Lahat ng Kabanata ng Promises We Made at Seventeen: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

(His POV) Waiting is its own kind of courage. I didn’t realize that until Arielle stopped counting hours out loud and started carrying the deadline quietly instead. The shift was subtle, but I felt it. The way her smiles took a little more effort. The way her eyes drifted when she thought no one was watching. She was choosing something. I just didn’t know what yet. And that uncertainty sat in my chest like a held breath. Everyone around me assumed I was spiraling. Marcus asked if I wanted to crash at his place after practice. Coach gave me longer looks than usual, like he was checking for cracks. Even my mom asked, gently, if everything was okay. “I’m fine,” I told them all. It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth. The truth was, I was learning how not to chase someone I loved. Every instinct in me wanted to make it easier for her say the thing that tipped the scale, promise the version of us that survived everything, offer reassurance dressed up as certainty. But I

(His POV) I thought the hard part would be hearing her say she was going. I was wrong. The hard part was standing beside her after everyone else knew. The news spread fast. By Monday morning, it felt like the whole school was buzzing with it Arielle’s name floating through hallways, congratulations wrapped in certainty, people speaking like her future was already neatly boxed and shipped. “You must be proud,” someone said to me between classes. “I am,” I replied automatically. And I was. That wasn’t the lie. The lie was pretending pride didn’t coexist with something sharper. At lunch, she sat with her friends, laughing, animated, alive in that way people get when they feel chosen by something bigger than their current life. I watched from across the room, resisting the urge to join her like I always did. Not because she didn’t want me there. Because I didn’t want to turn her moment into mine. Marcus dropped into the seat across from me, nudging my tray with his elbow. “So

(His POV) I didn’t expect the future to feel this heavy. Everyone talked about it like freedom college, independence, becoming someone new. Like once I stepped onto that path, everything else would fall neatly into place. Instead, it felt like I was carrying invisible weights, each expectation stacking on my shoulders until even breathing required effort. Coach. My parents. The counselors. The version of myself I was supposed to be becoming. And Arielle. Not because she demanded anything she didn’t. That was the worst part. She never asked me to stay smaller. Never asked me to slow down. Never asked me to choose her over anything. She just existed in my life, quietly important. Which somehow made the fear sharper. That morning, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized the guy staring back. Same face. Same eyes. But something restless sat behind them now. You can’t afford to mess this up, I told myself. Not now. At school, my phone buzzed const

(His POV) I used to think effort meant grand things. Big decisions. Long-term plans. Sacrifices everyone could see. I didn’t realize how much of love lives in the small, unannounced moments the ones no one claps for, the ones that don’t come with recognition. Like noticing when someone stops rearranging their life for you. Like feeling the quiet shift when they start choosing themselves. Arielle hadn’t said it outright, but I felt it. She was still there but she wasn’t hovering. And somehow, that scared me more than if she’d demanded everything at once. Monday afternoon, I sat through practice barely hearing Coach’s voice. My mind kept drifting to the way Arielle had looked that morning steady, calm, no urgency in her steps. She wasn’t waiting anymore. That should’ve felt healthy. Instead, it felt like a warning. After practice, I skipped the usual detour with the guys and went straight home. My mom glanced up from the kitchen when I walked in. “You’re quiet,” she said.

(His POV)Everyone had an opinion once the offer became public.Coach pulled me aside with a grin that felt too sharp.My dad clapped me on the back like I’d already crossed some invisible finish line.Even teachers started speaking to me differently like I was already halfway gone.“You don’t want distractions right now,” Coach said one afternoon, voice low and serious. “This is the window.”I knew what he meant without him saying her name.At home, my dad was less subtle.“Long-distance at your age?” he scoffed over dinner. “It never works. You need to focus. Relationships complicate things.”I stared at my plate, jaw tight.Arielle wasn’t a complication. She was clarity.But I was starting to understand how lonely it felt to defend something no one else could see from the outside.At school, the pressure followed me. Friends joked about freedom and “college girls” like I was supposed to be excited about the idea of replacing what I already had.“Man, you’re about to level up,” one