They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 05

They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 05

Ethan stood beneath her dorm, the phone lying cracked on the ground.

He bent down to pick it up. The fracture sliced straight across their graduation photo.

That picture was his wallpaper-high school graduation, her in her uniform flashing a peace sign at the

camera.

The crack cut right through her face.

He sank onto the edge of a planter, fingers clamped around the phone case.

A March breeze hit him, and he shivered before he realized he’d left his coat behind. He was still in just a

shirt.

He remembered the last message she’d sent. She was at the airport, had snapped a photo of her gate

and sent it to him.

He’d replied, [K,] then jumped on voice chat with Nova to game.

At the time, he didn’t think anything of it.

She’d be back in a few days, just like after every fight. Three days max, and she’d text, [What do you want

me to cook?]

Then she’d fly five thousand miles to France. Every two weeks, more reliable than an alarm clock.

Sometimes he wouldn’t even remember to clear Nova’s stuff off the couch until the day she landed.

She was always there.

So when she left, his first reaction was, She’s just throwing a fit.

Ethan got up and dialed Elara’s mom.

It rang for a long time before a familiar, gentle voice answered. “Ethan? What’s the occasion?”

He opened his mouth. His throat felt raw. “Mrs. Vance… did Ellie go to the UK?”

“She did. She didn’t tell you?”

She paused, and her voice dropped. “Did you two… have a fight?”

“No, it’s just… her phone’s off.”

There was a long silence on the other end. Then Mrs. Vance sighed.

“Ethan, Ellie gave up her spot in Paris. She’d actually asked us to keep it a secret so she could surprise

you. She ended up applying to a school in the UK instead. She’s already there.”

His hand shook around the phone.

He hung up. Right then, his school sent a notification-he had to be back for a project review.

He opened a flight app. His thumb slipped on the screen before he could tap it right.

Fairhaven to France. Twelve hours.

He stared at the flight time, and it hit him-every time Elara flew to France, she sat through the exact

same stretch.

She never complained.

Every time she landed, she’d just text, [Landed.] with a smiley face.

He had never once replied.

Ethan dropped his head into his knees there on the planter.

At the airport-checkin, baggage, security, boarding.

He squeezed into a cramped economy seat, legs unable to stretch, a snoring guy beside him.

Twelve and a half hours. He barely slept.

When he landed, his neck was locked, his back ached, and his head throbbed.

He dragged his suitcase through the arrivals hall at Logan, surrounded by announcements, crying kids,

and the rattle of wheels.

And suddenly he remembered what it must have felt like for Elara every time she landed.

Was she always this heavy, this hollow?

Twelve hours. Sometimes she got in at midnight, sometimes at dawn.

She’d say she was taking a cab back to the apartment. He’d say, “Be safe,” hang up, and go back to

gaming.

She’d never once said she was exhausted.

Standing in the middle of arrivals, suitcase beside him, Ethan felt his eyes burn red.

He got back to school, turned in his review materials, and sat in the empty dorm that night.

His phone lit up. A message from Nova. “Ethan! Board games tonight? We haven’t played in

forever!”

He stared at the screen. “Not going.”