Chapter 21: The Space Between Us
Andrea didn't expect it to hit her so hard.
It had only been three days since Sheik left for West Bay, but it already felt like a lifetime.
She had promised herself she wouldn't fall apart. She wouldn't cling. She wouldn't be the girl who sent endless "I miss you" texts or sat around moping in a room filled with memories of him.
But by the third night, it became clear: she wasn't sure who she was without him there.
It was weird. For months, she'd been fine on her own. Before Sheik, there had been no one. Just school, her art, her friends, and the occasional weekend hangout. She'd never needed anyone to feel complete. But now? It felt like a part of her had gone missing.
Her phone sat in front of her on the desk, the screen dark. She hadn't sent him a message since earlier that morning. She felt too needy, too pathetic. He was out there chasing his dream, starting a whole new chapter of his life, and here she was—stuck in the same place, unable to shake the feeling that their world was starting to shrink.
She hadn't told anyone how much she missed him. Not her mom, not her best friend. No one.
She'd just kept it inside.
But that didn't mean the ache wasn't there. In fact, every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his presence. The way his laugh always filled the room. How he would walk beside her after school, teasing her about her art skills, and she'd always try to hit him lightly on the arm in protest.
She tried not to check her phone too often. She didn't want to seem desperate.
But she couldn't help it. Every time it buzzed, she jumped.
Finally, at 9:03 p.m., she gave in and opened his last message:
First day done. Not gonna lie—it's tough. I miss you.
She smiled softly. Her heart twisted. Miss you too. You've got this. And don't forget—hydration, dumbass.
Her phone buzzed again almost immediately.
Haha. You're gonna be the death of me.
She stared at the screen for a while, biting her lip, considering whether or not to send something else. The "I miss you too" that had been sitting on her tongue all day. The "I can't believe we're doing this" that she kept pushing back.
She didn't. Not yet.
Instead, she put the phone down and stared out of her window. The rain had stopped earlier, but the night air was still damp. The city was quiet—just the distant hum of traffic and the occasional car driving by.
She missed him so much it hurt.
But what did she expect? She had known from the beginning that his journey would take him far. That one day, he'd have to leave. The scholarship was his dream, the chance to build something for himself. How could she resent that?
Except, maybe it wasn't about resentment.
Maybe it was about fear.
Fear that she wouldn't be enough. That despite all the messages, all the calls, all the promises to stay in touch, things would change. That he'd change. That he'd grow into someone else, someone she wouldn't recognize.
A part of her was terrified that this distance, this separation, might slowly make them strangers.
Andrea shook her head. She couldn't think like that. She wouldn't.
But that didn't stop her from staring at her phone long after the screen had dimmed.
She didn't know how she was supposed to act. How she was supposed to feel.
The next day, during art class, she couldn't concentrate. Her teacher was discussing technique, blending colors, but all Andrea could think about was Sheik—how he'd be waking up in some unfamiliar bed, surrounded by new faces, his thoughts scattered across his training.
She caught herself doodling on the corner of her sketchpad: a soccer ball, then the lines of a jersey, and a number.
She stopped herself. Stop doing this, she thought. You're not a lovesick teenager. You're strong. You're independent. You have your own life.
But the truth was, she didn't want to be independent right now. She didn't want to keep pretending that everything was fine when it felt like half of her was somewhere else.
When school ended, Andrea went home, but she didn't feel like doing anything. She didn't want to go out with friends or paint or even read. Instead, she stared at the TV, but it was the kind of blank staring where she wasn't watching anything at all.
She was just waiting.
Waiting for the feeling of missing him to fade. Waiting for herself to adjust. Waiting for a day when she wouldn't feel like half of her was lost at West Bay.
By the time her mom came home from work, Andrea was curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders.
"Everything okay, sweetie?" her mom asked, dropping her purse by the door.
Andrea nodded, though her eyes felt heavy. "Yeah. Just... tired, I guess."
Her mom sat next to her. "You know, I'm here if you want to talk. You don't have to keep everything to yourself."
Andrea opened her mouth to say something—anything—but she couldn't get the words out. Not yet.
Instead, she took a deep breath, then smiled at her mom.
"I'm just missing a friend," she said softly.
Her mom smiled back, pulling her into a quick hug. "I understand. It's okay to miss him. But don't forget, you've got your own dreams, too."
Andrea squeezed her mom's hand. She didn't feel like talking anymore, but she appreciated the quiet comfort. Maybe one day she'd be able to talk about all of this—the feeling of wanting to hold on and let go at the same time. But for now, all she could do was wait. Wait for the ache to fade, for things to settle into something she could understand.
And in the stillness of that moment, as the world outside her window kept moving, Andrea knew that no matter how much she missed him, she would figure this out. She had to.