The Only Exception

Chapter 1~The Only One I Didn't Push Away

Not the kind that made people stay. Not the kind that made them choose you every day, even on the bad ones. I believed in sparks that faded. In fleeting moments. In the inevitable goodbye. Because that's what life taught me.

My dad used to tell me that love was sacrifice. That it was about holding on. But he didn't hold on to my mom. He let her walk away, suitcase in hand, tears in her eyes, and never ran after her. He just stood there, watching her leave like the ending of a movie. I was ten, watching from the hallway with a stuffed rabbit clutched to my chest and the sound of my heart breaking for the first time.

From then on, I learned to protect myself.
No expectations. No attachments. No promises.
And definitely, no love.

That is, until Jacob.

It's almost unfair how soft he was how quiet his love was. He didn't barge into my life like a storm. He was the calm after it. The silence that made you realize how loud your fears were.

We met in a way that didn't feel like fate at all my best friend Mcxyn introduced him as her awkward cousin from out of town. I wasn't paying attention. I barely looked up. He mumbled a polite "hi," and I nodded back. That was it. Or so I thought.

But he kept showing up.

He joined our friend group's weekly hangouts. At first, he sat on the edge of conversations, quietly laughing at our inside jokes. Eventually, he became part of them. He learned everyone's quirks, remembered the details no one else did. Like how Mcxyn's mood shifts with the weather. How I always bring a hoodie, even in summer. How I hated being asked about my love life.

And then he started remembering things about me.

The kind of music I listened to when I couldn't sleep. The way I bit my lip when I was anxious. How I refused to cry in front of anyone even when a movie ended tragically.

It was terrifying, the way he saw me.

He wasn't just observing. He understood.

We never had a "moment." No dramatic first kiss in the rain. No slow dance under fairy lights. We just grew closer. One conversation turned into five. Five into dozens. We began meeting without the others. Coffee on Monday mornings. Late-night walks when neither of us could sleep.

And one night, out of nowhere, he said:

"You know, you keep acting like love is some kind of curse. But maybe it's not always meant to end in pain."

I froze.

Because how do you explain that love feels like drowning when you've spent your whole life learning how to swim alone?

Still, I smiled and said, "Spoken like someone who's never been left behind."

He didn't argue. He didn't push. He just walked beside me, quiet again. But his silence wasn't empty it was safe.

Weeks passed. Our closeness deepened in ways I didn't have words for. We were never "official." We never defined what we were. But he would brush hair from my eyes. I would lean into his chest during movies. We were almost something but I wouldn't let it become more.

Because I was scared.
Because he was different.
Because I wanted it to last.

And that terrified me.

So I did what I knew best. I pulled away.

I stopped replying right away. I canceled plans. I told myself he deserved someone who could love him the right way, not someone like me fractured, guarded, incomplete.

Then came the night I broke it off. No drama. Just a quiet bench by the lake where we used to sit. I told him I didn't think I could be what he needed.

His voice was barely above a whisper:
"You've already been more than I ever asked for, Abby. But I won't force you to stay."

He left.
And for the first time in years, I cried like a child.
Not because he left.
But because I let him.

Days turned to weeks.

I tried to distract myself. Picked up extra shifts. Blocked out every song that reminded me of him. But he lingered in the way I made my coffee, in the hoodie he once lent me, in the stupid little playlist he made called "Songs for Abby Who Says She Hates Love but Secretly Doesn't".

One night, Mcxyn found me crying in my room.

"I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you," she said softly. "And I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him. So what are you so afraid of?"

And I didn't know how to answer.

Maybe I was afraid of being wrong.
But maybe I was more afraid of being right of finally having something real.

So I did something I never do.

I ran back.

Back to the pier.
Back to our place.
And like fate, or maybe just faith he was there.

Sitting alone. Looking out over the water like he was waiting for the sun to rise in the middle of the night.

He turned at the sound of my footsteps.

I couldn't say anything at first. My throat was tight. My heart was louder than the waves.

But then I said the words that had lived inside me for months:

"Jacob, I've been running from love my whole life. I told myself it wasn't real. That it always ended. That it always hurts. But you"

I stepped closer. "You're the only one who made me want to believe again. The only one who made me feel like maybe, just maybe, love doesn't have to leave."

He blinked. Once. Twice.
And then smiled.

"Does this mean I get my hoodie back?" he teased gently.

I laughed. Cried. Fell into his arms.

"No," I whispered. "It means you get me. If you still want me."

He kissed my forehead.
And for the first time in my life, I didn't feel scared.

I felt home.

A Year Later

We're still figuring it out.
We fight. We cry. We heal.

But Jacob never leaves. And I don't push him away anymore.

Because now I know:
Love doesn't have to look like the stories that broke me.
Sometimes, it looks like Jacob quiet, patient, consistent.

Sometimes, it looks like the exception.

The only one.