The Boy Who Knew Me First

Season 1

Episode 5

by Joxy

The Boy Who Knew Me First - Season 1, Episode 5: Storm Warning

Chapter 1: CHAPTER 1: THE DECISION

JANUARY 2-4, JUNIOR YEAR

The envelope sat on Sophia's desk like an accusation.

Cream-colored. Heavy paper. Robert Price's law firm embossed in the corner. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd handed it to her with that practiced smile, that certainty that she'd make the "smart choice."

MIT. Full ride. Her future guaranteed.

Her integrity sold.

Sophia sat at her desk at 2:47 AM on January 3rd, unable to sleep. The letter had kept her up all night, its presence filling her room like smoke. She'd read it twelve times. Each time, the words became more suffocating:

Dear Ms. Chen,

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology is pleased to extend this special early admission opportunity...

Special. That's what Robert had called it. A special arrangement through his connections. Special because she was special—smart enough for MIT, talented enough for nationals, mature enough to understand what was really being offered.

A bribe wrapped in prestige.

She picked up the envelope again. Her hands weren't shaking anymore. They'd stopped shaking around midnight when the anger finally overtook the confusion.

Outside her window, Winnipeg slept under fresh snow. The streetlight caught ice crystals in the air, making everything sparkle. Beautiful and cold. Like the future being offered to her—gleaming and frozen.

Her phone sat silent on her nightstand. She'd wanted to call Ethan all evening, but what would she say? Your father tried to buy me off with my dream school? He'd tell her to take it. Of course he would. He'd insist she couldn't throw away MIT for him, that he wasn't worth that sacrifice.

But that was the thing—this wasn't about him. Not really.

This was about her.

About who she was. Who she wanted to be.

Sophia looked at the letter one more time. The MIT crest at the top. The numbers that would make her parents weep with joy—full tuition, room and board, even a book stipend. Everything she'd worked for, handed to her on heavy cream paper.

All she had to do was take it. Accept the early admission. Lock in her future.

And implicitly agree to stay away from Robert Price's son.

She stood up, letter in hand, and walked to her window. The Prices lived six blocks away. Was Ethan awake too? Was he thinking about her? Or was he sleeping peacefully, unaware that his father was trying to orchestrate their lives like a business deal?

The paper was thick. Expensive. It took effort to tear.

The first rip was the hardest—straight through the MIT crest. The sound was louder than she expected in the 3 AM quiet. She looked at the two halves in her hands, waiting to feel regret.

Instead, she felt fury.

She tore again. And again. Methodically destroying Robert Price's perfect solution. The guarantee became confetti, falling onto her desk like snow. Each piece felt like reclaiming something—her choice, her future, herself.

"I choose me," she whispered to her empty room. "And choosing me means choosing us."

Her hands were steady now. Her breathing even. For the first time in twenty-four hours, she felt like she could actually breathe.

She gathered the pieces, dozens of them, and dropped them in her trash can. Tomorrow—later today—she'd have to face the consequences. Tell her parents she was keeping her options open. Weather their disappointment. But right now, at 3:02 AM, she'd made her choice.

Not the smart choice. Not the safe choice.

Her choice.

She climbed back into bed, exhausted but clear. Her phone buzzed. Text from Ethan: Can't sleep. Thinking about you.

She stared at it, thumb hovering over the keyboard. She could tell him now. Wake him up, confess everything. But that would make it about him, and it wasn't. This was her decision, her integrity, her life.

Instead, she typed: Same. See you tomorrow?

Always.

She set the phone down and closed her eyes. In six hours, she'd have to wake up and start dealing with reality. But for now, she'd made her choice. The envelope was in pieces. Her future was uncertain.

And somehow, that felt exactly right.

The morning came too soon.

Sophia woke to her alarm at 7:00, feeling like she'd barely slept. But when she saw the torn paper in her trash can, the fog of exhaustion lifted. She'd really done it. Rejected MIT. Rejected Robert Price's manipulation.

She dressed carefully—jeans, her favorite sweater, hair pulled back. Armor for the conversation ahead. Downstairs, she could hear her parents in the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of their morning routine. Coffee brewing. CBC Radio playing quietly. Her father's tablet probably open to the news.

Normal Thursday morning. About to become anything but.

She went downstairs, each step deliberate. Her mother stood at the stove making congee, her father at the table reading his tablet. They looked up when she entered, mild morning greetings that felt like the last moment before everything changed.

"Good morning," her mother said. "You want congee or toast?"

"Toast is fine."

Her father glanced up. "You have badminton today?"

"Yeah. After school."

Normal. So normal. Sophia sat down, gathering courage. The torn letter upstairs felt like it was broadcasting its destruction through the floor.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

Both parents looked up. Her mother's expression immediately shifted to concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just—I've made a decision about college."

Her father set down his tablet completely. "What decision?"

"I'm not doing early admission anywhere. I want to apply regular decision to multiple schools and see what happens."

The silence was deafening.

"But you have offers," her mother said carefully. "Opportunities that won't come again."

"I know. But I'm seventeen. I don't know if I want to commit to engineering. I don't know if I want to be in Boston. I need more time to figure it out."

"Figure what out?" Her father's voice was genuinely confused. "MIT is the best engineering school in the world. What is there to figure out?"

"Maybe I don't want to do engineering."

The words fell like bombs. Her parents exchanged looks—the kind of wordless communication that came from twenty years of marriage.

"Is this about that boy?" her mother asked, voice dangerously quiet. "The Price boy?"

Sophia's stomach clenched, but she kept her voice steady. "This is about me. About what I want for my future."

"Your future was set," her father said. "MIT. Engineering. Success. Why would you throw that away for uncertainty?"

"Because it's my uncertainty to choose."

Her mother stood abruptly, walking to the sink. Her back was rigid, her movements sharp. "You're making a terrible mistake."

"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make."

"Sophia—" her father started.

"I know you're disappointed. I know you wanted MIT for me. But I can't accept something just because it looks perfect on paper. I have to actually want it."

"And you don't want MIT?" Her mother turned around, disbelief clear on her face.

"I don't know what I want. That's what I'm trying to tell you. And committing to something I'm not sure about feels worse than waiting to figure it out."

The kitchen fell silent except for the coffee maker's gurgling. Sophia's toast popped up, but nobody moved to get it.

Finally, her mother said, "This is because of him. The Price boy. You're throwing away your future for teenage romance."

"No," Sophia said firmly. "I'm claiming my future. For me."

But even as she said it, she knew her morning wasn't over. She still had to tell Ethan about the offer. About what she'd chosen. About what his father had tried to do.

She met Ethan at their bench in Kildonan Park at noon, during lunch break. He was already there when she arrived, shoulders hunched against the cold, breath fogging in the January air.

"Hey," he said, standing when he saw her. "You sounded weird in your text. Everything okay?"

She sat down, and he sat beside her. The frozen pond stretched out before them, white and still. She could see kids skating in the distance, their laughter carrying on the wind.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

His body tensed. "Okay."

"Your father came to my house. Two days ago. January second."

Ethan went very still. "What?"

"He brought a letter. From MIT. Full ride, early admission, everything arranged through his connections." She took a shaky breath. "He offered me my dream school if I would accept it and... implicitly stay away from you."

The color drained from Ethan's face. "He tried to bribe you."

"Yeah."

"And you..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"I tore it up. This morning. Three AM. I tore it into pieces and threw it away."

Ethan stared at her. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "Sophia, that was MIT. That was—that was everything."

"No. It was his version of everything. His manipulation disguised as opportunity."

"But MIT—"

"I can still apply regular decision. If I get in on my own merit, great. But I won't take his bribe."

"It wasn't about the bribe, it was about your future—"

"Ethan." She grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at her. "My future. My choice. And I chose not to be manipulated. I chose not to let your father control my life the way he controls yours."

His hands were shaking in hers. "You gave up MIT for me."

"No. I gave up his MIT for me. Because accepting it would mean accepting that our relationship is something shameful that needs to be bought off. And it's not. We're not."

He pulled his hands free and stood up, pacing in front of the bench. "This is insane. You can't—you can't throw away MIT because of me."

"I didn't. I threw it away because it was wrong. Because it was a bribe. Because I refuse to be bought."

"My father will—" He stopped, running his hands through his hair. "God, he'll be furious."

"He already knows. He has to know by now. The deadline was this morning."

Ethan's phone buzzed. He looked at it, and his face went white. "I have to go. Team meeting. But Sophia—"

"I don't regret it," she said firmly. "Whatever happens next, I don't regret choosing myself."

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he crossed to her in two steps, pulled her up, and kissed her. Hard, desperate, tasting like coffee and winter air.

"You're incredible," he said against her mouth. "And insane. And I—" He pulled back. "I have to go. But we're talking about this later."

He ran toward the parking lot, leaving her standing by the bench. Her phone buzzed. Text from him already: My dad just called. Team meeting is a lie. He knows about MIT. Coming to get me. This is about to get bad.

Sophia's stomach dropped. She typed back: I'm sorry.

Don't be. You chose you. That's everything.

But she could feel it—the storm that was coming. Robert Price didn't lose. Ever. And she'd just declared war.

The storm hit at 4:30 PM.

Sophia was at badminton practice when Coach Martinez called her over. "Your father is here. Says it's a family emergency."

Her father never picked her up from practice. Never.

She grabbed her bag and found him in the lobby, his face grim. "We need to go home. Now."

"What's wrong?"

"Robert Price is at our house. With his lawyer."

The drive home was silent. Sophia's mind raced. His lawyer? What did that mean? What could Robert do legally?

