Unconditionally, Yours

chapter 15 - somewhere only we know

It's been a week since my birthday, since my parents crashed my nice surprise party that Harry and my friends planned.

I keep replaying that night like a scene in a movie. The way the air shifted once I heard the door to the bookstore open, the way my chest tightened before knowing why. A week later, the decorations are gone, the cake long eaten, and my parents are 4,000 miles away, back home in Wisconsin, but that heaviness still clings to me. Harry noticed the shift. Of course he did. He always does, quietly, without making it something I have to explain.

That brings us here, standing at the edge of a tulip field just outside the city, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold. The rows and rows of tulips stretch out in every direction, hues of reds, yellows, soft pinks, mirroring the sunset at the horizon, like the world decided to breathe color back into itself. The faint scent of earth and flowers drifted on the warm breeze. I have an idea of why Harry brought me here, and for the first time all week, I feel my shoulders drop a fraction.

Harry laces his fingers through mine. His hand is warm, grounding. "I thought you might like this," he says quietly, like he doesn't want to scare the peace away.

"I do," I answer honestly. "It's... a lot. In a good way."

He led me between the rows, being careful not to step where we shouldn't. The tulips sway gently, brushing my bare legs as if they're curious. Harry tells me random facts he's clearly Googled. How tulips were once more expensive than houses, how they symbolise rebirth. I smile at his effort to get my mind off my heavy thoughts, and for a while, it works.

After walking for a bit, we find a small patch of grass at the edge of the field and sit. He spreads out the blanket he brought, because of course he brought one. He always thinks ahead. I lean back on my hands and tilt my face towards the sun, letting it warm my skin.

"This feels like a reset," I murmur.

Harry hums in agreement. "That's kind of what I was hoping."

There's a pause then. Not awkward, but weighted. I can feel something coming the way you feel a storm before the clouds roll in. Harry traces a line on the blanket with his finger, not looking at me, making me a little nervous.

"Alora," he says gently.

My stomach flips. "Yeah?"

He takes a breath. "I've been thinking about last week. About your parents showing up. About how quiet you got afterward."

I tense without meaning to. "I was fine."

I open my mouth to apologize for snapping until I realize something.

He finally looks at me, and there's no judgment in his eyes. Just care. "I know you say that. And I know you're strong. But I also know you don't have to handle everything by yourself."

The breeze picks up, and the tulips sway more noticeably now, like they're listening.

"I'm not trying to fix you," he continues quickly, like he's afraid I'll shut down. "Or tell you what to do. I just... I wonder if it might help to talk to someone. A therapist. Someone whose job it is to help you untangle all of this."

There it is. The word lands softly, not like an accusation, not like a demand. Still, my chest tightens.

I grew up thinking that people only go to therapy when there's something wrong with them. I wonder if that's what he thinks, that there's something wrong with me.

"Do you think something's wrong with me?" I ask, quieter than I mean to.

Harry's face falls immediately. He scoots closer, turning fully toward me. "No. God, no. I think you've been carrying things for a long time that no one ever helped you set down."