The Slow Fade

The end of the school year came faster than I was ready for.

Ethan’s last official day was a Friday in early June. We celebrated by driving out to the lake with his friends and Mia, a bonfire burning low as the sun set behind the trees. The air was thick with summer, with the promise of long, lazy days and the bittersweet knowledge that this was the beginning of the end.

Jake had brought his truck, and Derek had somehow procured a cooler full of drinks that he guarded like a dragon. Marcus sat apart from the group, his phone out, but he was watching the fire with a contemplative expression that made me think he was thinking about something deeper than the rest of us were.

Mia was perched on a log, laughing at something Derek said, her face lit up in the firelight. She’d been spending more time with the group lately, fitting in like she’d always been there. I was grateful for it—it meant I didn’t have to choose between her and Ethan’s friends.

Ethan sat beside me on a blanket, his arm around my shoulders, his thumb tracing circles on my arm. He was quiet, which wasn’t unusual, but there was a tension in him that I could feel.

“You okay?” I asked, leaning my head against his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Next year. Northwood.” He paused. “You.”

I looked up at him. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know.”

“Hey.” I turned so I could face him fully, my hands finding his. “We talked about this. One year. That’s nothing. I’ll visit, you’ll come back for breaks, and then I’ll be there with you.”

“I know,” he said again, and he kissed me, slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize the taste of me.

When we pulled apart, Mia was watching us with an expression I couldn’t quite read. She looked away quickly when she saw me looking, and I filed it away as nothing.

The first few weeks of summer were everything I’d hoped for.

Ethan didn’t leave until late August, and we packed every day with plans. We went to the lake, to the movies, to the little diner on Main Street that served milkshakes so thick you had to eat them with a spoon. We drove with the windows down and the music up, his hand on my thigh, my feet on the dashboard, the world reduced to the space between us.

He was still texting me constantly, still showing up at my door with coffee, still looking at me like I was something precious. I told myself the cracks were sealed. I told myself Tori was nothing. I told myself the future was something we could handle.

But somewhere in the middle of July, things started to change.

It started with the texts.

Ethan had always been a fast responder. I’d send him something, and a minute later, I’d get a reply. A joke, a photo, a heart emoji—something that reminded me he was thinking about me.

Then, slowly, the replies started taking longer. An hour. Two hours. Sometimes a whole afternoon would pass before I heard from him.

I told myself he was busy. He was packing for school, saying goodbye to friends, spending time with his family before he left. Normal stuff. I was busy too, with my summer job at the bookstore and helping my mom with her garden. We were both busy. That was all.

But the silences grew, and the texts that did come were shorter. How was your day? Good. Yours? Fine. The conversations that used to stretch for hours now died after three exchanges.

I started to feel like I was holding onto something that was already slipping through my fingers.

The first time I saw Ethan after the distance began was at Mia’s house.

She’d invited a few people over for a barbecue—nothing big, just a casual gathering. I dressed carefully, choosing a sundress I knew he liked, trying to look effortless. When I arrived, Ethan was already there, standing in the backyard with a drink in his hand, talking to Jake.

He looked up when I walked out, and for a second, I saw something flicker in his expression. Surprise? Guilt? I couldn’t tell.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. It was brief, almost perfunctory.

“Hey.” I tried to catch his eye, but he was already looking away.

Mia appeared beside me, linking her arm through mine. “You made it! Come on, I saved you a seat.”

She pulled me toward the patio table, and I let her, but I kept watching Ethan. He was talking to Jake again, his body angled away from me, and I felt a cold knot forming in my stomach.

The afternoon passed in a blur. I talked to people, laughed at jokes, ate food I didn’t taste. But my attention was always on Ethan, tracking his movements, noticing the way he stayed on the other side of the yard, the way he seemed to avoid being alone with me.

When he finally came over to where I was sitting, the sun was starting to set, and most of the other guests had left.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I said, keeping my voice low.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“You’ve barely looked at me all day.”

“I’ve been talking to people. That’s what you do at parties.”

“It’s not a party. It’s a barbecue at my best friend’s house. And you’ve been on the other side of the yard for three hours.”

He was quiet for a long moment. When he looked at me, his expression was unreadable.

“I’m leaving in a month, Ava.”

“I know.”

“And I’ve been thinking…” He stopped, shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Thinking what?”

“It’s nothing.” He reached for my hand, and I let him take it, even though my heart was pounding. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been in my head lately, but I’m here now.”

He kissed me, and I closed my eyes and tried to believe him.

But the distance didn’t close. If anything, it grew.

Over the next few weeks, Ethan became a ghost. He canceled plans, stopped returning calls, answered texts with single words or not at all. When I did see him, he was distracted, his mind somewhere else, his eyes avoiding mine.

I told myself it was the stress of leaving. I told myself he needed space. I told myself that if I just held on a little longer, everything would go back to the way it was.

But late at night, lying in bed with my phone beside me, waiting for a message that didn’t come, I started to wonder if I was the only one still holding on and i instantly burst into tears.

The breaking point came on a Thursday night in early August.

I’d tried to make plans with him for three days, and he’d canceled each time.

Finally, I drove to his aunt’s house unannounced, my hands shaking on the steering wheel, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

He came to the door in sweatpants, his hair messy, looking so perfect, "Dang..." i said softly in breathe, his face surprised.

“Ava. What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” I stepped past him into the living room, my arms wrapped around myself. “What’s going on with us?”

He closed the door, leaning against it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been distant for weeks. You barely text me, you dont even call me as often. You don’t want to see me. And I’m trying to be understanding, but you’re leaving soon and I feel like you’ve already left.” My voice cracked on the last word.

He looked at the floor. “Ava…”

“Just tell me,” I said, my voice small. “If you don’t want to do this anymore, just tell me.”

He was quiet for a long moment. When he looked up, his eyes were unreadable.

“I’ve been thinking about school. About everything I need to focus on. And I don’t want to distract you from your senior year.”

“Distract me? Since when am I a distraction?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He pushed off the door, pacing. “I just think maybe we need some space, time, to figure things out. A break.”

The word hit me like a physical blow, i felt my heart sink in seconds and back behind my ribs.

“A break,” I repeated.

“Not a breakup,” he said quickly. “Just… time. To focus on what we need to do separately. So that when we come back together, it’s stronger.”

I stared at him, searching for the boy who’d kissed me on the swings, who’d brought me soup when I was sick, who’d promised he wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t find him.

“How long?” I asked shakingly.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He stopped pacing, facing me. “I can’t give you a timeline, Ava. That’s the point. We need to not have expectations for a little while.”

I felt something inside me shatter.

“Okay,” I said with instant tears rolling down my cheeks, because I didn’t have the strength to fight. “If that’s what you need.”

He looked relieved, and that relief was worse than anything he could have said.

“Ava.” He caught my arm as I turned to leave. “I still care about you. This isn’t easy for me either.”

I pulled free, not looking at him. “Goodbye, Ethan.”

I made it to my car before the tears came faster than i could think or hold em back. I sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel, and let them fall until my eyes burned and my throat was raw.

Then I drove home, almost blinded by my own tears and my head tearing in half and I didn’t text him again.