They pulled into the driveway to find a black Mercedes and an unfamiliar sedan. Inside, her mother sat in the living room across from Robert Price and a woman in a severe suit. Everyone turned when they entered.

"Sophia," Robert said, standing. His voice was calm, controlled. Nothing like the warm uncle figure who'd offered her MIT. "We need to discuss the decision you made this morning."

"There's nothing to discuss. I declined your offer."

"You destroyed a guaranteed acceptance to MIT. Do you understand what you've thrown away?"

"I understand perfectly."

The lawyer spoke up. "Miss Chen, the arrangement Mr. Price made required significant financial commitments and favors. Your rejection at this late stage has consequences."

"What consequences?" Sophia's father asked. "She's seventeen. She can't be held to some backroom deal she didn't even sign."

"No legal consequences," Robert said. "But professional ones. Mr. Chen, you work for Richardson Engineering, correct? They're bidding on the Portage Avenue development? The one my firm is consulting on?"

The threat was subtle but clear. Sophia's father's face darkened. "Are you threatening my job?"

"I'm explaining reality. Choices have consequences. Your daughter made a choice. Now your family lives with those consequences."

"Get out," Sophia's mother said quietly. "Get out of our house."

Robert stood, straightening his suit. "I tried to help your daughter. Remember that. I offered her a future, and she threw it in my face. Whatever happens next is on her."

He left, his lawyer following. The house felt poisoned by their presence.

"Is it true?" her mother asked, turning to Sophia. "You rejected MIT? For that boy?"

"For myself," Sophia said, exhausted by having to keep explaining this. "I rejected it for myself."

Her phone buzzed. Text from Ethan: They moved my departure. Prep school wants me Jan 7. Three days. My dad is sending me away in THREE DAYS.

The room spun. Three days. They were accelerating everything, pulling him away before—

"I have to go," she said.

"You're not going anywhere," her father said. "We need to discuss what just happened."

"Later. Please. I need—"

"To see him?" Her mother's voice was sharp. "The boy whose father just threatened our family?"

"He's not his father."

"No, but he's the reason his father was here."

"That's not—" Sophia stopped. There was no point arguing. They'd made up their minds.

"You're grounded," her father said. "School and badminton only. No phone after eight PM. No seeing that boy."

"Dad—"

"This is not a discussion. You made your choice. Now we make ours."

Sophia stared at them—her parents, who'd always supported her, always trusted her. Now looking at her like she was a stranger who'd brought danger to their door.

"Fine," she said quietly. "Ground me. Take my phone. It doesn't change anything."

She went upstairs, closed her door, and immediately texted Ethan: They moved your departure? When?

January 7. My last game is tomorrow. They're shipping me out Sunday.

That's the same weekend as my nationals.

There was a pause. Then: I know. I'm driving you.

Ethan, you can't—

I'm driving you. We get three days together. They can't take that.

Your parents will never allow it.

I'm eighteen. I'm taking my truck. I'm driving you to nationals. End of discussion.

Sophia stared at the text. He was really going to do it. Defy his parents completely. For three days together.

Okay.

Okay?

Yeah. Drive me.

I'll pick you up Friday morning. 6 AM. Tell your parents you're taking the team bus.

It was insane. It was dangerous. It was definitely going to make everything worse.

I'll be ready.

Sophia?

Yeah?

You tore up MIT. For real.

Yeah.

You're the bravest person I know.

Or the stupidest.

Same thing sometimes.

She smiled despite everything. Despite Robert's threats, her parents' disappointment, the countdown that had just started—three days until he left.

But first, three days together. On the road. Away from everyone.

A knock on her door. "Sophia?" Her mother's voice. "Dinner."

"Coming."

She put her phone down, looked at the trash can where the MIT letter lay in pieces. No regrets. Whatever came next, no regrets.

She'd chosen herself.

And choosing herself meant choosing him.

Three days to prove it was worth it.

Ethan's last home game was everything and nothing at once.

Sophia sat in section 114 with Maya, watching him play with desperate brilliance. Every rush, every shot, every hit had an edge to it—like he was trying to fit a lifetime of hockey into sixty minutes.

The Winnipeg Falcons destroyed the Brandon Wheat Kings 8-2. Ethan had four goals and two assists. A career night. A goodbye night.

"He's playing like someone lit him on fire," Maya said.

"Close enough," Sophia murmured.

The crowd was electric. Everyone knew this was Ethan Price's last game before Michigan. Scouts were in the stands. His parents in their usual seats, Robert looking satisfied, Caroline taking photos.

But Ethan kept looking up at section 114. Finding her. Making sure she was there.

During the second intermission, Maya nudged her. "Your phone."

Text from unknown number: After the game. Parking lot. Need to talk. - E

He'd gotten a burner phone already.

The third period was poetry and violence. Ethan played like he was saying goodbye to more than just his team—like he was saying goodbye to this version of himself. The crowd gave him a standing ovation when he scored his fourth goal. His teammates mobbed him. And Sophia watched from above, memorizing everything, knowing this might be the last time she saw him play for months.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted. The announcer's voice boomed: "Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it one more time for number seventeen, Ethan Price!"

The arena shook with applause. Ethan raised his stick, did a lap, his teammates joining him. Jordan Nakamura was openly crying, not even trying to hide it.

"Come on," Sophia said to Maya. "Parking lot."

They fought through the crowds, out into the freezing night. The parking lot was chaos—fans, parents, players starting to emerge. Sophia found a spot near the back, watching for him.

He came out twenty minutes later, hair still wet from his shower, hockey bag over his shoulder. His parents were nowhere to be seen—probably doing their victory lap with the other hockey parents inside.

"Hey," he said, approaching them.

"Hey." She wanted to hug him but was aware of all the people around. "You played amazing."

"Thanks." He looked exhausted, wrung out. "Maya, can I talk to Sophia alone for a second?"

Maya looked between them. "I'll be in my car. With the heater on. Like a smart person." She walked away, leaving them standing in the freezing parking lot.

"Three days," Ethan said as soon as Maya was out of earshot. "We leave in eight hours."

"Your parents—"

"Think I'm driving Jordan to his cabin for the weekend. He's covering for me."

"My parents think I'm on the team bus."

"So we're both lying."

"Yeah."

They stood there, breath fogging between them, the weight of what they were about to do settling like snow.

"There's a blizzard warning," he said. "For Saturday. We might get stuck."

"Where?"

"North Dakota probably. If we're lucky, we'll make it to Grand Forks before it hits."

"And if we're not lucky?"

He shrugged. "Then we get stuck somewhere else. Together."

The way he said "together" made her stomach flip.

"Ethan—"

"I know it's crazy. I know it's going to make everything worse. But I don't care anymore. They're taking everything anyway. College, hockey, my phone, my life—they're controlling all of it. But not this. Not these three days. These are ours."

His voice cracked on the last word. Sophia stepped closer, not caring who might see.

"Six AM?" she confirmed.

"I'll be at the end of your street. Don't come out until you see my headlights flash."

"Okay."

"Bring warm clothes. The storm could be bad."

"Okay."

"And Sophia?" He looked at her, his face young and desperate and beautiful. "Thank you. For choosing this. Choosing us."

"Always," she said.

His parents emerged from the arena, Robert calling his name. Ethan grabbed his bag.

"Six AM," he said once more.

"I'll be ready."

He walked toward his parents, toward the Mercedes, toward his last two nights in his childhood home. And Sophia stood in the parking lot, watching him go, knowing that in eight hours everything would change.

Maya returned, linking their arms. "So you're really doing this? Running away with him for the weekend?"

"Not running away. Driving to nationals."

"With a stop for what, exactly?"

"I don't know," Sophia admitted. "Whatever three days can hold."

"That's either the most romantic or most destructive thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah," Sophia agreed. "Probably both."

They walked to Maya's car, and Sophia looked back once at the arena, lit up against the dark sky. Somewhere in there, Robert and Caroline Price were probably holding court, accepting congratulations on their son's success, planning his NHL future.

They had no idea their son was about to steal three days for himself.

No idea their perfect plan was about to hit a blizzard.

Sophia barely slept.

She packed and repacked her competition bag. Badminton gear, warm clothes, phone charger, journal. The essentials for nationals. Nothing that would indicate she was planning anything else.

At 2 AM, her phone buzzed. The unknown number—Ethan's burner.

Can't sleep. Keep thinking about tomorrow.

Same. Scared?

Terrified. You?

Terrified. But also... ready?

Yeah. Ready to choose something. Even if it's wrong.

What if it's right?

Then we get three perfect days.

And after?

After doesn't exist yet. Only tomorrow.

She smiled in the dark. Six AM.

Five hours and forty-three minutes. But who's counting.

Get some sleep. Long drive tomorrow.

Can't. Too busy memorizing everything I want to say to you.

Say it tomorrow. We'll have time.

Three days of time.

Three days of choosing us.

Worth it. Whatever happens after, worth it.

She set her phone down and stared at her ceiling. In six hours, she'd walk out of this house with a lie. Drive away with a boy her parents had forbidden her to see. Head straight into a blizzard that everyone was warning about.

It was destructive. Dangerous. Definitely going to have consequences.

But for the first time since Robert Price had shown up with his MIT bribe, she felt like she could breathe. Because this—this choice, this risk, this leap into uncertainty—this was hers.

Not her parents'. Not Robert's. Not even Ethan's.

Hers.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, knowing that tomorrow would begin the three most important days of her seventeen years.

Three days to prove that choosing yourself was worth any consequence.

Three days to prove that love was worth the storm.

