March 30 – Saturday / Aqua Glide Marine Conservatory, Capital District
The hallway beyond the tunnel was lit in soft hues—aquatic blue fading into lavender, then into deeper ocean shades. Each tank they passed shimmered like a living painting, but Emma barely noticed the fish now.
She was watching him.
Jay walked beside her, a step slower than usual. His hands were in his pockets again, but something had shifted. His shoulders weren't as tense. His eyes weren't so far away. He wasn't cracking jokes, but he also wasn't disappearing into himself like he had for weeks.
He's trying, she thought. That's enough for now.
She glanced sideways at him. His profile was calm, the soft glow of the tanks casting faint light across his cheekbones, catching on his lashes.
God, he looked so different from the boy she used to tease in class. And yet… not.
He used to be warm.
The kind of guy who made people feel safe just by standing next to them. Who'd pretend to forget his own umbrella so he could walk someone else home in the rain. Who made everyone feel like they mattered, even when he was hurting himself.
And now…
"Do you want to sit for a while?" she asked, nodding toward the dark little bench tucked between two massive coral tanks.
Jay looked at it, then at her, and nodded.
They sat in silence for a moment. Not the heavy kind, but something almost… tentative. Like the pause before a piano note.
Emma fiddled with the strap of her bag, then spoke softly. "You scared me, you know."
Jay turned his head.
"Not just when you disappeared," she went on. "But when you came back… and smiled like nothing happened. That fake smile? I hated it."
"…I didn't want to drag anyone into what I went through."
Emma gave a sharp breath through her nose. "You didn't drag me. I was already there, Jay."
His expression flickered. That same subtle vulnerability from before began to peek through again.
She leaned forward a bit, elbows resting on her knees. "I know I act tough. Cold, even. But when someone I care about changes right in front of me and shuts everyone out—do you think I just don't feel that?"
He looked away, lips tight.
Emma stared straight ahead. The coral tank in front of them pulsed with colour. Tiny fish darted between branches like sparks.
"I remember the day when you're practicing for tournament," she said. "You stood up for that fellow member of team who got yelled at by the coach. No hesitation. I asked you why later, and you just said, 'He looked like he needed someone to back him up.' Like it was nothing."
Jay's voice was quiet. "It was nothing."
"It wasn't." Her gaze was firm. "That's who you were. That's the Jay I remember. That's the Jay I—"
She stopped herself. Her throat caught.
Jay turned to her. "The Jay you…?"
Emma hesitated. Her fingers curled tighter around the strap.
"…The Jay I looked up to," she finished, softer now. "Even when I pretended I didn't. Even when I called you annoying or challenged you to everything."
Jay exhaled slowly. "…I never knew that."
"That's because you were too busy being everyone's hero."
He didn't reply.
They sat there a while longer, the only sounds the soft bubbling from the tank and distant chatter from other visitors.
Then, finally, Emma turned to him. Her voice was quieter. Almost unsure.
"You don't have to be that perfect guy again, Jay. I'm not asking for that."
He met her eyes.
"I just want you back. Even if it's a little at a time. Even if it's messy."
Jay stared at her. Something passed behind his eyes. A flicker of disbelief. Like he didn't know if he deserved it.
Then he gave her a small nod. Honest. Hesitant.
"…Thank you."
Emma smiled faintly. "Don't thank me yet. I'm dragging you to the jellyfish room next. We're facing your trauma from age ten."
Jay laughed under his breath. "Your trauma."
"Well, now it's shared trauma. Friendship means mutual suffering."
"Is that what we are?" he asked suddenly. "Friends?"
She froze.
The question hung between them.
Emma looked at him, really looked at him. At the quiet strength in his eyes. The gentleness beneath the tiredness. The way he was trying so hard not to shut down again.
"...For now," she said carefully. "But if you keep healing like this… who knows."
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Neither," she said, standing up. "It's a challenge."
He rose to follow her.
As they walked toward the jellyfish room, something in her chest felt lighter.
He wasn't completely back.
But today, for the first time, he took a step.
And Emma would be right there—step by step—until he remembered who he really was.
Or maybe, just maybe… discovered someone even better.
The Rooftop Café
They finished the tour just past sunset, and Emma suggested the rooftop café.
Jay didn't argue.
They sat with a view of the sea, tiny paper lanterns strung overhead, a soft evening breeze rustling the napkins.
Emma sipped her lemonade.
Jay toyed with the straw in his soda.
Finally, he asked, "Why now?"
Emma blinked. "What?"
"You've never talked like that before. You've never looked at me like…"
"Like I care?" she offered.
Jay didn't answer.
Emma set her glass down. "Because you matter. And if I don't say it now, someone else will."
He smiled at that. "Is that a threat?"
"No," she said. "It's a reminder."
Jay chuckled under his breath.
And for the first time in weeks—maybe months—he felt something shift.
Something small.
Something hopeful.
The Goodbye That Didn't Feel Like One
Jay walked her to the station.
They stood by the ticket gate, and Emma glanced up at him. "Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for asking."
She hesitated. "I'll see you Monday?"
"Of course," Jay said. "Same seat. Same window view."
Emma smiled, more openly now.
Then—without thinking—she leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
It was quick.
Barely there.
But Jay froze all the same.
Emma stepped back, flustered but not retreating.
"Don't think too hard," she said. "I just wanted to remind you."
"Of what?"
She looked him straight in the eye.
"You're allowed to be happy."
Then she turned and walked away.
Jay stood there for a long while, hand still half-raised toward his cheek.
And then—finally—he smiled.
A real one.
Not the kind he used to fake.