Page 108 of Oliver
Alyssa had moved on years ago, and it was fine. I'd been fine. I still had my apartment with its clunky mattress, the draft that whistled through the window frame in winter, the water pressure that dropped to a trickle without warning. These small predictabilities of what could go wrong.
And now?
Now I had the deed to a house I'd never live in. A victory that tasted like ash. A life that seemed to be collapsing inward like a dying star, crushing everything that mattered under the weight of my own gravity.
My phone buzzed from my desk again. Probably another email about the deed transfer. Tax implications or insurance requirements, or some other administrative detail that should matter but didn't.
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion in every cell of my body. I should sleep. I hadn't slept properly since before Norman. Since before Zahra had looked at me and seen the truth I'd tried so hard to hide—that I was still that broken boy, measuring my worth by what I could give rather than who I could be.
Sleep wouldn't come. Instead, memories flooded in, unbidden and unwelcome.
Zahra at fourteen, laughing as we lay on a boulder in the mountains on the outskirts of Norman, pointing out constellations as her parents made tea on a burner to warm us in the chilly night air. Zahra at the coffee shop, determination hardening her features as she proposed her fake relationship scheme. Zahra in this very room, caring for me when I was sick,her hand cool against my fevered brow. Zahra dancing with me, her body fitting against mine like it was designed to be there. Zahra standing up to Ryan, magnificent in her fury, needing no one to save her.
She'd been evolving all this time, growing, changing, becoming more fully herself with each challenge, while I remained fixed. Unchanging. A still planet in an ever-expanding universe.
In astrophysics, we studied stellar evolution—the life cycles of stars from formation to death. Some stars burned bright and fast, exploding in supernovae, scattering their elements across the cosmos. Others burned slower, steadier, following predictable paths through their main sequence before expanding, contracting, and eventually fading.
But they all changed. Developed into something more. It was the fundamental nature of existence—adaptation, transformation, growth.
Except for me. I'd refused to evolve, clinging to the safety of stasis, the certainty of isolation. I'd chosen to be a dead star, cold and dark, rather than risk the chaos of change.
And what had it gotten me? This empty apartment. This hollow victory. This ache that seemed to have no beginning and no end.
I sat up abruptly, sick of my own thoughts, the circular reasoning that led nowhere. I needed air. Needed movement. Needed something to break this paralysis of spirit.
My feet carried me back to the desk, to my phone, still displaying the email notification about the deed. I picked it up, swiped away the notification, and found myself staring at my lock screen—the Crab Nebula. A supernova remnant. One of the brightest objects in the universe, with beautiful tendrils of light expanding outward that continue to shine brilliantly long after its transformation.
The aftermath ofherdevastation should have left nothing but ruin. And yet, she expanded—brilliant and untouchable—scattering light across the universe, her reach strong enough to illuminate even the parts of me that should have been long dead.
My finger hovered over the phone app. It was late—well past midnight. Too late to call anyone. Too late for a lot of things.
I tapped it anyway.
Scrolled to her name.
Pressed call before I could talk myself out of it.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. Kept ringing until I reached her voicemail.
Her voice, professional and measured, so different from the way she'd spoken to me in private moments. Before I ruined everything.
The beep sounded, and for a second, I nearly hung up. What was there to say that could possibly make a difference now? But my mouth opened of its own accord, words spilling out before I could censor them.
"Zahra..." My voice cracked on her name, a suppressed sob trying to force its way up my throat. My hands were shaking, the phone barely steady enough to capture my words. "Jesus... I did everything right, Zahra. I followed every rule. I bled for justice. And I still lost."
I sank down onto my chair, bending forward as if physically wounded. My fingers sank into my hair and tightened.
"I thought if I was strong enough, if I never needed anyone, then nothing could hurt me again. But you, you looked at me like I was someone worth saving. And I didn't believe you. I didn't believe I could be loved without being destroyed."
My voice broke completely then, the walls I'd spent a lifetime building crumbling under the weight of this terrible clarity.
"I'm sorry.” It was barely a whisper, the weight behind my ribs growing, pressing down on my vital organs, making it hardto breathe. “For everything. Not for loving you. Not for needing you. Just for being too afraid to show it when it mattered."
I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling the hollow space where something vital used to be.
It wasn't the weight of a rock crushing my insides; it was the gravitational singularity of a black hole—an infinitely dense point warping the very fabric of my existence, drawing everything into its inescapable abyss.
"I've broken too many pieces off myself to help others feel complete. But you, Lumina? What I gave you cracked me open, left me hollow in places I can't fill on my own."
