(Keifer's POV)
I didn't speak.
Not immediately.
Just drove.
Let the words settle.
"I want to keep up with you."
That wasn't what I expected.
Not exactly.
I glanced at her.
She wasn't looking at me now.
Looking ahead.
But not really seeing anything.
Thinking.
Too much.
Of course.
"You're not in a race," I said finally.
She shook her head.
"It feels like one."
"It's not."
"It is for me."
I exhaled.
Short.
Controlled.
"That's your problem."
She turned to me immediately.
"What?"
"You turned it into something it's not."
"I didn't—"
"You did."
Silence.
She didn't argue right away.
Good.
"Keeping up with me isn't a requirement," I continued.
"I know."
"Then act like it."
"I am."
"No, you're not."
She looked away again.
Frustrated now.
Good.
At least she was reacting.
"I just don't want to be left behind," she said quietly.
That—
was different.
I slowed the car slightly.
Looked at her properly this time.
"You think I'm leaving you?"
"No."
"Then what are you doing?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't have one.
I looked back at the road.
"You're not behind," I said.
"You're just making it harder for yourself."
Silence.
Then—
"…I'm thinking of taking law."
That got my attention.
I glanced at her.
"Because you want to?"
A pause.
"…because I need to be good enough."
Wrong answer.
I didn't say it immediately.
Just let it sit.
Because if she believed that—
this wasn't going to stop.
And I could already see it—
where this was going.
Late nights.
Skipped meals.
Pushing too far.
Too fast.
For the wrong reason.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel slightly.
"Don't choose something just to prove a point."
"I'm not."
"You are."
She didn't reply.
And that silence—
said enough.
Because she wasn't doing this for herself.
She was doing it—
to keep up.
And that—
was going to break her.
If didn't
(Keifer's POV)
I didn't speak.
Not immediately.
Just drove.
Let the words settle.
"I want to keep up with you."
That wasn't what I expected.
Not exactly.
I glanced at her.
She wasn't looking at me now.
Looking ahead.
But not really seeing anything.
Thinking.
Too much.
Of course.
"You're not in a race," I said finally.
She shook her head.
"It feels like one."
"It's not."
"It is for me."
I exhaled.
Short.
Controlled.
"That's your problem."
She turned to me immediately.
"What?"
"You turned it into something it's not."
"I didn't—"
"You did."
Silence.
She didn't argue right away.
Good.
"Keeping up with me isn't a requirement," I continued.
"I know."
"Then act like it."
"I am."
"No, you're not."
She looked away again.
Frustrated now.
Good.
At least she was reacting.
"I just don't want to be left behind," she said quietly.
That—
was different.
I slowed the car slightly.
Looked at her properly this time.
"You think I'm leaving you?"
"No."
"Then what are you doing?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't have one.
I looked back at the road.
"You're not behind," I said.
"You're just making it harder for yourself."
Silence.
Then—
"…I'm thinking of taking law."
That got my attention.
I glanced at her.
"Because you want to?"
A pause.
"…because I need to be good enough."
Wrong answer.
I didn't say it immediately.
Just let it sit.
Because if she believed that—
this wasn't going to stop.
And I could already see it—
where this was going.
Late nights.
Skipped meals.
Pushing too far.
Too fast.
For the wrong reason.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel slightly.
"Don't choose something just to prove a point."
"I'm not."
"You are."
She didn't reply.
And that silence—
said enough.
Because she wasn't doing this for herself.
She was doing it—
to keep up.
And that—
was going to break her.
If I didn't
and then
we were sitting on the dining table book every
She was still too fast.
Page after page.
Like she was racing something.
Or someone.
I watched her for a few seconds—
then leaned forward.
"Jay."
She didn't look up.
"Hmm?"
"You're reading like you're trying to finish the book, not understand it."
That got her attention.
She looked up.
"I am understanding it."
"No, you're memorizing lines."
"I'm not."
"You are."
She frowned slightly.
I leaned back a little.
Not harsh.
Just… steady.
"Slow down, babe."
She blinked.
That word always did something.
Small.
But there.
"I don't have time to go slow," she said.
"You do."
"No."
"Yes."
She looked away.
I continued—
"If you rush like this, you'll forget half of it in the exam."
"I won't."
"You will."
A pause.
Then softer—
"Read one line. Understand it. Then move."
She didn't reply immediately.
Just looked at the book.
Thinking.
Good.
At least she was thinking now—
not just running.
"Okay?" I said.
"…okay."
Small.
But real.
She turned the page again—
this time slower.
Better.
I picked up my own notes again.
Started studying.
But I wasn't just reading.
I was watching.
Because I already knew—
she hadn't eaten properly.
Not today.
Not yesterday either.
And sleep—
barely.
I knew the exact time she finally stopped moving last night.
Around 2:40.
And even then—
she didn't sleep immediately.
Just laid there.
Thinking.
Too much.
Minutes passed.
She was still reading.
Better pace.
But her shoulders—
still tense.
Her grip—
still tight.
Not relaxed.
Not right.
I closed my book.
Stood up.
She looked up.
"What?"
"Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"You are."
"I'm not."
I didn't argue.
Just looked at her.
Flat.
She sighed.
"Keif—"
"Eat."
"I'll eat later."
"No."
A pause.
She leaned back slightly.
Annoyed now.
"I said I'll—"
"You didn't eat in the morning properly."
She went quiet.
"You didn't eat after the exam."
Silence.
"And you didn't eat last night properly either."
She looked at me.
This time—
a little surprised.
Like she didn't expect me to notice that much.
I always do.
"I'm fine," she said.
"You're not."
"I am."
"You're not."
Another pause.
Then—
"I'll make something."
I turned toward the kitchen.
She stood up immediately.
"I'll help."
"No."
"I can—"
"No."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Because you'll stand there and think about your book."
"I won't."
"You will."
She opened her mouth to argue—
then stopped.
Because she knew.
"…fine," she muttered.
I walked into the kitchen.
Left her there.
But not really.
Because I could still feel it—
her energy.
Restless.
Unsettled.
Too full.
Too tired.