Chapter 20
Oren clocked out late.
One pallet turned into three, one “real quick” turned into the supervisor calling his name again from the other side of the line. Oren kept his head down and did it because he needed the hours, and because saying no meant a look, and a look at Ironleaf Distribution usually meant disciplinary action followed.
By the time he got to his car, he had twelve minutes to be home and ready.
Oren sat for a second with the engine running and his hands on the wheel, and took a deep breath. Driving still left him touchy. Too many brake lights at once, a lane that tightened, a horn that came out of nowhere, and his body acted like it was bracing for impact instead of a commute.
He pulled out anyway, caught two lights back-to-back, then hit the stretch where everyone crawled for no reason that made sense. The clock on the dashboard kept changing faster than the traffic did.
When the tutoring start time clicked over, he tapped out a message at the next red light.
Running a few minutes late. Got held up.
He sent it, watched it deliver, and tried to keep his breathing even as the cars crept forward again.
Last week sat on him like a bad taste in his mouth.
He had scared her.
He’d said too much, explained too little, and watched her go still, watched the way her face had closed down around what they wouldn’t say.
So today he was going to say something simple. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry things got weird. Then he was going to get through the session and let it be normal again.
Whatever this was with Matthew Luz, he’d have to deal with himself.
He arrived home and crossed the yard with the folder tucked under his arm. Grass darkened the edges of his shoes. The main house looked the same as it always did, the porch light off in daylight, the blinds slanted just enough to suggest openness without giving anything away.
When he stepped inside, he listened for her.
The house gave him the TV instead, the soft churn of the air conditioner, and the faint scent of lemon cleaner.
Oren took another step in and felt the small lift in his chest fall away.
“Oren.”
His mother’s voice came from the living room.
He turned and saw them on the couch, sitting up straighter than usual, shoulders squared as if they’d been posed there.
No laptop on the table. No water bottle. No tote. No Ayara.
Oren stopped in the doorway, the folder still in his arm, his brain trying to get the moment to make sense with the pieces it had.
“Where’s Ayara?” he asked.
“She isn’t coming anymore,” his mother said.
Oren’s mouth went dry. “What do you mean, she isn’t coming?” He could hear his pulse in his ears, fast and stupid, like his body had started running while he stayed in place.
“We let her go,” his father said.
“You what?”Oren could feel the paper inside the folder buckle slightly under his grip.
“Oren–” his mother warned.
“You didn’t tell me,” he said.
His father’s angled his chin, almost a dare. “We didn’t need to.”
That landed harder than the firing itself, the casual certainty of it. Oren swallowed once and felt his throat scrape.
His father continued. “She doesn’t work for you–”
“She was here for me.”
“We paid for academic support,” his dather said. “Not companionship.”
The word made Oren’s stomach drop. Humiliation rose sharp and immediate, like somebody had spoken about him in public.
“That’s not what it was,” Oren said. He swallowed. “She’s been helping. That’s it.”
“Your grades have improved,” his mother said. “You’ve been showing up. You’ve been doing what you need to do. That’s the point of tutoring.”
His neck heated. The way she said it made it sound like Ayara had already done her job, like she was a tool you put back in a drawer when you didn’t need it anymore.
“Say what you’re really saying,” he said.
His mother’s eyes stayed on him, steady. “You were bringing her into things she doesn’t belong in.”
Oren blinked. “What things?”
His mother didn’t answer. She frowned at him and shook her head. “Don’t do this.”
“What things? I deserve to know the answer.”
His mother’s eyes moved over his face in a way he’d seen before, the assessment she made when she thought he was about to get difficult.
“This is exactly what I mean,” she said. “You’re fixating, Oren.”
“You can’t just remove people from my life and act like it’s normal.”
His father’s mouth moved in a small expression that might have been sympathy in anyone else.
“You’re welcome to be upset,” his father said. “You’re welcome to feel whatever you feel. You’re still going to keep showing up for your responsibilities.”
“Fucking sure,” Oren snapped.
His father stood. He moved to the edge of the living room like he was making a point without needing to say it out loud.
“I think you need to calm down,” his father said. His stance told Oren not to test it.
His mother rose too, slower, as if she wasn’t threatened by any of this. “Oren,” she said, gently. “Go back out to the shed. Cool off.”
