They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 02

They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 02

I walked into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened my phone.

An email sat in my inbox.

[Congratulations, you’ve been accepted to the exchange program at Université Paris 1 PanthéonSorbonne.]

I’d spent a full year fighting for that spot. GPA, language exams, application essays—all because he was studying in France and I wanted to be closer.

Twenty years of knowing each other, and I still couldn’t get used to the distance.

I stared at the email for a long time. Then I skipped “Confirm Acceptance” and clicked “Decline Offer.”

I’d barely set the phone down when Ethan pushed open the door.

He crouched in front of me, voice softening. “Still mad?”

I didn’t answer.

He sighed and reached for my hand. His eyes caught the dried, yellowed paper towel wrapped around my finger, and he paused.

“What happened to your hand? Did you cut yourself chopping?”

He leaned in, blew gently on the wound, and his voice dipped into something tender. “Why didn’t you call me… Does it hurt?”

The first time he’d ever blown on a cut like that, I’d been slicing an apple in the kitchen.

He’d panicked, torn through drawers hunting for a BandAid, and kept blowing on the tiny wound, saying, “Ellie, your hands are too pretty for scars.”

That was before Nova existed. Back when his eyes held only me.

Now the gesture was the same, but the breath felt cold. It never reached my chest.

“Ellie, Nova and I are nothing. She’s just chill like that. Don’t read into it.”

“But you went too far earlier. She’s a girl, and after what you said she didn’t even feel like she could stay. It’s snowing outside and she insisted on walking back to her dorm.”

My heart lurched.

“So?”

I lifted my gaze. “Every time I fly seven hours to France, I land in the middle of the night or at dawn. I haul my suitcase onto the metro alone to get to your apartment. You’ve never once picked me up.”

My voice started to shake.

“I cut my finger, turned to call for you, and you never even looked up. I slipped on the kitchen floor and bruised my knee—you had no idea. I had a hundred-and-three fever and still cooked for you—you never noticed.”

“But what do you know? You know every game Nova’s into, every team she follows, every single thing she cares about—and then you stand there and tell me you’re just friends.”

“Ethan, you feel sorry she’s walking in the snow. But have you ever felt sorry for the girl who crossed an ocean for you, over and over again?”

He rose to his feet. His lips moved, but all that came out was, “Ellie, here we go again.”

“Yeah. Here we go again.”

I stood too. “It’s always me starting things, me being too sensitive, me not being generous enough—then go. Go find Nova. She’s generous.”

Ethan’s voice dropped. “Are you really going to push it like this? What do you want me to do—delete her number? Cut her off? Do I have to have zero friends before you feel secure?”

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes, but I bit my lip and held them in.

“Ethan, you know exactly where the line is between a friend and a girlfriend. You’re smart enough. You see it.”

“You just don’t want to see it.”

“Elara, are you even listening to yourself?”

“Nova would never pull this. She’s more mature than you. Less drama. She doesn’t cry every five minutes or fly in every two weeks acting like the whole world owes her something.”

He sucked in a breath, turned, and slammed the door behind him.

The echo rolled down the hallway.

I stood where I was, and the tears finally fell.