Jonah
The engine of my car hummed beneath me, a steady rhythm that did little to calm the storm in my chest. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the highway in hues of orange and pink as I drove north toward Davis. Beside me on the passenger seat sat my phone, screen dark but heavy with the weight of last night's memories.
My last night with Eli for who knows how long.
Dinner with my parents had gone better than I could have hoped. Seeing him interact with my mom and dad, the easy way he fit into our family dynamic, it had filled me with a warmth that had nothing to do with the spicy food. When my dad had pulled him aside to discuss the Warriors' chances this season, and when my mom had insisted on packing him leftovers "to remember us by," I'd felt a sense of rightness, of coming home that had nothing to do with the physical house I was leaving behind.
After dinner, we'd walked to the park near my house, the warm evening air a gentle caress against our skin. We'd found a secluded bench, away from the playground and jogging paths, and just talked.
"I'm going to miss you," Eli had said, his voice soft in the twilight.
"I'm going to miss you too," I'd replied, my hand finding his in the darkness between us.
"How often do you think we'll talk?" he'd asked, and I'd heard the vulnerability in his voice, the fear that this was all temporary.
"Every day," I'd promised without hesitation. "Morning, noon, and night."
He'd smiled at that, but I could still see the uncertainty in his eyes. "People say that, you know. At the beginning. Then life gets in the way."
"Not us," I'd said, turning to face him fully. "We're not 'people.' We're us."
And then I'd kissed him, slow and deep, trying to pour all the feelings I couldn't articulate into that one moment. His lips had been soft, yielding, his hands coming up to tangle in my hair as he kissed me back with an intensity that stole my breath.
"Jonah," he'd whispered when we finally parted, his forehead resting against mine. "What if this is too much? What if we're moving too fast?"
"Do you feel like it's too fast?" I'd asked, my heart suddenly pounding.
"No," he'd admitted. "It feels... right. Like we've known each other longer than we have."
"That's because we have," I'd said, and he'd looked at me questioningly. "Not in this lifetime, maybe. But in some other one, in some other place, we've known each other forever."
He'd laughed then, a sound I was quickly becoming addicted to. "You and your psychology talk."
"Not psychology," I'd corrected. "Just... us."
Now, as I drove further away from him, from everything we'd started building together, I wondered if I'd been too confident, too certain of something so new and fragile. The highway stretched before me, a ribbon of asphalt leading toward a future that suddenly felt less certain than it had a week ago.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced down at it, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Eli's name.
Eli: Morning. Hope you made it out of town okay.
I smiled, tapping out a quick reply before focusing back on the road.
Jonah: Just passing the first rest stop. Thinking of you.
Eli: I'm still in bed. It feels weird knowing you're not here anymore.
Jonah: I know. Believe me, I know.
Eli: What are you thinking about?
I hesitated, considering how to answer that. The truth was, I was thinking about everything—about the way he'd looked when I first saw him at the bookstore, about the taste of coffee on his lips, about the way his hand fit in mine. But most of all, I was thinking about how much I already missed him, and I'd only been gone for a few hours.
Jonah: You. Mostly you.
Eli: Good answer. I'm thinking about you too.
Jonah: How was the rest of your night? After I left?
Eli: Quiet. Mom made hot chocolate and we just talked. About you, mostly.
Jonah: Oh god. What did she say?
Eli: That she likes you. That you have good energy. And that she thinks my dad is secretly jealous of your dad's basketball knowledge.
I laughed, the sound echoing in the confines of my car. That sounded like my mom—always observing, always analyzing, but with a warmth that made her insights feel like comfort rather than criticism.
Jonah: Tell your dad I'll take him one-on-one anytime. 😉
Eli: He'd probably take you up on that. He's competitive like that.
Jonah: I'd like to see that. Maybe when I come visit.
Eli: When are you thinking? Thanksgiving? Christmas?
The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implications. Thanksgiving was nearly three months away—half a semester. An eternity, really.
Jonah: I was thinking sooner than that. Maybe October? Long weekend?
Eli: I'd like that. A lot.
Jonah: It's a date then. Well, not a date date. But you know what I mean.
Eli: I know what you mean. It's a date date.
I smiled, feeling some of the tension in my shoulders ease. Whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together. We had to.
The drive passed in a blur of highway signs and radio stations, punctuated by texts from Eli that made my heart ache with a mixture of longing and love. He sent me pictures of his day—his lunch at a local cafe, his basketball hoop in the backyard, the sunset from his bedroom window. Each one felt like a small piece of him, a reminder of what I was driving toward even as I was driving away.
By the time I reached Davis, the sun was high in the sky, beating down on the unfamiliar campus. My dorm room was smaller than I remembered, the bed less comfortable, the view less inspiring than it had seemed during my orientation visit. Everything felt different, tinged with the absence of something—someone—I hadn't realized had become so essential to my happiness.
Jonah: Made it. The room is smaller than I remembered.
Eli: Pictures?
I snapped a few quick photos, sending them off before I could second-guess the state of my unpacking.
Eli: It's not bad! You'll make it cozy. Where are your roommates?
Jonah: Haven't met them yet. They're supposed to be here tomorrow.
Eli: Nervous?
Jonah: A little. It's weird starting over without you here.
Eli: You'll do great. You're Jonah Kim, psychology prodigy and general amazing person.
Jonah: And you're Eli Thompson, musical genius and basketball star. We've got this.
Eli: We do. Hey, I have to go. Mom's calling me for dinner. Talk later?
Jonah: Always. Have a good dinner. Think of me?
Eli: Always.
I set my phone down, looking around the room that was supposed to be my home for the next nine months. It felt empty, hollow, despite the boxes stacked in corners and the familiar posters I'd brought from home. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the constant presence of Eli's voice, his laugh, his touch that had filled my days for the past week.
As I began to unpack, my phone buzzed again.
Eli: Miss you already.
Jonah: Miss you more.
Eli: Not possible. But I appreciate the effort.
Jonah: Go eat your dinner, weirdo.
Eli: Yes, sir. 😉 Talk to you tonight?
Jonah: Count on it.
I smiled, setting my phone aside as I continued unpacking. The ache in my chest was still there, a dull throb of missing him, but it was tempered by the warmth of his words, the certainty of his affection. Whatever this was, it was real. And it was worth the distance, the uncertainty, the challenges that lay ahead.
That night, as I lay in my unfamiliar bed, the room dark and silent around me, I thought about Eli—about his smile, his laugh, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about music. I thought about the watchtower, the library, the park bench where we'd whispered promises to each other in the twilight.
And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that this was just the beginning. Our story was just getting started, and no amount of distance or time could change that.