if this is a huge mistake? What if I've built him up so much in my head that the real person can't possibly live up to it?"
Sophie reaches across the table and grabs my hand. "Or what if he's exactly who you think he is? What if this is the best thing that's ever happened to you?"
"You're very optimistic for someone who told me he might be 

The week after that conversation with A.H. feels different.

He told me he's falling for me. I told him the same. And now everything between us has this weight to it, this intensity that makes my chest tight every time my phone buzzes.

But he still won't meet me.

It's Wednesday morning, and I'm in the library working on my contest essay. The deadline is in ten days, and I'm nowhere near ready. My topic is solid the erasure and recovery of female voices in Victorian literature but every time I try to write, my mind wanders.

To A.H. To his messages. To the way he said he's afraid of losing me before I even give him a chance.

What does that mean?

My phone sits on the table next to my laptop, screen dark. He hasn't messaged yet today, which is unusual. Normally I wake up to at least two or three texts from him. But this morning, nothing.

I try not to let it bother me. He's probably just busy. He has a life outside of talking to me, even if I've started to forget that.

"Emma Rivera, looking stressed as usual."

I look up to see Vanessa Sterling standing next to my table, perfectly dressed as always in a cream cashmere sweater and designer jeans. Her blonde hair is styled in loose waves, and her makeup is flawless. She looks like she just stepped out of a catalog for "Rich Girls Who Have Their Shit Together."

I hate her.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask, my tone flat.

"Just checking in on the competition." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "How's your essay coming? I know the deadline is creeping up."

"It's fine."

"Really? Because you look pretty stressed." She tilts her head, fake concern written all over her face. "I heard from Professor Cross that you've been distracted in seminars lately. Is everything okay?"

My stomach drops. Adrian said that to her?

"I'm fine," I repeat, more firmly this time.

"If you say so." Vanessa leans against the table, examining her nails. "You know, I've been working on my essay for months. I submitted my draft to Professor Cross last week, and he said it was some of the best work he's seen from a graduate student. So I'm feeling pretty confident."

She's trying to intimidate me. And it's working.

"Good for you," I say, turning back to my laptop.

"I just want you to know, no hard feelings when I win. You're new here, and it's impressive that you even got nominated. But let's be realistic, you're going up against people who have been doing this a lot longer than you."

I look up at her, anger flaring. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Just friendly advice." She straightens up, smoothing down her sweater. "Don't get your hopes up too high. Disappointment hurts less when you see it coming."

She walks away before I can respond, leaving me sitting there with my hands clenched into fists.

I want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe both.

Instead, I grab my phone and message A.H.

**Me:** *I hate people sometimes.*

The response comes quickly this time, and I feel a rush of relief.

**A.H.:** *What happened?*

**Me:** *Vanessa. The girl I told you about. She just came over to basically tell me I'm going to lose the contest.*

**A.H.:** *She's intimidated by you. That's why she's trying to psych you out.*

**Me:** *Or she's right. Maybe I'm in over my head with this contest.*

**A.H.:** *You're not. Stop doubting yourself.*

**Me:** *Easy for you to say. You're not the one competing against people who have years more experience.*

**A.H.:** *No, but I know talent when I see it. And you have it, E. Don't let her make you forget that.*

I stare at his message, feeling that warmth spread through my chest again. How does he always know exactly what to say?

**Me:** *Thank you. I needed that.*

**A.H.:** *That's what I'm here for.*

There's a pause, then another message appears.

**A.H.:** *I want to see you.*

My heart stops.

**Me:** *What?*

**A.H.:** *I want to meet you. Soon. I've been thinking about it constantly, and I can't wait anymore.*

**Me:** *Are you serious?*

**A.H.:** *Completely. I know I've been putting it off, but I'm done hiding. I need to see you. To be with you.*

My hands are shaking as I type.

**Me:** *When?*

**A.H.:** *This weekend. Saturday. I'll come to you.*

**Me:** *You still haven't told me where you are. How far away are you?*

**A.H.:** *Not as far as you think.*

What does that mean?