At 5:45 AM on January 5th, Sophia slipped out of her house into the pre-dawn darkness.

The street was silent, fresh snow muffling everything. Her competition bag over her shoulder, her phone in her pocket, her heart hammering against her ribs.

At the end of the block, headlights flashed once.

Ethan's truck.

She walked toward it, each step taking her further from the safe, predictable life she'd known. When she reached the passenger door, he leaned over to open it.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

She climbed in, stowed her bag, buckled her seatbelt. The truck was warm, the radio playing quietly. Ethan looked exhausted but determined, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Ready?" he asked.

She looked back at her street, her house dark and sleeping, her parents unaware their daughter had just chosen chaos over control.

"Ready."

He put the truck in drive, and they pulled away into the darkness. The radio weather report played softly: "Blizzard warning remains in effect for southern Manitoba and northern North Dakota, beginning Friday evening through Sunday morning. Travel not recommended."

Ethan turned it off.

"No going back now," he said.

"No going back," she agreed.

They drove south toward Highway 75, toward the border, toward North Dakota and the storm everyone could see coming. In the side mirror, Sophia watched Winnipeg disappear behind them, streetlight by streetlight, until there was nothing but darkness and the road ahead.

Three days.

Starting now.

Chapter 2: CHAPTER 2: THE ROAD

JANUARY 5, JUNIOR YEAR

The world was still dark when they hit Highway 75 heading south.

Sophia watched the city lights disappear behind them, each streetlight a small goodbye. Manitoba in January at six-thirty AM looked like another planet—flat white nothing in every direction, the sky heavy with unspent snow.

Ethan drove with both hands on the wheel, careful on the winter roads. They hadn't spoken much since leaving the city. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it was heavy with everything they weren't saying: We're really doing this. Our parents are going to kill us. There's a blizzard coming.

She studied his profile in the dashboard light—the tension in his jaw, the way his thumbs tapped nervously against the steering wheel. He'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep, same as her, and it showed in the shadows under his eyes.

"You okay?" she asked, first words in twenty minutes.

He glanced at her, a quick smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Just... processing."

"Processing what?"

"That we're actually doing this. That you're actually here." His right hand left the wheel, found hers across the console. "That in about six hours, your parents and mine are going to realize we lied, and the world is going to explode."

"Maybe they won't figure it out right away."

"Soph." He squeezed her hand. "My mom probably already knows. She has that terrifying mother instinct. She probably woke up at six-oh-one like 'something's wrong.'"

Sophia laughed despite her nerves. "Your mom is kind of scary."

"She wasn't always. Before my dad got so..." He trailed off, searching for words. "Intense about the hockey thing. She used to be different. Softer."

"When did it change?"

"When I was twelve. First time scouts started seriously watching me. Suddenly I went from 'kid who's good at hockey' to 'future NHL investment.' Everything changed after that."

The sunrise started bleeding across the horizon, pale pink and orange against the white. Beautiful and cold. Ethan reached for the radio, finding the playlist he'd made. The first song was something indie and quiet, a woman's voice over acoustic guitar.

"When did you make this?" Sophia asked.

"Last night. Couldn't sleep, so..." He shrugged, embarrassed. "It's probably too sad."

"It's perfect." She turned their joined hands over, tracing patterns on his palm. "Tell me something."

"Like what?"

"Something you've never told anyone."

He thought for a moment, eyes on the road. "Sometimes I dream about just... disappearing. Not in a bad way. Just getting in my truck and driving until I hit ocean. Starting over somewhere where nobody knows I play hockey."

"Where would you go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere warm maybe? California, or Mexico. Somewhere I could wear shorts in January and nobody would care if I never touched a puck again."

"You'd miss it though. Hockey."

"Would I?" He glanced at her. "I honestly don't know anymore. It's been my whole life for so long, I can't tell if I love it or if I just... am it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. I feel that way about badminton sometimes. Like, do I actually enjoy it, or is it just part of my identity now?"

"Exactly." He shifted lanes to pass a slow-moving truck. "Okay, your turn. Something you've never told anyone."

Sophia bit her lip, considering. "Remember when you moved away? When we were nine?"

"Yeah?"

"I cried for three days straight. My mom thought I was sick. Kept trying to take me to the doctor. But I just... I couldn't explain that my best friend was gone and nothing felt right anymore."

Ethan's hand tightened on hers. "Soph..."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago. But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you hadn't moved. If we'd just... grown up together normally."

"We'd probably be dating by middle school," he said with a small smile. "Would have been that couple everyone was sick of by high school."

"Or we would have dated in middle school, broken up over something stupid, and never talked again."

"Nah." He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles while keeping his eyes on the road. "I don't think I could ever not talk to you. Even in hypothetical alternate timeline."

The gesture—casual, intimate, like they'd been together for years instead of months—made her stomach flutter. She wanted to unbuckle, slide across the bench seat, curl into his side. But the roads were getting slick with fresh snow, and she could see the concentration in his face.

"Tell me about the playlist," she said instead. "What's each song?"

So he did, explaining each choice as they drove through the frozen morning. This one reminded him of her laugh. That one was playing in the coffee shop when he realized he was falling for her. This one made him think about the future, about possibilities, about them.

They stopped at the Tim Hortons in Morris, halfway to the border. The parking lot was nearly empty—too early for normal people, too cold for anyone optional to be out. They got coffee and breakfast sandwiches, ate in the truck with the heater running.

"You know what's weird?" Ethan said, unwrapping his sandwich. "This feels more real than anything has in months."

"What do you mean?"

"Like... everything else—hockey, prep school, my parents' plans—it all feels like I'm playing a role. Going through the motions. But this?" He gestured between them. "Sitting in a Tim Hortons parking lot at seven-thirty AM, running away to North Dakota with you? This feels like the first real choice I've made in years."

"Even though it's insane?"

"Especially because it's insane." He turned to face her fully. "When was the last time you did something that wasn't planned? That wasn't the 'smart' choice?"

Sophia thought about it. "Honestly? Never. Until this week."

"Right? We've been so good for so long. Perfect grades, perfect sports performance, perfect everything. And where has it gotten us?"

"You're about to go to one of the best prep schools in North America."

"Against my will."

"And I have a shot at any college I want."

"If you can afford it without the MIT guarantee."

They sat with that for a moment, the weight of what they'd given up and what they were choosing instead.

"No regrets though?" Ethan asked quietly.

"No regrets," she confirmed. "You?"

Instead of answering, he leaned across the console and kissed her. Slow and thorough, tasting like coffee and possibility. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone, and Sophia felt herself melting into him.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.

"No regrets," he said against her mouth.

"We should keep driving," she said, not moving away.

"We should."

Neither of them moved for another long moment. Then Ethan's phone buzzed—not his regular phone, the burner he'd bought. Text from Jordan: Your mom just called my mom. Knows you're not here. Shitstorm incoming.

"And so it begins," Ethan muttered, showing her the text.

"What do you want to do?"

"Keep driving." He started the truck. "They already know. Can't get in more trouble than we're already in."

As they pulled back onto the highway, Sophia's phone started ringing. Her mom.

"Don't answer," Ethan said.

"If I don't answer, they'll worry I'm dead in a ditch."

"Let them worry for a bit."

She sent it to voicemail. Immediately, a text: Where are you? Coach Martinez says you're not on the team bus.

Sophia typed back: I'm fine. Got another ride to nationals. See you Sunday.

Her phone immediately started ringing again. She turned it to silent.

"Three missed calls from my dad," Ethan reported, checking his burner. "Four texts from my mom. One from Robert that just says 'Come home now.'"

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing yet." He tossed the phone into the cupholder. "They can wait. We have" —he checked the time— "three more hours until Grand Forks. Let them stew."

The border crossing was at Pembina, North Dakota. The guard looked at their enhanced licenses, asked about their plans.

"Badminton nationals in Grand Forks," Sophia said from the passenger seat.

"Where are your parents?" the guard asked, suspicious of two teenagers traveling alone.

"Meeting us there," Ethan lied smoothly.

The guard studied them for a long moment, then handed back their IDs. "There's a major storm system moving in tonight. You kids be careful."

"We will," Ethan assured him.

They drove into North Dakota, the landscape somehow even flatter and whiter than Manitoba. The snow was falling steadily now, not heavy yet but consistent.

"Should we talk about the weather?" Sophia asked.

"What about it?"

"The blizzard. The one everyone keeps warning us about."

"It's not supposed to hit until tonight. We'll be in Grand Forks by then. Safe in the hotel."

"And if the tournament is cancelled?"

"Then we have a free weekend in a hotel in North Dakota." He glanced at her, something unreadable in his expression. "Would that be the worst thing?"

Her face heated. "Ethan..."

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just saying... we'd have time. To talk. To figure things out. To just... be together. Without everyone watching."

"Our parents will probably drive down to get us."

"In a blizzard? Unlikely."

She knew he was right. If they got snowed in, they'd be truly alone for the first time. No friends dropping by, no parents hovering, no timeline except the storm.

The thought was terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.

"Look," Ethan said, maybe sensing her anxiety. "Nothing has to happen. We can get separate rooms if you want. I just... I want time with you. However that looks."

"Same room is fine," she said quietly. "I trust you."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, we should be smart about money anyway. And..." She took a breath. "I want time with you too. Real time. Without pretending or sneaking around."

He took her hand again, and they drove in comfortable silence through the falling snow. The playlist cycled through, each song feeling like it was written just for them, just for this moment.

"Can I tell you something that might sound stupid?" Ethan asked as they passed a sign for Grand Forks—40 miles.

