Just to stop the feeling

The kitchen smells like syrup and sun. Morning light spills through the windows, covering them in that soft, golden kind of way that makes everything feel possible. There’s a record playing softly in the background, humming beneath the quiet. The plate in front of her is still warm—half-eaten pancakes resting between them—but Jewels just stares at her fork. Her appetite’s gone. She’s thinking too hard to eat.

Jewels used to think that love was sacrifice. That if you truly cared about someone, you’d get out of their way—quietly. Let them soar. Let them leave. She thought she was being noble when she pulled back, when she said less, when she decided to hold in all the love she felt for the girl sitting in front of her… so the love of her life could go and find something better. Someone better.

But keeping all that love boxed up had done nothing but hurt her—and hurt Susie too.

Now she knows: love isn’t about stepping aside. It’s about showing up.

And she’s done pretending.

She can’t keep standing in front of Suzie, hoping to be seen, and never daring to ask for it.

After a long, cozy silence, she clears her throat. Her voice wavers, but the words are solid.

She’s finally ready to answer the question she knows Susie’s been aching to ask.

“I’m not going back to Westview.”

Suzie freezes for half a second. Then she carefully sets her mug down.

“What?” she says, her voice surprised, her expression flickering with worry.

“I’m staying here. At the academy.”

Jewels finally looks her in the eyes—really looks. “I’m not leaving.”

“But… you said—” Susie begins, before Jewels gently takes her hand, silencing her with a soft touch.

“I know what I said,” Jewels replies. “I know I’ve been acting like I had one foot out the door. Like I didn’t know what I wanted. But I do. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Suzie holds her gaze now—confused, guarded, and somehow still tender.

Jewels can’t stop thinking how she doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve her. How Suzie waited. How she stayed—even when Jewels was pushing her away. It’s about time she tells the truth.

“The truth is… I thought I was holding you back,” she says. “I kept thinking, ‘What if I’m the thing keeping her from flying?’ Like I was this weight you had to carry, just because you loved me. And I hated that. So I tried to… I don’t know. Loosen the grip. Let you go without saying it.”

Suzie stares at her, stunned.

This isn’t a love confession. Not really.

Because what they feel is already there—undeniable, like the sun rising every morning.

But how could Jewels believe that loving her was holding her down? That this—whatever they are—was something to apologize for?

“Jewels…” Suzie breathes out softly, like her name is a fragile thing.

But Jewels keeps going. She’s afraid that if she stops now, she’ll never be brave enough again.

“But that’s not love, is it? That’s fear. I was scared of being the reason you gave something up. Scared we weren’t meant to grow in the same direction. But… God, Susie. This. What we have—it’s everything. And I realized… I want to be the reason you stay. Or the reason you go for something. But never the reason you let it go.”

Suzie’s eyes are glassy now, her lips parted like she’s about to say something—but Jewels continues, voice low, steadier now.

“I’m done pretending I don’t care that much. I’m done stepping back. I want you. And I want this. I’m not giving up on us, Susie. Not anymore.”

A long silence falls between them. One of those rare, electric silences—charged with everything unspoken and everything that’s about to be said.

Suzie stands slowly. Walks around the table. She sits beside Jewels instead of across from her. Takes her hand. Leans in, forehead resting against hers.

“It was never you holding me back,” Suzie whispers. “It was only ever me… waiting for you to stop letting go.”

She pauses. Her voice breaks in the softest way.

“You’re my dream, Jewels. You always were. Not Broadway, not the stage. Just… you being happy, and me beside you. Even if that meant being on the sidelines.”

And there it was. The decision. The moment. Right there, over half-eaten pancakes.

Suzie leans in just a little more, their breath mingling, their faces barely inches apart. Then, slowly, like they both already knew it would happen, they meet in the middle.

A kiss.

Warm. Tender. Familiar. The kind of kiss that doesn’t try to be perfect—just real. It’s careful at first, like they’re rediscovering something precious. But then Suzie’s hand slides to the back of Jewels’ neck, and Jewels tilts her face just slightly, deepening the kiss. It tastes like syrup and relief and a thousand unspoken I-love-yous finally let loose.

Their second kiss. Long overdue. Honest. The kind of kiss you carry with you. The kind that says: we made it.

The kiss tasted like maple syrup and relief—syrup because they’d stolen it from a half-eaten pancake, and relief because finally. Finally, after years of pretending they didn’t know, didn’t feel, didn’t ache, they’d let something break open. And it wasn’t chaos. It was soft. Warm. Brave.

