The days after detention blurred together, but the silence inside me only grew louder. I caught myself replaying everything, the fight, the whispers, Mumeen's smirk, my father's voice through the study door. They twisted into one thought that clung to me like smoke.
Maybe I wasn't enough.
Charlie was steady, bold in ways I wasn't. He stood taller when people stared, answered sharper when they pushed. He protected me like it was second nature. And me? I was the one who snapped, who lost control, who dragged him into the spotlight we were both trying to avoid.
At night, I stared into the bathroom mirror, searching my own eyes. The boy looking back seemed like a stranger, tired, restless, cracked. Was I really the one Charlie needed? Or was I just the weak link that would get us both destroyed?
The doubt sank deeper each day, carving at my chest like it wanted to hollow me out.
And worst of all, I couldn't shake the question: if I couldn't even protect myself, how could I protect what we had?
Charlie started walking me everywhere, to class, to lunch, even down the hall when I didn't need him to. At first, it felt comforting, like the anchor I always leaned on. But soon, it began to feel heavier, like chains tightening around me.
If someone so much as looked at me the wrong way, Charlie's jaw would clench. If anyone laughed too loud near us, his glare would cut across the room like a blade.
One afternoon, a classmate stopped me to ask about an assignment, and I could feel Charlie stiffen beside me, his answers sharp, his presence louder than my own. The boy walked away quickly, confused.
Charlie, I whispered when we were alone. You do not have to.
I do, he cut me off. His voice was calm, but I could hear the edge in it. You do not see the way they talk about you, about us. I am not letting them get near you.
His words should have made me feel safe. Instead, they pressed against my ribs until breathing felt harder.
Part of me wanted to lean into his protection, to let him carry all the weight I was too tired to bear. But another part, the quieter, shakier part, wondered if he was protecting me, or keeping me caged.
And in the cracks of my own doubt, jealousy flickered in his eyes. It was subtle, but it was there, the way he watched every person who came too close, as if they were a threat not just to me, but to us.
For the first time, I wondered if Charlie's love, fierce and unrelenting, might one day burn too hot for me to hold.
It finally cracked one evening after detention.
We were walking out of school, the sun already low, shadows stretching across the empty courtyard. I was tired, my head heavy from the endless whispers that clung to me like a second skin. Charlie walked beside me, too close, his eyes darting at anyone who so much as glanced our way.
When a girl passed us, smiling faintly in recognition, Charlie's arm brushed against mine, pulling me closer. His jaw was tight, his silence loud.
Charlie, I muttered, trying to keep my voice calm, you do not have to do that.
He frowned. Do what?
This, I gestured between us, my hands shaky. Watching every move, glaring at people like they are all enemies. Acting like I cannot even handle myself.
His eyes snapped to mine, sharp and wounded at once. I am protecting you, Coral. Do you even see what they are saying? What they are thinking? If I am not there—
You think I am weak, I cut in before I could stop myself. The words hung between us, colder than the evening air.
Charlie froze, his fists clenching at his sides. That is not what I said.
But it is what you mean, I said, my voice cracking. Every time you step in, every time you push people away for me, you are saying I cannot stand on my own. And maybe you are right. Maybe I am just too weak.
Silence dropped heavy between us. For a moment, I thought he would walk away, leave me there with my own words. But instead, he stepped closer, his voice low, shaking with something I could not name.
I do not think you are weak, he said. I think you are mine. And I cannot stand the thought of losing you.
His confession should have made me melt. But all it did was set my heart racing with something that felt too much like fear.
Because love was supposed to set me free. And yet, standing there with Charlie, it felt like the walls were closing in.
The words clung to me, heavy and dangerous. I could feel his eyes on me, burning, waiting for me to say something to soften the edges. But instead, the truth broke out of me before I could hold it back.
Charlie, I need space.
Silence dropped between us like a stone. It was worse than shouting, because it was so clean, so final. His face changed in a way that made my stomach lurch, closed and incredulous, like he had been handed a word in a language he did not understand.
Space? he repeated, each syllable tight as wire.
I nodded, throat dry, fingers suddenly numb. I cannot breathe when you are this close all the time. I love you, but I need to figure out who I am without you shielding me from everything. I need to stand on my own.
For a heartbeat he stared at me as if searching for a trick, a joke, anything that would make this not true. Then his jaw clenched, a small, dangerous movement. Anger flashed across his features, not the furious throwing kind, but a slow, hot anger at the idea of letting go.
So you are saying I am too much? His voice was low and the words cut deeper than anything Mumeen had thrown at us all week.
I am saying I am losing myself, I whispered, the confession embarrassing and necessary all at once. Saying it out loud made it more real than the knot in my chest ever had.
The courtyard around us stretched empty. The last of the students drifted away in small groups, their laughter a distant, indifferent soundtrack. A breeze moved through the trees, scattering a few leaves across the paving stones. Everything ordinary continued to orbit the moment of rupture between us, like nothing had shifted at all except my world.
He took a step forward, then another, closing the space as if to pull the moment back into something tolerable. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and tell me I was being stupid, that our love was enough, that he would stand back and let me grow and still be here for me when I needed him. I wanted a dozen things and none of them were the thing I said.
I do not think you are weak, he said, the tremor in his voice barely held. I think you are mine. And I cannot stand the thought of losing you.
Those words should have been balm. Instead they landed like handcuffs. Mine, he said. His ownership felt less like comfort and more like a chain I had not agreed to wear.
For a second I thought he might kiss me, to erase what I had said, to smooth the crack. Instead, his shoulders squared, and his face folded into something I had never wanted to recognize: hurt threaded with resolve.
Fine, he said at last, voice low and hollow. If space is what you want, I will give it to you.
He turned away with the same quiet decisiveness he used when he walked past anything he had decided not to entertain. It was not dramatic, no slammed doors or cinematic exit, just the slow, inexorable retreat of someone receding from your life. Each step he took made the courtyard feel larger and more exposed.
I stood frozen, watching him go. For the first time since this began, the certainty that had lived in my chest, the knowledge that Charlie would stand with me through whispers and principals and late night fears, wavered. I had wanted room to breathe, to find myself, but the sight of him walking away opened a sudden, raw space inside me that smelled of regret.
My phone vibrated in my pocket like an accusation. I did not reach for it. I did not know whether to follow, to call, to beg him back, or to let him go and prove to myself that I could be whole without him. The questions felt sharp and numerous and stupid. Had I asked for this because I needed growth, or because I was afraid of what his love revealed about my own brokenness? Was I asking the impossible of him?
Behind me the world continued, a teacher unlocking a classroom, the soft thump of a basketball echoing from the far court, someone calling a name. But none of that belonged to me in that moment. My breath came shallow and fast, and every time I tried to move my legs felt leaden, as if the choice I had made had gravity all its own.
When his figure finally blurred into the stream of students leaving campus, I felt the cool press of loneliness settle in my chest. I had wanted space to grow, and now that it had been given, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking back at something I might not manage to climb back to.
I turned and walked the other way, each step heavy with the knowledge that space might be the very thing that breaks us.