"Always."

"I keep thinking about that Chinese legend you told me about. The red thread."

"The one connecting people destined to meet?"

"Yeah. I know it's just a story, but sometimes I think about when we were kids. How we just... found each other. On that rink. And then found each other again eight years later. Like there really was some invisible thread pulling us back together."

"That's not stupid," Sophia said softly.

"It's a little stupid."

"Okay, it's a little stupid. But also kind of beautiful?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think about it too sometimes. Like, what were the odds? That your family would move back to Winnipeg? That we'd end up at the same school? That we'd both be dealing with impossible parent expectations at the exact same time?"

"Almost like it was meant to happen."

"Or we're just really good at finding meaning in coincidence."

"Such a romantic," he teased.

"Says the guy who made a three-hour playlist for a road trip."

"Four hours, actually. There's a whole second half you haven't heard yet."

She smiled, settling deeper into the passenger seat. Outside, North Dakota stretched endlessly in every direction—a white canvas waiting for their story to be written on it.

"Ethan?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. For this. For choosing this even though it's going to make everything complicated."

"Everything's already complicated. At least this complication is ours."

They reached Grand Forks just after noon. The snow was heavier now, starting to accumulate on the roads. The Alerus Center parking lot was half full—the tournament still happening despite the weather warnings.

"You ready for this?" Ethan asked, parking in a far corner.

Sophia could see the team bus. Coach Martinez was probably wondering where she was. Her teammates would have questions. But none of that mattered as much as the boy sitting next to her, who'd driven four hours through a storm warning just to give them three days together.

"Ready," she said.

They got out of the truck, grabbed their bags, and walked toward the arena. Just before they reached the doors, Ethan caught her hand.

"Hey. Whatever happens next—with the tournament, the storm, our parents—I want you to know this was worth it. You're worth it."

She stood on her toes and kissed him, not caring who might see. "You too. You're worth all of it."

They walked inside holding hands, into the warmth and chaos of the tournament, ready to steal whatever time they could before the storm hit—literal and metaphorical.

And for the first time in weeks, Sophia felt like she could actually breathe.

The Alerus Center hummed with pre-tournament energy. Courts being set up, players warming up, coaches barking instructions. Sophia spotted Coach Martinez immediately, standing by the registration desk with a clipboard and a concerned expression.

"I should check in," Sophia said.

"I'll find a hotel," Ethan said. "Text you the details?"

"Yeah."

He squeezed her hand once more, then headed back outside. Sophia walked over to her coach, bracing for the conversation.

"Sophia." Coach Martinez's voice was carefully neutral. "You made it."

"Sorry I wasn't on the bus. I had—a ride."

"So I gathered. Your parents called me this morning. They're concerned."

"I texted them. They know I'm safe."

Coach Martinez studied her for a long moment. "The boy who was with you. That's your ride?"

"Yes."

"The hockey player? The one whose father—" She stopped herself. "Never mind. Not my business. You're here, you're ready to compete?"

"Yes."

"Good. First match is at three. Second at six if you win. Get warmed up."

"Coach—"

"Sophia." Her voice softened. "I was seventeen once. I understand more than you think. But right now, you need to focus on badminton. Whatever else is happening, whatever drama you've got going on—compartmentalize. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go warm up."

Sophia found her team in the corner of the arena. Maya practically tackled her.

"Oh my God, you actually did it! You're here! With him?"

"Shh," Sophia hissed, aware of their other teammates watching. "Yes, okay? Yes."

"This is the most romantic thing ever. Like Romeo and Juliet but with badminton and hockey."

"Romeo and Juliet died, Maya."

"Okay, bad example. But still! Running away together into a storm? That's novel-worthy."

"We didn't run away. We drove to a tournament."

"Sure. That's all." Maya's grin was wicked. "Where is he?"

"Getting a hotel room."

"A room? Singular?"

"Maya!"

"What? I'm just asking what everyone's thinking."

Sophia's phone buzzed. Text from Ethan: Holiday Inn on South Washington. Room 247. Checked in under my name. They have a restaurant if you want lunch before your match.

"I have to go," Sophia said. "I'll be back by two-thirty for warmups."

"Sophia Chen, you dirty little—"

"We're getting lunch. Stop."

But she was smiling as she left, Maya's laughter following her out.

The Holiday Inn restaurant was nearly empty. Ethan had gotten a corner booth, baseball cap pulled low like he was trying to be incognito.

"Hiding?" she asked, sliding in across from him.

"Your coach looked ready to murder someone. Figured I should lay low."

"She's actually being pretty cool about it."

"Yeah?"

"I think she understands. Being young and making questionable choices for love."

"Love, huh?" His smile was soft, private. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"What would you call it?"

"Love works." He reached across the table, taking her hand. "I love you. In case that wasn't clear."

"I love you too."

It still felt new, saying it out loud. Like something precious they were just learning to hold.

They ordered sandwiches and soup, comfort food for a cold day. Outside the window, snow fell steadily. The parking lot was already covered in a fresh white layer.

"It's getting worse," Sophia observed.

"Yeah. They might cancel the tournament."

"Would you be disappointed?"

She thought about it. "Honestly? Not really. I mean, I want to compete. But also... having an excuse to just be here with you, without agenda? That sounds pretty perfect."

"Careful, Chen. That sounds dangerously like not caring about achievements."

"Maybe I'm evolving."

"Into what?"

"Someone who occasionally chooses happiness over achievements?"

"Revolutionary." He was teasing, but there was something serious in his eyes. "It looks good on you. Choosing happiness."

Her phone buzzed. Text from her mom: Sophia, this is unacceptable. Come home immediately.

She showed Ethan. He pulled out his burner, showed her his screen: If you're not home by tonight, there will be serious consequences. This is not a game.

"They're scared," Ethan said quietly. "They can't control us from there."

"What do you think the consequences will be?"

"For me? Probably cutting me off. No college money, no car, no phone. For you?"

"Same, probably. Plus disappointment. So much disappointment."

"Worth it?"

She looked at him—really looked at him. At the exhaustion around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way he was holding her hand like an anchor. This boy who'd chosen her over everything safe and planned.

"Worth it," she confirmed.

They finished lunch and she headed back to the arena. Her first match at three was straightforward—she won 21-15, 21-12. The girl from Saskatchewan never had a chance. Sophia was playing with unusual focus, like she had something to prove.

Ethan watched from the back row, baseball cap still low. But she knew he was there. Could feel his presence like gravity.

Her second match at six was harder. The girl from Ontario had beaten Sophia before, knew her patterns. First game went to her opponent 21-18. But Sophia found another gear in the second game, won 21-14. The third game was a battle, every point fought for. When Sophia finally won 21-19, she nearly collapsed from exhaustion.

She'd made semifinals. Tomorrow—if the tournament happened.

When she found Ethan after showering and changing, he was standing by the windows watching the storm.

"It's getting bad," he said.

She could barely see the parking lot through the snow. Wind howled against the building.

"They just sent an email," she said, checking her phone. "Tournament postponed until further notice. They'll reassess in the morning."

"So we're stuck here."

"Yeah."

They looked at each other, the weight of that settling between them. Stuck in Grand Forks. In a hotel. Together.

"Come on," Ethan said. "Let's get dinner before everything closes."

They found an Italian place downtown still open despite the weather. The owner looked at them like they were crazy for being out, but served them anyway. They got pasta and terrible wine—Ethan's fake ID worked, barely—and sat by the window watching the world disappear under white.

"This is surreal," Sophia said, twirling linguine.

"Which part?"

"All of it. Being here. With you. Our parents freaking out somewhere. This storm literally trapping us."

"Feels like the universe is giving us a gift."

"Or testing us."

"Maybe both."

They talked about everything and nothing. College dreams (both wanted to study multiple things). Favorite books (she loved mysteries, he loved science fiction). Places they wanted to travel (everywhere, together). The conversation felt different than their usual stolen moments—unhurried, expansive, real.

"Can I ask you something?" Sophia said as they shared tiramisu.

"Anything."

"When you think about the future—like really think about it—what do you see?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "Honestly? I can't see past next week. Prep school feels like this wall I'm heading toward, and I can't see over it."

"Nothing?"

"Well. I see you." He met her eyes. "Whatever else happens, I see you in my future. Is that crazy?"

"We're seventeen."

"So?"

"So everyone says teenage love doesn't last."

"Everyone says a lot of things." He reached across the table, traced patterns on her hand. "I don't care what everyone says. I know what I feel."

"What if it changes? What if distance changes us?"

"Then it changes. But right now, in this moment, I love you. And I'm choosing to believe that matters."

The owner came over, apologetic. "I'm sorry, kids, but I need to close. The storm is getting worse."

They paid—Ethan insisted, despite Sophia's protests—and stepped outside into the blizzard.

The world had transformed. Snow fell so thick they could barely see across the street. Wind drove it sideways, stinging their faces. They struggled back to Ethan's truck, had to brush a foot of snow off before they could even find the door handles.

The drive back to the hotel was terrifying. Even with four-wheel drive, the truck slid constantly. Visibility was maybe ten feet. What should have been a five-minute drive took twenty, Ethan white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole way.

When they finally made it to the Holiday Inn parking lot, they sat for a moment, breathing hard.

"That was—"

"Yeah."

"We're definitely stuck here now."

"Yeah."

They looked at each other in the dim cab light. Stuck. Together. Alone.

"We should go in," Sophia said.

"We should."

Neither moved.

"Sophia—"

"I know. I'm nervous too."

