3RD PERSON'S POV
Jeremy arrived at the house just before noon, his car pulling up to the driveway with a quiet hum. From the window, Hannah spotted him stepping out, dressed in a black jacket and jeans, his expression neutral and unreadable.
Her heart clenched. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the stormy night at her apartment, and the silence between them had stretched longer than she could bear. She didn’t know if he was angry, hurt, or indifferent.
The doorbell rang, and Hannah’s mother called out from the kitchen, “Hannah, could you get that?”
Hannah opened the door to find Jeremy standing there, holding a small package.
“Hey,” she said softly, her voice tentative.
“Hi,” Jeremy replied, his tone clipped. He held up the package. “This is for your dad. Something he asked me to grab for him while I was in town.”
“Oh,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “He’s in his study. I’ll call him.”
She turned to head toward the study, but Jeremy shook his head. “I can just leave it on the table. Don’t bother him.”
Hannah nodded, stepping aside as Jeremy moved to the dining table and set the package down. He stood there for a moment, his posture stiff, as though deciding whether to leave immediately or stay.
Her mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Jeremy! It’s been a while. How are you?”
“I’m good, Mrs. Cruz,” Jeremy said, his tone polite but distant.
“Why don’t you stay for lunch?” she offered with a warm smile.
“Thank you, but I can’t today,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a few errands to run.”
Her mother frowned but didn’t press further. “Alright, but next time, don’t you dare say no!”
Jeremy chuckled softly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course.”
As her mother disappeared back into the kitchen, Jeremy turned toward the door. Hannah stood in his path, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.
“Jeremy,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t look at her. “Yeah?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For the other night. I shouldn’t have—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, cutting her off. His tone was calm, but it held a finality that made her stomach twist. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Jeremy finally turned to look at her, his gaze unreadable. “Hannah, it’s fine. Really. Don’t worry about it.”
His dismissive tone made her heart ache, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue. She lowered her gaze, staring at her hands as they wrung together nervously.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Jeremy’s jaw tightened, as though he wanted to say something more, but instead, he simply nodded. “I should go.”
Hannah stepped aside, her arms wrapping around herself as she watched him walk out the door without looking back. The sound of his car starting and pulling away echoed in the quiet house, leaving her standing there, alone with her thoughts.
She slumped into the nearest chair, her hands trembling slightly.
“Why can’t I just say what I’m feeling?” she whispered to herself, frustration and sadness mixing in her chest.
In the silence that followed, all she could think about was the distance that had grown between them and the ache it left behind.
****
The days that followed were a blur of exhaustion and repetition for Hannah. With her performance scheduled for next week, the studio became her second home—no, her only home. She hadn’t gone back to her parents’ house in days, choosing instead to stay in her small city apartment to save time.
Her schedule was relentless: early mornings, hours of dance practice, breaks that barely felt like breaks, and late nights reviewing choreography. Each day bled into the next, leaving her drained and irritable.
The stress weighed heavily on her, and it wasn’t just the physical toll. The emotional burden of her unresolved tension with Jeremy lingered in the back of her mind, gnawing at her during quiet moments. She couldn’t bring herself to reach out to him, not when she felt so scattered, so out of control.
One afternoon, as the other dancers chatted and laughed during a break, Hannah sat alone in a corner of the studio, sipping water and scrolling through her phone. Messages from her mom, her manager, and even Dylan cluttered her screen. She ignored them all, feeling an overwhelming urge to shut the world out.
With a sigh, she turned off her phone completely and tossed it into her bag. The idea of responding to anyone felt like too much.
“Hannah,” Dylan called from across the room, breaking her thoughts.
“Yeah?” she replied, looking up.
“You okay? You’ve been really quiet today.”
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a small smile.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?”
“Thanks,” she murmured.
Practice resumed, and Hannah threw herself into the choreography with a fervor that bordered on desperation. Her movements were sharp, precise, and almost mechanical, as though she were trying to dance the stress away.
But the harder she pushed herself, the more her body protested. By the time they wrapped up for the night, she was sore, sweaty, and utterly spent.
“Good work today, everyone!” their instructor called out. “Get some rest—we’ve got a big week ahead!”
Hannah didn’t linger to chat with the others. She grabbed her bag and left the studio, the cool night air hitting her like a slap. Her apartment was only a short walk away, but the solitude of the city streets felt oppressive.
When she finally reached her building, she climbed the stairs slowly, her legs aching with every step. Once inside her apartment, she dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto the couch.
The silence was deafening.
She stared at the ceiling, her chest tightening with a mix of exhaustion and loneliness. Normally, she’d call her mom or text a friend, but with her phone off and her mind too frazzled to form coherent thoughts, she couldn’t bring herself to reach out.
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily.
“Come on, Hannah,” she muttered to herself. “You’re stronger than this.”
But as the hours passed and the city outside grew quieter, the weight of her isolation became impossible to ignore. She curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself, and let the exhaustion take over.
As she drifted off to sleep, the image of Jeremy’s face flashed in her mind—his cold expression, the way he’d brushed off her apology, and the laughter they’d once shared. The ache in her chest grew sharper, but she pushed it aside, telling herself she didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Not now.
Not when everything else in her life felt like it was on the verge of falling apart.
****