It started with a letter.
A real one.
Cream-colored envelope. Handwritten address. A gold seal at the corner.
I found it on my desk Monday morning, slipped under the pile of homework like it didn't carry the power to change everything.
I opened it slowly, the way you open doors you're afraid to walk through.
And there it was:
Congratulations. You've been accepted into the Cambridge Summer Young Writers Program.
A fully sponsored, six-week writing residency in England.
I read it three times before the words felt real.
Then I folded it carefully and shoved it into my bag.
Because I didn't know how to feel.
Excited?
Terrified?
Guilty?
All of the above.
---
I didn't tell Ace.
Not at first.
Because everything between us had just started to feel... stable.
Like we weren't standing on glass anymore.
We were smiling more.
Texting late.
He changed his phone wallpaper to a blurry picture of me laughing at Hollow Bean.
I noticed.
He didn't say a word.
---
On Thursday, I finally told Melanie.
She screamed. Loudly. In the middle of the hallway.
"Hope, this is huge! Cambridge? Writing residency? That's, like, author royalty level."
"I know," I said, trying to smile.
"You're not happy?"
"I'm… overwhelmed."
She narrowed her eyes. "Have you told him yet?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm scared he'll think it means goodbye."
Mel grew quiet.
"Hope," she said gently. "It might mean goodbye."
That hurt more than it should have.
---
I finally told Ace that night.
We were sitting under the bleachers, his hoodie draped around my shoulders, the air warm and still.
"There's something you should know," I said, voice small.
He tensed. "What is it?"
I handed him the letter.
He read it. Twice.
Then went still.
"You got in," he said.
"Yeah."
A beat of silence.
"Six weeks," he said. "In England."
I nodded.
His jaw tightened. "That's amazing."
"You don't sound happy."
"I am happy," he said. "For you."
Another silence. This one heavier.
"But…?" I asked softly.
"But I'm scared," he admitted. "What if you go and realize you don't need me? That you're better off without all this… mess?"
I looked at him—at the boy who had once walked away from everyone because he thought no one would stay.
And I said, "Ace, I'm not leaving you. I'm chasing me."
He exhaled like that sentence both healed and broke him.
"I just got you, Hope. I don't want to lose you."
"Then don't let go."
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine.
"I don't know how to do this," he whispered. "This whole… being in love with someone who might leave."
"I'm not leaving," I said. "Not forever. Just for a while. Just long enough to figure out who I want to be."
"And if who you want to be… isn't with me?"
I swallowed. "Then I'll still be grateful I got to love you. That has to be enough."
His eyes were glassy. He nodded.
Then he kissed me like he already missed me.
---