"I don't want you to think—I mean, I got the room because we needed somewhere to stay, not because I expected—"

"I know." She leaned across the console, kissed him softly. "I trust you. And I trust myself. Whatever happens or doesn't happen, we're choosing it together. Okay?"

"Okay."

They ran through the blizzard to the hotel entrance, laughing and gasping as snow immediately soaked through their clothes. The lobby was warm and bright, a shocking contrast to the violence outside.

The desk clerk looked up. "You kids just get in?"

"Just made it," Ethan confirmed.

"You're lucky. Highway's closing. Nobody's going anywhere until this passes."

They took the elevator to the second floor. The hallway was eerily quiet—most guests had clearly fled before the storm. When Ethan unlocked room 247, Sophia felt her heart rate spike.

It was just a room. Two double beds. A TV. A window showing nothing but white.

But it was also their room. Their space. No parents, no friends, no one watching.

"I can sleep on the floor," Ethan offered immediately.

"There are two beds."

"Right. Yeah. Two beds."

They stood awkwardly in the doorway until Sophia laughed. "We're being ridiculous."

"We are."

"We've literally slept in the same bed before."

"That was different."

"Why?"

"Because..." He ran a hand through his snow-damp hair. "Because we hadn't said I love you yet. Because we weren't alone in a hotel room in a different country while our parents think we're dead. Because everything feels more... possible now."

She knew exactly what he meant. The air between them felt charged, full of potential energy waiting to spark.

"Let's just... see what happens," she said. "No pressure. No expectations. Just us."

"Just us," he agreed.

They changed into dry clothes—separately, Sophia in the bathroom—and settled on one of the beds to watch the weather report. The storm was even worse than predicted. Two feet of snow expected. Roads closed indefinitely.

"My parents are going to lose their minds," Sophia said, checking her phone. Twelve missed calls. Twenty-three texts. Increasingly frantic voicemails.

"Mine too." Ethan showed her his burner. "My dad actually used all caps. I've never seen him use all caps."

"Should we tell them we're okay?"

"They know we're okay. If we weren't, the police would have called by now."

"That's morbid."

"But true."

She leaned against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. On TV, the weather person was gesturing at a massive swirl of white covering three states.

"Historic storm," the weather person said. "Possibly the worst in a decade."

"We have terrible timing," Sophia murmured.

"Or perfect timing," Ethan countered. "Depending on how you look at it."

She tilted her head to look at him. "How are you looking at it?"

"Like we got given a gift. Time. No one can get to us. No one can make us leave. For however long this storm lasts, we're free."

"Free," she repeated, tasting the word.

"Free to be ourselves. To figure out what we actually want. To just... exist together."

"That sounds perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They stayed like that for a while, watching the storm rage outside, safe in their little bubble of warmth and possibility. And Sophia thought: This is it. This is what choosing yourself feels like. Terrifying and perfect and absolutely worth whatever comes next.

Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3: THE STORM

JANUARY 6, JUNIOR YEAR

Sophia woke to apocalyptic whiteness.

Not the soft gray of dawn—complete, blinding white pressing against the hotel window. For a disoriented moment, she thought she'd gone snow-blind. Then her eyes adjusted: the storm had transformed the world into nothing.

She sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. 7:04 AM on the nightstand clock. The other bed was empty, sheets tangled like someone had fought them all night. Ethan's voice came from the bathroom, muffled but tense.

"—I understand that, but I physically cannot drive in this. Have you looked outside?"

Pause.

"I don't care if you're disappointed. I'm not risking our lives to get home twelve hours earlier."

His father. Had to be. Sophia's stomach clenched. She grabbed her phone: eighteen missed calls, forty-two texts, voicemails she didn't want to hear.

"Mom, I—yes, I know. Yes. I will. When the roads are clear." Another pause, longer. "I don't—that's not—" His voice cracked. "Can we please not do this right now?"

Sophia got out of bed and went to the window. The parking lot had vanished. Cars were shapeless mounds under three feet of snow. Ethan's truck was completely buried. And it was still snowing—heavy, violent, wind-driven sheets of white.

They weren't going anywhere. Maybe not for days.

The bathroom door opened. Ethan emerged, phone in hand, face pale and exhausted. When he saw her at the window, he stopped.

"How bad?" he asked.

"Biblical."

He crossed to stand beside her. "Jesus."

"Your parents?"

"Dad first. Then Mom. They're—" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "They're beyond angry. They've hit some new level I didn't know existed."

"What did they say?"

"My dad said if I don't come home the second the roads clear, I'm cut off. No prep school. No college money. Nothing."

"He's bluffing."

"Maybe. Maybe not. He sounded..." Ethan shook his head. "I've never heard him like that. Like I'd betrayed him personally."

"You chose something for yourself. That's not betrayal."

"To him it is." He turned away from the window, pacing the small room. "He said—he said you're ruining me. That you're a distraction from my future."

The word hit like a slap. "Maybe I am."

"Don't." His voice went sharp. "Don't you dare say that."

"But what if he's right? What if being with me is—"

"Is what? Making me think for myself? Making me question whether I want to spend my whole life doing what he planned?" Ethan stopped pacing, faced her. "Then good. I want to be ruined if his version is the only option."

"Ethan—"

"No. I'm serious. I'm eighteen years old and I've never made a real choice until this week. Everything—hockey, school, friends, girlfr—" He caught himself. "Everything was what made sense for 'the trajectory.' His word, not mine."

"And now?"

"Now I'm in a hotel room in North Dakota, snowed in with the girl I love, while my father threatens to destroy my future." He laughed, bitter and a little wild. "And you know what? I'm happier than I've been in years."

"You don't look happy."

"I'm terrified. But I'm also... free? For the first time ever, I'm doing something because I want to, not because it's expected." He crossed to her, took her hands. "I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"It's about the MIT thing. I need you to know—"

"I know you didn't know about it. I know it wasn't your idea."

"That's not—" He took a breath. "I need to tell you that I understand. Why you almost took it. Why it was tempting."

"Ethan—"

"No, let me finish. My whole life, I've done what was expected because it was easier. Safer. It made everyone happy and proud and I never had to think too hard about what I actually wanted. So I get it. The appeal of having it all figured out."

"But you're doing it anyway. Prep school."

"Am I?" He met her eyes. "Am I really?"

The question hung between them, heavy with implication.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying... what if I didn't go? What if I just... didn't get on that plane tomorrow?"

Sophia's breath caught. "Your parents would actually murder you."

"Maybe."

"Your future—"

"Would be uncertain. Yeah. Join the club." He squeezed her hands. "You tore up MIT for uncertainty. Why can't I do the same?"

"Because—because that's different."

"How?"

"I don't know, it just is." She pulled her hands free, needing space to think. "You can't throw away hockey because of me."

"See, that's where you're wrong. It wouldn't be because of you. It would be because of me. Because I don't want to play anymore."

The confession landed like thunder.

"You don't mean that."

"I do though." His voice was quiet now, certain. "I haven't wanted to play for at least a year. Maybe longer. I'm just good at it, so everyone assumes I love it. But I don't. I'm tired, Soph. Tired of being hit, tired of pressure, tired of my entire worth being tied to how well I can shoot a puck."

"So what would you do instead?"

"I don't know. That's the terrifying part. But also the exciting part?" He sat on the bed, suddenly looking very young. "I could do anything. Study astrophysics without hockey taking all my time. Take art classes. Travel. Figure out who I am when I'm not Ethan Price, hockey star."

Sophia sat beside him. "That's a huge decision."

"Yeah."

"Like, life-changing huge."

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't make it just because we're stuck in a hotel room and you're emotional."

He laughed. "When else would I make it? When I'm calm and rational and surrounded by people telling me to stay the course?"

"Good point."

They sat in silence for a moment. Outside, the storm howled like something alive and angry.

"I need to tell you something," Sophia said suddenly.

"Okay."

"About MIT. About why I really rejected it."

"You told me. It was a bribe."

"That's part of it. But also..." She gathered her courage. "I was scared. Of committing to engineering. Of being locked into something at seventeen."

"That's reasonable—"

"I'm not finished." She turned to face him fully. "I was also scared of losing you. Of choosing the safe path and watching you disappear into your father's plan and wondering what if for the rest of my life."

"Soph—"

"I know we've only been together a few months. I know we're young. I know everyone thinks this is just teenage drama that won't matter in five years. But Ethan, I—" Her voice cracked. "I've been in love with you since I was nine years old."

He went completely still.

"Maybe not romantic love then," she continued. "But something. You were my person. And when you left, it broke something in me. And when you came back, it was like—like I could breathe again. And I couldn't take MIT knowing it was your father's way of making sure I'd lose you again."

"You won't lose me."

"I'm losing you tomorrow. You're going to Michigan."

"Not if I don't get on the plane."

"You have to get on the plane."

"Why?"

"Because—" She stopped, frustrated. Why did he have to? Because it was expected? Because his parents demanded it? Those weren't good enough reasons anymore.

"See?" Ethan said softly. "You can't think of a real reason either."

"Your future—"

"Is mine to choose. Just like yours is yours to choose." He took her hands again. "What if we both just... chose ourselves? Chose uncertainty? Together?"

"That's terrifying."

"Yeah."

"And probably stupid."

"Definitely stupid."

"Our parents would never forgive us."

"They might. Eventually. Or they might not. But we'd have to live with that."

Sophia looked at their joined hands. His were bigger, rougher from years of hockey. Hers fit inside them perfectly.

"Can I tell you something that might change everything?" she asked.

"More than what you just told me?"

"Maybe."

"Tell me."