**Me:** *A.H., you're being cryptic again.*

**A.H.:** *I know. I'm sorry. But I promise, everything will make sense when we meet. Just... trust me a little longer?*

I want to be frustrated, but the excitement is drowning out everything else. He wants to meet me. Finally,

**Me:** *Okay. Saturday. Where?*

**A.H.:** *I'll let you know. But E? I'm nervous as hell.*

**Me:** *Me too.*

**A.H.:** *Good. At least we're in this together.*

I set my phone down, my heart racing. This is happening. In three days, I'm going to meet the man I've been falling for through a screen. The man who knows me better than almost anyone.

I try to focus on my essay, but it's useless. All I can think about is Saturday.

---

That afternoon, I have Adrian's seminar. I'm still riding the high from A.H. 's message, and for once, I walk into class feeling good.

Adrian is already there, leaning against his desk in his usual spot. Today he's wearing black again black shirt, black pants, and that intensity that makes every student in the room sit up a little straighter.

When I walk in, his eyes find me immediately. There's something in his gaze that I can't quite read. He looks tired, maybe. Or stressed.

I take my seat, pulling out my laptop and trying to ignore the way my stomach flips when he's looking at me.

The seminar starts, and we dive into a discussion about unreliable narrators and narrative truth. It's the kind of topic that usually gets me fired up, but today I'm distracted. My mind keeps drifting back to A.H., to Saturday, to finally putting a face to the person who's become so important to me.

"Emma."

I snap back to attention. Adrian is watching me, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked for your thoughts on the narrator's credibility in the text we're discussing."

Shit. I haven't been paying attention at all.

"I... I think the narrator is trying to be honest, but their perspective is so limited that they can't see the full picture."

It's a weak answer, and Adrian knows it. His jaw tightens.

"That's a surface-level observation. I expected more from you."

Vanessa smirks from across the table. A few other students shift uncomfortably.

I feel my face heat up. "I just mean that unreliable narrators aren't always intentionally deceptive. Sometimes they're just—"

"Distracted?" Adrian cuts in, his tone sharp. "Because that's what you've been lately, Emma. Distracted. Unfocused. This is the second seminar in a row where you've barely contributed anything meaningful."

The room goes silent. Everyone is staring at me.

I want to disappear.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say, my voice tight.

"Sorry isn't good enough." Adrian's gray eyes are cold. "You're capable of better work than this. So either figure out whatever is distracting you, or accept that you're wasting your potential."

The words hit like a slap. I feel tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

I don't say anything else for the rest of the seminar. I just sit there, staring at my laptop screen, feeling humiliated and angry and confused.

When class finally ends, I pack up my stuff as quickly as possible and head for the door.

"Emma, wait."

Adrian's voice stops me. I turn around reluctantly.

Everyone else has left. It's just the two of us.

"What?" My tone is sharper than I intended.

He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Well, you did."

"I know." He takes a step closer. "But I'm your advisor, Emma. It's my job to push you. And lately, you haven't been yourself."

"Maybe I'm just tired of being pushed," I snapped. "Maybe I'm tired of you constantly telling me I'm not good enough."

"That's not what I'm doing—"

"Isn't it?" I cross my arms, glaring at him. "Every paper I write, you tear apart. Every idea I have, you question. And now you're calling me out in front of the entire class for being distracted? What do you want from me, Professor Cross?"

Something flickers in his expression. For a moment, he looks almost guilty.

"I want you to reach your potential," he says quietly. "Because I know what you're capable of. And it frustrates me when you don't see it yourself."

We're standing close now. Too close. I can smell his cologne, see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes.

"I see it," I say, my voice softer now. "I just... I have a lot on my mind right now."

"The contest?"

"Among other things."

He studies me for a long moment, and I swear his gaze drops to my lips before snapping back up.

