"Can I run away?"
"Can I?"
The question wasn't loud—it didn't need to be. It echoed in Jay's chest like the ticking of a slow clock, measured and relentless.
She whispered the words into the still air of her bedroom, barely daring to hear her own voice. The walls remained silent, indifferent. Her gaze drifted toward the door. Her mother's voice still audible from the other side—low, tired, desperate attempts to smooth things over, to pretend everything could still be fixed with a few well-chosen words.
But Jay wasn't listening anymore.
She looked around her room—the pale wallpaper, the wooden desk littered with ink-stained notes, her half-closed closet door, and the soft glow of her nightlight painting long shadows against the floor. It had once been a haven, her safe place, this room. Now it felt like a cage.
Her mother's voice was still going.
"…Jay, just talk to me, honey. Please. Don't shut me out…"
Jay stared down at her lap for a long moment, then stood abruptly. She crossed the room and climbed into bed without saying a word, pulling the blanket up to her chin and turning to face the wall.
Maybe if she pretended to sleep, time would skip forward. Maybe the thing—the presence—he would return.
He might come back…
The button had to mean something. If it was really his, maybe there would be another. Maybe this time, he'd come for it.
And if he did… she would go with him.
The thought terrified her. But it also burned with quiet hope.
The voices outside her door eventually faded. Time dragged its feet. An hour passed. Then two. By midnight, the house had fallen into silence. Only the occasional tick from the hallway clock reminded her that she was still awake, still waiting.
And then—
Movement.
Something shifted at the edge of her bed.
Jay's eyes flew open. Her hand shot out on instinct and grabbed an arm.
But it wasn't his.
"Dad?"
Her father blinked down at her, surprised but gentle. He held a glass of honey-warm milk in his other hand.
"You're awake," he said, placing the glass on her bedside table. "Come on. It's cold tonight. This'll warm you up."
Jay sat up slowly, the disappointment pressing into her like a second skin. Her chest felt heavy. She looked at her father, really looked at him—his lined face, his soft gaze, the weary kindness that hadn't visited her much in recent years.
There was a time when she'd adored him—when he'd carried her to bed if she fell asleep on the sofa, when he'd bring her sweets after work, when he'd sneak her out for midnight drives just to chase the stars. But now…
Now, he felt like a stranger trying to remember who she was.
She looked down at the glass and spoke without lifting her head.
"Dad… I don't want to get married."
The silence after her words was a small eternity.
He exhaled softly. "You won't—if you don't want to."
Jay's eyes snapped up to meet his.
"Really?"
Her father's expression didn't change, only softened more. "Yes. It's your life, Jay. You have every right to decide for yourself."
A lump rose in her throat. "But the company…?"
Her father smiled, sad and simple. "If it's meant to survive, it will. If it's meant to drown, then no marriage—forced or not—will keep it afloat. Don't carry that burden. It's not yours."
Jay was quiet for a moment. Then she moved forward and hugged him.
Tightly.
He rested his chin on her hair, patting her back softly.
But after a moment, his voice changed—more hesitant now, searching.
"…but Jay," he began quietly, "the family that's interested in you… they approached us first."
Jay pulled back slightly, her eyes narrowing. "What?"
"They know you," he explained. "Or at least, they know of you. I think they like you. Your mother's been cautious, you know. She rejected them a few times. But… they kept coming back."
"Why?" Jay asked, her voice dry with confusion.
"They said they wanted to protect you. Help the company, yes—but not just for business. For you." His voice dropped lower. "Don't be angry at your mother. She's not greedy, Jay. You know that. She thought long and hard about this."
Jay sank back into her pillow and turned her back to him, curling into herself.
"Just give me some time," she murmured. "To think."
Her father didn't push. He picked up the untouched milk, stood quietly, and left, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.
Jay watched his silhouette disappear. Then she pulled the blanket over her head, her breath shallow.
But sleep refused to take her.
The next morning, Jay rose before the sun.
The house was still in slumber. The shadows still clinging to corners. She moved like a ghost, brushing her teeth, buttoning her coat, slipping on her shoes, tying her scarf tight. Each movement came with the same repeated phrase pulsing in her head:
Run. Run. Run.
The boy hadn't come.
No button.
No escape.
Now you have to run by yourself, for yourself. She knew it was just her—her father, caught in helpless love; her mother, pushing her deeper into a maze of expectation; and herself, stranded in the eye of her own storm.
Jay silently stepped out of the house and into the cold grey of morning. Her breath made little clouds in the air as she walked into the university. But halfway there, she stopped.
And turned.
Her feet carried her in a different direction—toward the greenhouse.
Her hands were cold as she pushed open the old iron gate. The lock was open.
Why is it unlocked? she thought.
She glanced at her wristwatch. 5:30 a.m.
The air was still, filled with the quiet dampness of dawn. Her shoes crunched softly on the stone path as she walked inside. Then she saw it.
A figure on the bench.
Someone was curled up beneath a thick shawl, an alarm clock tucked under their arm, a half-empty thermos beside them.
Jay froze. And moved closer.
"Venelope?"
Her voice shattered the silence like breaking glass.
The girl stirred with a sharp jolt, her eyes snapping open.
"Jay?" she grumbled groggily. "What time is it?"
She reached under the bench and fumbled for her alarm clock.
"It's only 5:30, Jay," she said, burying her face in the fabric again. "I want to sleep."
Jay couldn't move. She just stood there, blinking, stunned.
Venelope turned over, already drifting again.
Jay sat slowly by her feet, resting her head against the bench backrest. Her eyes never left her friend's sleeping form.
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