She met his eyes. "I love you. Not just teenage love. Not just first love. The real thing. The kind that makes you reconsider everything you thought you knew about yourself."

"Sophia—"

"And I know that's a lot. I know we're seventeen—"

"Eighteen—"

"Whatever. I know we're young and this is crazy and we're probably making huge mistakes. But I need you to know that. That this isn't just rebellion or hormones or whatever. I love you. The real you. Not hockey star you. The you who wants to study stars and reads science fiction and makes playlists at 3 AM."

Ethan's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I—" He stopped, took a breath. "I've been in love with you since the moment you walked into Spanish class. Maybe since we were nine, I don't know. Time feels weird with us."

"Yeah."

"Like we're picking up where we left off, but also starting something entirely new."

"Yeah."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I love you too. The real thing. The terrifying, life-changing, make-stupid-decisions kind."

"Good." She pulled back just enough to see his face. "So what do we do about it?"

"Right now?"

"Right now."

He glanced at the window, at the storm still raging. "Right now, we're trapped in a hotel room in North Dakota. No one can get to us. No one can make us leave. We have..." He checked his phone. "At least twenty-four hours before roads might be clear."

"So?"

"So we have twenty-four hours to figure out what we actually want. Without anyone else's input."

"And what do you want? Right now, in this moment?"

He looked at her for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "You. I want you. Is that—is that okay to say?"

Sophia's heart was suddenly hammering. "Yeah. It's okay."

"I don't mean—I'm not trying to pressure—"

"I know." She moved closer, close enough to feel his breath. "I want you too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They looked at each other, the air between them electric. And then they were kissing—desperate, hungry, months of careful control finally breaking. His hands in her hair, her hands under his shirt, bodies pressing together like magnetism.

"Wait," Ethan gasped, pulling back. "Wait. We should—we should talk about this."

"Talk about what?"

"About—about if we're really—if this is—" He was flustered, face flushed. "I've never—"

"Me neither."

"So maybe we should—"

"Think about it?" She was breathing hard. "Be rational? Make a pro and con list?"

He laughed, surprised. "When you put it like that..."

"Ethan. We've been rational and careful our whole lives. Maybe just this once we can—"

"Be stupid teenagers?"

"Be brave," she corrected. "Be present. Be real."

He studied her face, searching for something. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure I love you. I'm sure we might not get another chance like this. I'm sure that whatever happens tomorrow or next week or next year, I want this memory. With you."

"That's a lot of sures."

"Yeah, well. You bring out certainty in me. Which is ironic since you also bring out chaos."

He smiled, that soft private smile she loved. "Both things can be true."

"Both things are true."

They kissed again, slower this time. Less desperate, more intentional. When they broke apart, Ethan stood, pulling her up with him.

"If we're doing this," he said, "we're doing it right."

"Define right."

"Not because we're scared. Not because we're running out of time. Because we want to. Because we choose to."

"I choose you," Sophia said simply.

"I choose you too."

And then they were kissing again, and talking became unnecessary. The storm raged outside, but inside room 247, there was only them. Only this moment they were stealing from time, this choice they were making together.

When Sophia woke later—much later—wrapped in Ethan's arms with afternoon light filtering through the snow-covered window, her first thought was: No regrets.

Her second thought was: Everything is different now.

Ethan stirred beside her, pulling her closer. "You awake?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

She considered the question. Was she okay? She'd just changed everything. Crossed a line she couldn't uncross. Made a choice that would ripple forward through the rest of her life.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay. You?"

"More than okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I feel..." He paused, searching for words. "Free. Like I finally did something that was completely mine. Ours."

"No regrets?"

"Never. You?"

"Never."

They lay in comfortable silence, listening to the storm. It was starting to quiet—still snowing, but the violence had passed. Soon the roads would clear. Soon they'd have to face reality.

But not yet.

"What time is it?" Sophia asked.

Ethan checked his phone. "Four PM. Also, seventeen missed calls from my father."

"Twenty-three from my mother."

"We should probably let them know we're alive."

"Probably."

Neither moved.

"Five more minutes?" Ethan suggested.

"Five more minutes."

But five became ten, became an hour, became the rest of the afternoon tangled together in their bubble of stolen time. They talked about everything—childhood memories, dreams they'd never voiced, fears they'd never admitted. The conversation had a different quality now, deeper, like physical intimacy had unlocked emotional doors.

"Can I tell you something weird?" Ethan asked as the light faded toward evening.

"Always."

"I keep thinking about parallel universes. Like, in how many versions of reality do we end up here? In this room? In this moment?"

"Probably not many."

"Right? The odds were so against it. If my parents hadn't moved back to Winnipeg. If you'd taken MIT. If the storm had hit a day earlier or later. If, if, if."

"But it happened."

"It happened." He pressed his face into her hair. "We happened."

"Against all odds."

"The best things usually are."

They eventually got up, showered (separately, though the awareness of the other just beyond the door was its own kind of intimacy), dressed, and ventured out to find food. The hotel restaurant was surprisingly busy—other stranded travelers comparing storm stories.

They got a table by the window. The parking lot was still invisible under snow, but the wind had died. Tomorrow, plows would come. Tomorrow, the world would restart.

"You know what's funny?" Sophia said, picking at her salad.

"What?"

"Everyone's going to think we planned this. The storm. Getting stuck."

"We kind of did plan it."

"We planned the trip. We didn't plan—" She gestured vaguely.

"No. That just happened."

"Do you think it would have? Without the storm? If we'd just had a normal weekend?"

Ethan considered. "Honestly? Probably not. We would have been focused on your tournament, on getting back, on being responsible."

"So we needed the storm."

"We needed something to force us to stop running long enough to actually be together."

"Running from what?"

"Everything. Expectations. The future. Our parents. Ourselves."

"And now?"

"Now we face it all. But differently. Because we chose something. Finally."

Their phones buzzed simultaneously. Both checked.

"Tournament's back on," Sophia reported. "Nine AM tomorrow."

"Roads should be clear by noon," Ethan read from a weather update.

"So tomorrow we go back."

"Tomorrow I'm supposed to leave for Michigan."

"Are you going to?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. Ask me tomorrow."

They finished dinner and walked back to their room. The hallway was still eerily empty. Inside 247, the beds were still rumpled, evidence of their afternoon everywhere.

"We should probably text our parents," Sophia said. "Let them know we're okay."

"Yeah."

They sat on one bed, composing messages. Sophia went simple: Safe in Grand Forks. Roads still closed. Will head home when clear. Tournament tomorrow AM.

Her mother's response was immediate: This is unacceptable. We're coming to get you as soon as roads open.

Please don't. I need to finish the tournament.

This isn't about badminton anymore, Sophia.

She showed Ethan. He showed her his: If you're not home by tomorrow night, you're not my son anymore.

"Jesus," Sophia breathed.

"Yeah."

"He doesn't mean that."

"He might." Ethan tossed his phone aside. "But you know what? I don't care. I'm tired of being held hostage by his disappointment."

"That's your father."

"That's a man who sees me as an investment. Not a son."

The bitterness in his voice was sharp enough to cut.

"Ethan—"

"Do you know what he said when I told him I got into Northwestern? For academics, not hockey?"

"What?"

"He said 'That's nice, but it doesn't matter. You're going for hockey.' Not congratulations. Not 'I'm proud of you.' Just dismissal of anything that wasn't his plan."

"That's awful."

"That's my life. Or was." He looked at her. "I'm not going to Michigan tomorrow."

"Ethan—"

"I'm not. I decided. I'll face whatever consequences come, but I'm not getting on that plane."

"Where will you go? If he cuts you off?"

"I'll figure it out. Get a job. Student loans. Stay with Jordan maybe, until I graduate." He took her hands. "I know it sounds insane. But I can't do it anymore. I can't live his life."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"If that's your choice, I support you. The same way you supported me tearing up MIT."

He kissed her, soft and grateful. "I love you."

"I love you too."

They got ready for bed—teeth brushed, faces washed, the domestic routine strangely intimate. Without discussion, they both climbed into the same bed. Sophia curled into his side, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," she said into the darkness, "I want you to know this was worth it. All of it."

"Even the consequences?"

"Especially the consequences. Because they mean we chose something real."

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "No regrets."

"No regrets."

Outside, snow continued to fall, gentler now. Inside, they held each other, knowing tomorrow would bring battles they might not win. But for tonight—for these stolen hours in room 247—they had chosen each other completely.

And that was everything.

That was enough.

More than enough—it was the beginning of who they really were.

Sophia woke at 3 AM to Ethan sitting up, breathing hard.

"Bad dream?" she asked, touching his back.

"Panic attack," he managed. "Sometimes—before big things—"

"What do you need?"

"Just—don't leave. Don't go anywhere."

"I'm right here."

She sat up, wrapping her arms around him from behind. His heart was racing, his whole body trembling. She'd never seen him this vulnerable, this unguarded.

"Breathe with me," she said. "In for four, hold for four, out for four."

They breathed together in the darkness, her counting softly, until his heartbeat slowed.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Ever. Not for this."

He turned to face her. "It happens sometimes. The pressure just—builds up and my body rebels."

"How long?"

"Years. Since I was maybe fourteen. Since hockey became everything."

"Do your parents know?"

"God, no. They'd see it as weakness. As proof I can't handle the pressure."

"It's not weakness."

"I know. Logically. But—"

"No. Listen to me." She took his face in her hands. "You've been carrying impossible pressure for years. The fact that you have panic attacks isn't weakness—it's your body trying to tell you something. That this isn't sustainable. That you need to choose differently."

"Like not going to Michigan."

"Like choosing your own path. Whatever that looks like."