"If you need help with your essay, my office hours are—"

"I know when your office hours are," I interrupt. "And I'm fine. I don't need help."

It's a lie, but I can't bring myself to admit weakness to him right now.

Adrian nods slowly. "Alright. But Emma?"

"What?"

"Whatever's distracting you... be careful. Not everything is as it seems."

There's a weight to his words that makes my skin prickle. What does that mean?

Before I can ask, he turns away, gathering his things from his desk.

I leave the classroom feeling more confused than ever.


That night, I'm lying in bed, staring at my phone. A.H. hasn't messaged since this morning, which is making me anxious.

Finally, around eleven PM, my phone buzzes.

**A.H.:** *Sorry for the radio silence today. Work was insane.*

**Me:** *It's okay. I had a pretty terrible day myself.*

**A.H.:** *Want to talk about it?*

I hesitate, then decide to tell him about the seminar. About Adrian calling me out in front of everyone.

**A.H.:** *He embarrassed you in class?*

**Me:** *Yeah. He said I've been distracted and unfocused. Which is probably true, but he didn't have to do it in front of everyone.*

**A.H.:** *That's not okay. Even if he's right, there are better ways to handle it.*

**Me:** *I know. I'm just so sick of him making me feel like I'm not good enough.*

**A.H.:** *You are good enough, E. More than good enough.*

**Me:** *Sometimes I wonder if he sees me as anything other than a disappointing student.*

There's a long pause before A.H. responds.

**A.H.:** *I'm sure he sees more than that.*

**Me:** *What do you mean?*

**A.H.:** *Just that teachers don't push students they don't believe in. If he's hard on you, it's probably because he knows what you're capable of.*

**Me:** *You sound like you're defending him.*

**A.H.:** *I'm defending you. There's a difference.*

I smile despite myself.

**Me:** *Three more days until Saturday.*

**A.H.:** *I know. I'm counting down.*

**Me:** *Nervous?*

**A.H.:** *Terrified. But in a good way.*

**Me:** *Same.*

**A.H.:** *E?*

**Me:** *Yeah?*

**A.H.:** *Whatever happens on Saturday... just remember that everything I've told you has been real. My feelings for you are real.*

My chest tightens.

**Me:** *I know. Mine are too.*

**A.H.:** *Good. Hold onto that.*

There's something ominous in that message, but before I can ask what he means, another text comes through.

**A.H.:** *Sweet dreams, E. See you soon.*

**Me:** *Goodnight, A.H.*

I set my phone down and close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart.

Three more days. Three more days until I meet him.

Three more days until everything changes.


Across campus, Adrian Cross sits in his apartment, staring at his phone.

He's made his decision. Saturday, he'll tell her everything. He'll meet her as himself, not as A.H., and he'll explain why he kept the truth from her.

And then he'll hope that she'll understand.

But first, he needs to get through the next three days without losing his mind.

Because every time he sees Emma in class, every time she looks at him with those confused, hurt eyes, he wants to tell her the truth right then and there.

But he can't. Not yet.

Saturday. He just has to make it until Saturday.

I wake up Thursday morning with butterflies in my stomach that won't go away.

Two days. Two more days until I meet A.H.

I grab my phone before I even open my eyes properly. There are three messages waiting for me.

A.H.: Good morning, beautiful. Hope you slept well.

A.H.: Random thought - I dreamed about you last night. We were in a bookstore and you were laughing at something I said. I woke up smiling.

A.H.:  Two more days. I'm counting down the hours.

My heart does that stupid fluttery thing it always does when I read his messages. I'm grinning like an idiot at my phone when Sophie barges into my room without knocking.

"Oh my God, you're doing it again!" She jumps on my bed, making me spill coffee on my shirt. "That lovesick face! You've got it bad, Em."

"Shut up." But I'm still smiling.

"What did he say this time?"

I show her the messages. Sophie squeals loud enough to wake the entire building.

"He dreamed about you! That's so freaking cute! Are you dying? I'd be dying."



The closing Distance