CHAPTER 3: I'm still here?

I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking so hard I knocked my pencil case off the desk, scattering pens across the floor. Elaine leaned over to help me pick them up, her hand brushing against mine for just a second—and the touch sent a jolt through me that I’d felt a thousand times before, but never like this.

“Kei, are you okay?” she asked, her dark eyes wide with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I’ve seen my own grave, I wanted to say. Instead, I managed a weak smile. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep well.”

She nodded, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know the feeling. I was up late working on my watercolor project—trying to paint the Parthenon from memory. I keep getting the columns wrong.”

I remembered this day. Exactly this day. Three years ago, I’d watched her pull out her watercolor set during lunch, only to knock it over and spill blue paint all over my new history textbook. I’d laughed it off, but she’d felt so bad she’d spent a week copying every page by hand for me. That was the day I’d realized I was in love with her.

I looked down at my desk. There, tucked in the corner, was the brand-new textbook—still clean, still unmarked. The watercolor set hadn’t been spilled yet.

Lunch came too fast. I followed Elaine to the courtyard like I always did, carrying her bag even though she’d told me she could manage. Her friends—Anastasia and Maria—shot me looks that said why won’t you leave her alone, but I didn’t care. Not then, not now.

We sat under the old pine tree by the gym—the same tree I’d planned to ask her to marry me under in that other life. She pulled out her watercolor set, setting it carefully on the stone bench between us. I watched her hands move, steady and sure, as she mixed blue and white to make the color of the Greek sky.

“Elaine,” I said, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “I need to tell you something.”

She looked up, her brush paused over the paper. “What is it, Kei?”

In my other life, I’d chickened out here. Told her I just wanted to know if she needed help with her homework. But this time was different. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a small box wrapped in brown paper—the same box I’d hidden away three years ago, never having the courage to give it to her.

“I got you this,” I said, pushing it across the bench. “For when you first moved here. I just… never gave it to you.”

She unwrapped it carefully, her fingers trembling slightly. Inside was a small silver locket shaped like an olive branch—Greek design, but I’d had it made in Moscow by a jeweler my grandmother knew. When she opened it, there was a tiny drawing inside: us, sitting under this very tree.

“Kei,” she whispered, touching the locket with her fingertips. “When did you…?”

“I drew it the summer before you came,” I said, my heart racing. “I knew your family was moving here from Greece, and I wanted to make something that would make you feel at home. And Elaine—I’ve liked you since the day you tripped over my backpack. I like you more than just a friend. I think I love you.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and bright. She looked from the locket to my face, her cheeks turning pink. In my other life, she’d smiled sadly and said we’re better as friends. But now, she reached across the bench and took my hand.

“Kei, I…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been so stupid. I’ve known you care about me—more than anyone else ever has. But I was scared. Scared that if we changed things, I’d lose you. Scared that I wasn’t ready for… this.” She squeezed my hand. “But I think I am. I think I’ve been ready for a long time.”

Before I could respond, she knocked over her watercolor set. Blue paint spilled across my textbook, just like it had before—but this time, we both started laughing.

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