He kissed her palm. "How are you so wise?"

"I read a lot of psychology books trying to figure out why I was so anxious all the time."

"And?"

"Turns out living for other people's approval is bad for your mental health. Who knew?"

He laughed, soft in the darkness. "Revolutionary discovery."

"Right?"

They lay back down, Sophia's head on his chest again. His heartbeat was steady now, calm.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For seeing all of me. Even the panic attacks and uncertainty and mess. And not running."

"Where would I run? We're snowed in."

"You know what I mean."

She did. "You see all of me too. The anxiety and people-pleasing and need for control."

"I love all of you."

"Even the messy parts?"

"Especially those. They're the most real."

She smiled against his chest. "I love your messy parts too."

"Good. Because tomorrow's going to be really messy."

"Yeah."

"You ready for it?"

"No. You?"

"Not even close."

"Perfect. We'll be not ready together."

They fell asleep again like that, wrapped around each other, while outside the storm finally exhausted itself, leaving the world buried and new.

Tomorrow would bring consequences.

Tonight was theirs.

Chapter 4: CHAPTER 4: THE AFTERMATH

JANUARY 7, JUNIOR YEAR

Morning came like an assault—aggressive sunlight bouncing off pristine snow.

Sophia woke to brightness so intense it hurt. She squinted, disoriented, then remembered: Grand Forks. Hotel room. Storm. Ethan.

Ethan.

She turned her head. He was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her with an expression she couldn't read.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey." Her voice came out scratchy. "What time is it?"

"Six-thirty."

Early. But also late. Because today was the day. Today he was supposed to leave for Michigan. Today everything would fall apart or come together, and she didn't know which.

She sat up, pushing hair from her face. Through the window, she could see the parking lot—or what had been the parking lot. Everything was buried under mountains of snow. But the sky was offensively clear, painfully blue, and she could hear the distant rumble of plows.

"Roads are opening," Ethan said, following her gaze. "Highway should be clear by noon."

"Your flight—"

"Was supposed to be tonight at eight. From Winnipeg."

"That's..." She did quick mental math. "Six hours of driving, if roads are clear. You could make it."

"I could."

The word hung between them, loaded with everything they'd discussed last night.

"Are you going to?"

He sat up, scrubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know. I thought I knew, but now..." He looked at her. "What do you think I should do?"

"I can't answer that for you."

"I know. But if you could. If it was your choice."

Sophia pulled her knees to her chest, thinking. "I think... I think you should go."

His face fell. "You want me to leave?"

"No. God, no. But I think—I think if you don't go, you'll always wonder. What if you'd tried. What if you'd given it a chance. And your parents—"

"Will never forgive me either way."

"Maybe. But at least if you go, you're trying. You can always leave later if it's truly awful. But if you don't even try..."

"I'll be the kid who threw away everything for a girl."

"You're not throwing it away for me."

"I know. But that's how everyone will see it. How I might see it, someday, if things don't work out with us."

The possibility hurt to acknowledge, but it was real. They were eighteen. Statistics were against them.

"So go," she said. "Try. And if it's unbearable, leave. Come home. Figure out something else. But at least try."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You're right. I hate that you're right, but you are."

"I'm sorry."

"No. I needed to hear it." He reached for her hand. "Will you wait? While I'm gone? It's only ten weeks until spring break."

"You know I will."

"Even with the distance? Even with my parents trying to destroy this?"

"Especially then. I'm stubborn when people tell me I can't have something."

He smiled, the first real smile of the morning. "I love that about you."

"My stubbornness?"

"Your determination. Your refusal to be controlled."

"Learned from the best," she said, squeezing his hand. "You chose me over everything safe. Least I can do is choose you back."

Her phone buzzed. Email from Coach Martinez: Finals rescheduled for 9:00 AM. Be there by 8:30 for warmup.

"I have a match," Sophia said.

"I'll come watch."

"You don't have to—"

"Sophia. I drove you here to watch you play. I'm watching you play."

They got ready quickly, muscle memory from years of early morning practices. Sophia braided her hair tight, put on her competition clothes. Ethan wore jeans and his Winnipeg Falcons hoodie—no point hiding anymore.

The hotel breakfast was crowded with stranded travelers finally able to leave. They ate quickly, quietly, both lost in thought about what came next.

"After your match," Ethan said. "We should head back right away. The longer we wait—"

"The worse it gets. I know."

They drove carefully to the Alerus Center. The roads were plowed but still treacherous, ice hiding under fresh sand. The parking lot was fuller than expected—apparently everyone was eager to finish the tournament and get home.

Coach Martinez was waiting at the entrance.

"Sophia. You made it."

"Sorry about yesterday—"

"The entire tournament was cancelled yesterday. Everyone was stuck." Her coach's eyes moved to Ethan. "Mr. Price."

"Coach Martinez."

"You're the one who drove her."

"Yes ma'am."

"Through a blizzard."

"We drove down before the blizzard. Got stuck during it."

Coach Martinez studied them both, and Sophia could see her adding things up. The same hotel. The way they stood close together. The something that had changed between them.

"Your parents are worried sick," she said to Sophia.

"I texted them. They know I'm safe."

"Safe is relative." But her tone was gentle. "Go warm up. Finals in thirty minutes."

Sophia's opponent was the Ontario girl from yesterday—or was it the day before? Time felt elastic, distorted by the storm and everything that had happened in room 247.

The match was brutal. Sophia's body was exhausted, her mind scattered. She lost the first game 21-16, couldn't find her rhythm. Between games, she looked up at the stands. Ethan was in his usual spot, but he wasn't hiding anymore. When their eyes met, he nodded once. Calm. Certain. You've got this.

Second game, she found her focus. Won 21-17.

Third game, everything came together. Every shot was precise, every movement economical. She played like someone who had nothing left to lose and everything to prove. Won 21-15.

Silver medal. Again.

But this time, it didn't feel like failure. It felt like triumph.

When the ceremony ended, Ethan was waiting. "You were incredible."

"I was okay."

"You were incredible," he insisted. "The way you came back after losing the first game? That was pure determination."

Coach Martinez approached. "Good match, Sophia. Your parents called. They're driving down to get you."

Sophia's stomach plummeted. "What? When?"

"They left Winnipeg an hour ago. They'll be here by three."

"But I have a ride—"

"I know. I told them. They insisted." Coach Martinez's expression was sympathetic. "I'm sorry. I tried to convince them you were fine, but..."

"They don't trust me anymore," Sophia finished.

"They're scared. There's a difference."

But the result was the same. Her parents were coming. Which meant—

"We should go," Ethan said quietly. "Now. Before they get here."

"Ethan—"

"If we leave now, we can make it back to Winnipeg by 2:30. I can pack and still make my flight. If we wait..."

If they waited, their parents would intersect here. In Grand Forks. The confrontation would happen in public, in front of the entire badminton tournament.

"Okay," Sophia said. "Let's go."

They practically ran to his truck. Ethan started it, began scraping ice while it warmed up. Sophia threw her bag in the back, checking her phone. Text from her mom: We're coming to get you. Do NOT leave with that boy.

Too late.

The drive back was nothing like the drive down. No comfortable silence, no playlist, no stolen glances. Just the weight of what was coming pressing down on them both.

They made good time on the cleared highways. Too good. By 2:00 PM, they were approaching Winnipeg, the familiar skyline rising from the prairie.

"Your house or mine?" Ethan asked.

"Yours is on the way to the airport."

"My parents will be there."

"Mine are almost to Grand Forks by now. They'll have to turn around."

He took the exit for River Heights, winding through familiar streets toward home. Toward goodbye. Toward whatever came next.

But as they turned onto his street, Ethan slammed on the brakes.

Both their parents' cars were in his driveway. All four parents were standing outside in the cold, waiting.

"Shit," Ethan breathed.

"How did they—"

"They must have figured out we'd come here." He looked at her. "We could leave. Just drive to the airport. Not deal with this."

"They'd follow us."

"Yeah."

They sat for a moment, engine running, staring at the parental firing squad waiting for them.

"Whatever happens," Sophia said, "I love you."

"I love you too."

Ethan pulled into the driveway. Before they could even open their doors, Robert Price was striding toward them, face thunderous.

"Get out of the truck. Now."

They got out. Sophia's parents hurried over—but wait, how were they here? They were supposed to be driving to Grand Forks.

"We never left," her mother said, reading her confusion. "We lied. We knew you'd run if you knew we were coming here instead."

The betrayal stung more than it should have.

"Where the hell have you been?" Robert demanded.

"I drove Sophia to nationals," Ethan said, voice steady. "She won silver medal."

"Don't." Robert's voice was ice. "Don't try to make this sound noble. You lied. You both lied. You disappeared into a blizzard—"

"We were safe—"

"You were in a hotel room! Together! We checked with the Holiday Inn. One room. Mr. Price and guest."

The words hung in the air. Sophia felt her face burn, her parents' disappointment like a physical weight.

"Sophia." Her mother's voice was quiet, devastated. "How could you?"

"It wasn't—we didn't plan—"

"You didn't plan to share a hotel room with a boy? While lying to us about where you were?"

"The storm—"

"There are always excuses," her father said. "But choices have consequences."

"You're right," Sophia said, finding her voice. "They do. And I chose. I chose to go to nationals with someone I trust instead of alone on a bus. I chose to weather the storm with him instead of with strangers. I chose—"

"You chose to throw away your reputation for teenage romance," her mother interrupted.

"I chose love," Sophia said simply. "And I'd choose it again."

The silence was deafening. Then Robert laughed—cold, bitter.