Suzie didn’t pull away fast. Neither did Jewels. Their lips lingered, gently pressed together, not because of hesitation but because it mattered. When they did part, Suzie leaned in again, forehead to forehead, and they just sat like that. Breathing the same air. Trying to memorize what it felt like to stop running from the truth.

That Sunday, they ended up at the little community market—hands brushing occasionally, voices lowered in a strange new intimacy, everything ordinary but electrified. Jewels was cradling two peaches like they were fragile heirlooms, sniffing them with great focus, when a tiny voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“That one’s good,” a little girl declared, pointing a sticky finger at the fruit. “My grandma says you gotta pick the ones that smell like summer.”

Jewels looked down at her with a delighted gasp. “Oh? Is that a fact?”

She nodded, very seriously. “Yeah. Is this your husband?”

Suzie blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her throat burned.

Jewels… didn’t correct her.

She just smiled. “Kind of a dreamboat, huh?”

The girl shrugged. “I guess.” Then she looked at Suzie again. “But you’re prettier.”

Before Suzie could process that, the girl’s grandma rushed over with a soft laugh and an apology. “Sorry—she’s in her matchmaking era.”

“She’s got taste,” Jewels said brightly, still holding the peach.

The woman chuckled, then wandered off with her granddaughter, leaving behind a moment that felt suspended in amber.

Suzie didn’t say anything right away. But later, when they were walking back, the air full of sun and the scent of overripe fruit, she couldn’t hold it in.

“You didn’t correct her.”

Jewels’s steps slowed. “I know.”

“You let her think we’re married.”

Jewels looked at her, eyes unreadable and too open all at once. “She said husband,” she said quietly. “She didn’t know she could say wife.”

Suzie’s heart twisted.

“And maybe…” Jewels exhaled, looking down at her shoes. “Maybe I didn’t want to correct her.”

Suzie stopped walking. Her chest felt tight, like her ribs were trying to hold something too big. But it wasn’t fear.

It was the kind of joy that made you tremble.

After a beat, she grinned, just a little. “So what, you wanna be my husband now?”

Jewels finally smiled—slow and wide and entirely her. “Only if I still get to wear crop tops.”

Suzie laughed, and it came out sharp and breathless, like she hadn’t laughed in years.

That night, Suzie lay in bed with her hands on her chest, staring at the ceiling like it might confess something back to her. She wasn’t sad. That surprised her. She wasn’t even confused.

She was… glowing.

It scared her how much it didn’t scare her anymore.

She thought about Daniel. About how she’d kissed him with her eyes open. About how she’d used words like “fine” and “good” and thought that was love. But it had never been loud in her chest. It never knocked the breath out of her. It never made her want to whisper secrets into the spaces between silence.

Jewels did.

Jewels always had.

She used to think those feelings were just friendship in high-definition. She used to tell herself, You’re not like that. Or, This is just how it feels to love someone who gets you. But then why did she flinch when Jewels dated other people? Why did her stomach twist whenever she imagined a future where Jewels wasn’t there?

Maybe the answer had always been: because she is like that.

And now? Now that she’d stopped pretending? She felt weightless.

Daniel had taken the breakup well. Too well. Like she was handing back something he hadn’t even really held. He’d looked more puzzled than heartbroken. And maybe that was proof enough.

It had never been about him. It had always been about not knowing who she was allowed to want.

She picked up her phone and texted Jewels.

“I’m happy.”

No context. No need.

The reply came a minute later.

“Me too.”

And then, another:

“Come outside.”

Barefoot, hoodie zipped halfway up, she slipped out into the hallway and down the stairs. Her heartbeat was rapid but not nervous. Just excited. Like she was running toward the truth instead of away from it.

Jewels was waiting at the bottom of the steps, legs pulled up on the porch swing, two mugs of cocoa beside her. She looked up, eyes catching the porch light just right, and Suzie thought there you are like it was a prayer.

“You look smug,” Suzie said, settling beside her.

“I’m not,” Jewels replied. “I’m just… happy. And maybe a little in love with the idea of you picking peaches forever.”

Suzie rolled her eyes with a grin. “You still wanna be my husband?”

“Sure,” Jewels said, reaching over to tuck a piece of Suzie’s hair behind her ear. “But only if you’ll still let me be the little spoon.”

Suzie laughed, but her eyes were glassy. The kind of full that only came from finally saying yes to herself.

It was still a secret. But it didn’t feel like hiding.

It felt like holding the beginning of something holy.