Something in him went still.
Not because of what she said, but how she said it.
Her voice came out soft and measured, the kind of gentle people used when they needed you to comply and didn’t want to risk the wrong spark, and the word ‘shed’ landed with an old weight in it that his mind couldn’t explain.
The way she looked at him made his skin prickle, like she was checking for the first sign of a storm. Almost like he was a wild animal. Oren’s shoulders drew in on instinct, his feet already backing away before he’d decided to move, and he left the room the way you leave a place that has already made up its mind about you.
The door closed behind him with the same muted softness.
____________________________________________
Oren didn’t text right away.
He sat on his bed with his phone in his hand, screen dark, thumb hovering like it might burn him if he moved. The argument replayed in fragments.
He opened his messages. Scrolled. Stopped at her name.
He typed hey and deleted it.
Typed I’m sorry about today and deleted that too.
None of it felt like the thing.
Finally, he wrote:
Oren: Ayara
The dots appeared almost immediately, then vanished.
He tried again:
Oren: Are you okay? They fired you?
She responded.
Ayara: I know
Ayara: I figured they would
Ayara: And honestly? Not really
I tried to stop it. That wasn’t quite true. He corrected it.
Oren: I argued with them
This time, the dots stayed longer.
Ayara: Thank you
Ayara: You didn’t have to
He swallowed.
Oren: I did
Oren: Because they were wrong
A pause. Long enough that he wondered if he’d pushed too far.
Oren: Are you okay?
Typing…
Ayara: I’m fine
Ayara: It’s probably for the best
His chest tightened at that. For the best. Like she’d already made a decision and was just waiting for him to catch up.
Oren: What does that mean?
Another long pause.
His pulse kicked up. He typed quickly, before he could think better of it.
Oren: Ayara?
Ayara: Oren please
Oren: I don’t want to stop talking to you
The dots reappeared. He watched them pulse for what felt like minutes.
Ayara: I don’t want to stop talking to you either
Ayara: But I think we need to take a step back
His stomach dropped.
Oren: A step back from what?
Ayara: From whatever we’ve been doing
He read it three times. Each time felt worse.
Oren: Talking? Being friends?
Ayara: You know it’s not just that
His heart was pounding now, his hands shaking slightly as he typed.
Oren: Then say it
Oren: Say what it actually is
He watched the text bubble pulsate and then disappear twice.
Ayara: I care about you. More than I should. And I don’t want to ruin my life for someone who’s not sure he wants to stay in his.
He stared at the words until they blurred, waiting for the second message that would take it back. It didn’t come.
Oren: I’m not going anywhere
Ayara: You don’t know that
Oren: Neither do you
Ayara: Oren, you told me you think you’re someone who died. How am I supposed to
The message cut off, as if she’d hit send too fast. The dots appeared again.
Ayara: Your parents fired me because they saw what I see
Ayara: You’re not really here
Oren: That’s not true
Ayara: You sure?
His phone shook in his hands. He wanted to tell her: he wasn’t disappearing, he was stuck. Stuck on one name, one face, one date. He couldn’t find a way to make it sound sane.
Oren: So we just stop?
Ayara: I think we need to. For a while.
Oren: How long is a while?
Ayara: I don’t know. Until you figure out what you actually want
Oren: I want you
The dots appeared. Stayed. Then disappeared without a message coming through.
He waited, his breath shallow, watching the screen like it might save him.
Nothing.
He typed again, desperate now.
Oren: Ayara, please
Ayara: Don’t
Ayara: It’s not fair for you to say that
Oren: You think I don’t mean it?
Ayara: I need to protect myself. And I can’t do that if we keep doing this
The dots came back, slow this time.
Ayara: Please don’t hate me
Oren: I could never hate you
Ayara: I’m sorry Oren
Oren: I’m sorry too
Ayara: I need to go. Take care of yourself, okay?
He stared at the message for a long time before typing:
Oren: You too
She didn’t respond.
His chest felt tight. His eyes stung.
He sat there in the dark, phone still in his hand, watching her name at the top of the screen until it stopped looking like a person and started looking like a door that had already closed.
Then he put the phone down and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like he’d just lost something he never actually had.