"Love. You're eighteen years old. You don't know what love is."

"I know it's not control," Ethan said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. "I know it's not manipulation or threats or forcing someone into a life they don't want."

"Watch your tone—"

"No. I'm done watching my anything." Ethan stepped forward. "I'm eighteen. Legal adult. I made a choice to drive someone I care about to a tournament. We got caught in a storm. We stayed safe. End of story."

"End of story?" Robert's voice rose. "You're supposed to be on a plane in three hours!"

"Yeah. And I'll be on it."

That stopped everyone. Even Sophia looked surprised.

"You will?" Caroline asked.

"Yeah. I'll go to prep school. I'll try." He looked at his father. "But not because you're forcing me. Because Sophia helped me see that I should at least try. That I'll regret it if I don't."

Robert blinked, momentarily thrown.

"But," Ethan continued, "I'm going on my terms. I'll have my own phone—one you don't monitor. I'll call whoever I want, whenever I want. And spring break, I'm coming home. Non-negotiable."

"You don't get to set terms—"

"Actually, I do. Because if you want me to go—if you want me to play hockey and be your NHL investment—then you need to give me something. And what I need is the ability to have my own life alongside hockey."

"Meaning her." Robert pointed at Sophia.

"Meaning my own choices. But yes, including her."

Father and son stared at each other. The tension was suffocating.

Then a neighbor called out: "Everything okay over there?"

Everyone turned. Mrs. Patterson from next door was on her porch, clearly concerned about the raised voices.

"Fine," Caroline called back, forcing a smile. "Family discussion."

But more neighbors were watching now. The Prices' perfect facade was cracking in public.

"Inside," Robert said tersely. "Now."

"No," Ethan said. "I need to pack. My flight's in three hours, remember?"

He walked to the back of his truck, pulled out his bag. Then turned to Sophia.

"Thank you. For this weekend. For everything."

Before anyone could stop him, he crossed to her, cupped her face, and kissed her. Right there in the driveway, in front of both sets of parents, in front of the watching neighbors.

When he pulled back, Sophia was crying.

"Ten weeks," he whispered. "Wait for me."

"Always."

Robert grabbed Ethan's arm. "Inside. Now."

But Ethan pulled free. "I can walk."

He headed toward the house. Robert and Caroline followed, arguing in harsh whispers.

Sophia's parents stood frozen for a moment. Then her mother said, "Car. Now."

They drove home in awful silence. Sophia sat in the back, watching the city pass, knowing Ethan was packing, knowing in hours he'd be gone.

Her phone buzzed. The burner number.

I'm going. But I'm coming back. I love you. This isn't over.

She typed back: I love you too. Ten weeks.

69 days. I'm counting.

Me too.

When they got home, her parents finally exploded.

"A hotel room? Overnight? With a boy?" Her mother paced the living room. "Do you have any idea what people will say?"

"I don't care what people say."

"You should care! Reputation matters!"

"To who? The badminton community? My future college applications? Or just to you?"

"Don't take that tone—"

"What tone should I take? You lied about Grand Forks. You ambushed us. You're acting like I committed a crime when all I did was—"

"All you did was disappear with a boy whose family we don't even know, lie about where you were, spend the night together in a hotel—"

"Because of a blizzard!"

"There are always excuses!"

"They're not excuses, they're reasons!"

The argument went in circles. Her father finally said, "Go to your room. We'll discuss consequences tomorrow."

Sophia went upstairs, closed her door, collapsed on her bed. Her phone showed 5:47 PM. Ethan's flight was at 8:00. He was probably leaving for the airport now.

Text from him: On the way to airport. Parents silent. I think my dad might actually explode.

Are you okay?

No. But I will be. You?

Same.

I found out something. My dad has business in California next week. My mom's going with him.

So?

So I'll have unsupervised computer access at school. Video calls?

Yes. Every night.

Every night. I love you.

I love you too. Text when you board.

At 7:45, he texted: About to board. See you in 69 days.

68 days, 23 hours, 15 minutes.

But who's counting?

Both of us.

Yeah. Both of us.

And then he was gone. On a plane to Michigan, to prep school, to the life his father had planned.

Sophia lay on her bed, still in her badminton clothes, staring at the ceiling. Everything hurt. Her chest felt hollow, like something essential had been scooped out.

Her phone rang. Unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Don't hang up." Robert Price's voice. "This is the only warning you'll get."

"Warning about what?"

"Stay away from my son. Don't call, don't text, don't contact him."

"You can't—"

"I can and I will. I have lawyers, Sophia. Good ones. If you continue to interfere with Ethan's future, I'll make your family's life very difficult. Your father's job, your mother's visa renewal, your college applications. I have reach. Don't test it."

"Are you threatening me? A seventeen-year-old?"

"I'm explaining consequences. Ethan has a path. A future. You're not part of it."

"That's his choice, not yours."

"He's eighteen. Still dependent on me for everything. That gives me leverage."

"That's not parenting, that's hostage-taking."

Robert laughed coldly. "Call it what you want. But if you care about him—really care—you'll let him go. Let him focus on hockey. Let him have the future he's worked for."

"The future you've worked for."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

"Stay away from him, Sophia. Or I'll make sure you regret it."

The line went dead.

Sophia stared at her phone. Then, deliberately, she opened her text thread with Ethan's burner number.

Your dad just called. Threatened me. Told me to stay away from you.

Three dots appeared immediately. Then: I KNEW he'd do something. I'm so sorry.

Don't be. I'm not scared of him.

You should be. He doesn't make empty threats.

Neither do I. And I'm not giving up on us.

You sure? It's going to be hard. Ten weeks of this.

69 days. We can do 69 days.

I love you so much.

I love you too. Now turn off your phone before the flight attendant yells at you.

Already yelling. Gotta go. Talk tomorrow?

Every day.

Every day. Promise.

Promise.

She set her phone down just as her mom knocked.

"Sophia? Dinner."

"Not hungry."

"You need to eat."

"I need to be alone."

Long pause. Then footsteps retreating.

Sophia's phone buzzed. Maya: Heard you're back. Heard it was dramatic. You okay?

No. But I will be.

Want to talk about it?

Tomorrow. Tonight I just need to be sad.

Fair. Love you.

Love you too.

She curled up on her bed, still dressed, and let herself cry. For the weekend that had changed everything. For the boy on a plane to Michigan. For the war she'd just entered with Robert Price. For the innocence they'd lost and the future they'd chosen.

Her phone buzzed once more. Voice message from Ethan's burner.

She opened it: "Hey. So I'm on the plane, about to take off. Everyone's staring because I'm leaving a voice message like it's 2005. But I needed you to hear my voice saying this: I love you. I'm coming back. Ten weeks is nothing. We've already waited eight years, right? What's another 69 days? Also, my dad's texting me threats about you, but I don't care. He can't control this. He can control a lot, but not how I feel about you. Not that. Never that. Okay, flight attendant actually looks murderous now. I love you. Wait for me."

She listened to it three times before finally falling asleep, phone clutched in her hand.

Saturday, January 7th, 11:47 PM.

Sophia woke to her phone vibrating. Text from unknown number: Made it to Michigan. Prep school is basically a hockey prison. Roommate seems okay. I already miss you so much I can't breathe.

She sat up, texting back: Can you talk?

Not voice. Roommate's here. But text yes.

Your dad threatened me tonight.

I know. He texted me about it. I'm so sorry.

Stop apologizing for him.

You're right. I'm sorry. Wait, shit, I just apologized for apologizing.

She laughed despite everything. Dork.

Your dork.

Yeah. Mine.

69 days.

68 days, 7 hours, 13 minutes.

Math nerd.

Hockey dork.

Perfect match.

Perfect.

They texted for an hour. About nothing. Everything. The mundane details that somehow mattered desperately—what his room looked like, what she'd had for dinner (nothing), how the ice rink smelled different in Michigan.

Finally: I should sleep. 5 AM practice.

Gross.

Yeah. But 68 days.

68 days. I love you.

I love you too. More tomorrow?

Every day.

Every day.

She set her phone down and looked out her window. The moon was bright on the snow, everything silver and shadow. Somewhere in Michigan, Ethan was looking at the same moon.

68 days.

They could do this.

They had to.

But then her phone buzzed one more time. Not Ethan. Her mom's number. But the text was clearly from Robert—she must have left her phone out:

Final warning. Stay away from my son or face legal consequences. Restraining order paperwork is already drafted. Your choice.

Sophia stared at the message. Then screenshotted it. Evidence.

She opened her text with Ethan: Your dad's escalating. Using my mom's phone to threaten restraining order.

His response was immediate: WHAT. That's insane. He can't—

He's trying to scare me off.

Is it working?

She thought about it. Really thought about it. The smart choice would be to walk away. Let Ethan go to prep school, have his hockey career, live the life planned for him. Protect herself and her family from Robert's threats.

The smart choice.

The safe choice.

But she'd already torn up MIT. Already chosen chaos over certainty.

No. It's not working. It's pissing me off.

That's my girl.

68 days.

68 days. Together.

Together.

And as she finally fell back asleep, Sophia thought: Let Robert Price bring his lawyers and threats. Let him try to scare me. I'm seventeen years old and I've already given up MIT for love. What else have I got to lose?

Everything, maybe.

But some things were worth everything.

Ethan was worth everything.

68 days to prove it.

EPISODE 5 ENDS

Cliffhanger: Sophia receives legal threat of restraining order while texting Ethan. Will she choose safety or love? Can they survive 68 days apart with Robert Price actively working to destroy them? The battle for their future has officially begun.