Every autumn throughout our four years of college, Jonas would find the most vibrant sycamore leaf on campus and bring it to me. He promised that once our senior road trip was over, he would press all four leaves into a glass frame and hang it in our very first apartment together. Yet, when we arrived at the mountain cabin and sorted out the rooms, he gave the only master suite with a private bath to Vivian. “She got trapped in an elevator as a child,” Jonas explained, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. “She gets panic attacks if she has to sleep in a dark room alone.” I stared at her heavy duffel bag in his hand and asked quietly, “And what about me?” Before Jonas could answer, my roommate Beth laughed. “April, come on. You two have been together for four years. Are you really going to throw a fit over one night?” The others chimed in, annoyed that I was ruining the mood. Without asking, they relegated me to the drafty, leaking attic. Then they took the custom wooden frame I had brought, claiming Vivian had always loved pressed leaves and that it would make the perfect graduation keepsake for her. Jonas didn’t say a word to stop them. Only when Vivian’s eyes welled with tears as she offered a fragile apology did Jonas turn to me, his voice dipping into that cool, admonishing register. “She lost the best four years of her youth being stuck overseas. You have everything, April. Can’t you just let her have this one thing?” A sudden, hollow realization settled over me. Ever since Vivian returned to the States, everyone had remarked on how much my quiet demeanor, my short haircut, and even the curve of my smile resembled hers. It turned out Jonas had never been cherishing those four golden leaves. He was merely collecting the echoes of her that he saw in me. Outside, the autumn rain battered the sycamore trees against the windowpane. They all thought that taking that frame away only cost me a sentimental souvenir. None of them knew that beneath those four pressed leaves lay the official acceptance letter Jonas had spent two desperate years chasing. And in that quiet attic, I decided: none of it mattered anymore. 1 “The light in the attic is dead. Does anyone have a flashlight?” I stood at the top of the narrow staircase. Rainwater dripped steadily through a crack in the cedar ceiling, soaking through the edge of the mattress. Beth was busy unpacking Vivian’s coats into the downstairs closet. She didn’t even turn around. “Just use your phone flashlight. Make it work for one night, April. Everyone’s exhausted after an eight-hour drive.” “The bed is completely drenched.” “Then throw a couple of jackets over it,” Eli, our class rep, said as he passed by with a crate of snacks. “It’s a rustic cabin trip, not a five-star resort. Vivian’s health is fragile—learn to be a little considerate.” Jonas stepped out of the master suite carrying a steaming mug of hot water. He caught sight of my damp cuffs, his brow instantly furrowing. “Why haven’t you changed into dry clothes yet?” “My suitcase is right under the leak. It’s too heavy to drag across the floor.” Jonas pressed the warm mug into my hands and brushed past me up the stairs. He hauled the cot away from the damp patch, found a wooden pail to catch the steady drip, and took his own bath towel to wipe down my wet suitcase. “Drink some,” he said, turning back to me. “Your hands are freezing, and you’re still acting stubborn.” The hot water was steeped with dried orange peel and honey. Whenever I got carsick, he always made this for me. The citrus steam washed over my face, and I wrapped my fingers around the warm ceramic, swallowing the argument on my tongue. Perhaps he was just looking out for Vivian for a single night. Jonas pulled back the duvet on the narrow daybed across the attic, pressing his palm flat against the mattress. “This side is completely dry. I’ll sleep up here with you. Vivian can have the suite to herself.” From the bottom of the stairs, Beth’s voice drifted up: “Jonas, you’re ridiculous. You can’t even spend one night away from April?” He didn’t acknowledge her, keeping his head down as he checked the window latch. Looking at the familiar line of his jaw, I swallowed the quiet “forget it” lingering in my throat. Footsteps creaked on the stairs. Vivian came up slowly, clutching the banister. She was wearing Jonas’s oversized gray fleece—the one I had bought him for his birthday, with a tiny maple leaf embroidered inside the cuff. A sweater he had never let anyone else touch. “Did I cause trouble?” Vivian asked softly, her eyes wide. “April, please take the suite back. I can just sleep on the couch in the living room.” Jonas stood up straight. “Why are you wearing so little?” “The zipper on my duffel got stuck, and Beth said I should borrow something warm from you,” Vivian said, pulling the oversized sleeves over her hands. “You don’t mind, do you, April?” She directed the last question straight at me. “It’s not my sweater,” I said evenly. “Well, you picked it out for him—you have wonderful taste,” she murmured, burying her chin into the high collar. “It even smells like your detergent. Warm and sweet.” Jonas walked over to her and gently tugged the collar higher around her neck. “Come on. I’ll pry the zipper open for you.” “Aren’t you staying up in the attic?” she asked. His steps paused. “She can’t unjam the lock alone. I’ll come right back up once it’s sorted.” Vivian tugged lightly on his sleeve. “Never mind. Don’t make April upset. I’ll just figure it out myself.” “Stop being difficult, Vivian.” Jonas followed her down the stairs. I sat in the cold attic until eleven o’clock. The water in the wooden bucket rose until it spilled over the rim. He never came back, and my calls went straight to voicemail. Around midnight, I carried the bucket down to empty it. As I passed the master suite, the door was half-ajar. Vivian was sitting on the plush rug, and Jonas was kneeling on the floor before her, carefully winding a compression bandage around her swollen ankle. “April?” Vivian looked up, startled. “My bag fell over, and when Jonas caught me, the broken zipper sliced his hand. You should look at him.” Only then did I notice the raw, bleeding scrape along the web of Jonas’s thumb. When he saw me standing in the doorway, his first instinct was to pull his hand behind his back. “It’s just a scratch. Don’t look—you get lightheaded around blood.” He remembered. I fetched the first-aid kit from the hallway, but as soon as I uncapped the antiseptic, Vivian reached out and took his hand with practiced ease. “Let me do it,” Vivian said softly. “I’ve patched him up ever since he played high school basketball.” The sterile cotton swab remained frozen in my fingers. Jonas didn’t pull his hand away from her. Instead, he pulled the suite key from his pocket and held it out to me. “There’s a dryer in the private bath. Bring your wet clothes down. I’ll run them for you.” I took the key. My heart, against all reason, softened by a fraction. I turned toward the open closet in the suite to grab an extra hanger. There, taking up half the wardrobe, hung a neat row of men’s ironed shirts. Jonas’s electric razor sat beside the bathroom sink, right next to Vivian’s ceramic toothbrush holder. The receipt tape still stuck to the base of the holder was dated two weeks ago. Outside the door, Vivian’s light, playful voice drifted in. “Jonas, you brought all the spare clothes you had over at my place anyway. Why did you pretend you were only staying one night?” 2 “Vivian just moved back to the city. She had nowhere else to stay, so I let her crash in my old apartment for a few days.” Jonas shut the wardrobe door with a firm click and took the receipt tape from my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “It was just an empty apartment. I didn’t want you overthinking things, so I didn’t mention it.” Vivian leaned against the doorframe, her ankle neatly bound in Jonas’s bandage. “April, that place is two blocks from the clinic. When my chronic condition acts up, I can’t be left alone. Jonas was just dropping by to check in on me.” “Checking in on you enough to move his entire wardrobe in?” “April.” Jonas placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “If you’re mad, take it out on me. Don’t corner her.” He stood so close that the faint, bitter scent of medicinal ointment on his collar drifted into my nose. Whenever I ran a high fever, he used to sit by my bedside all night, wringing out cool washcloths every hour on the hour. Back then, he used to whisper that he never grew tired of looking after the people he loved. I hadn’t realized that list could hold two people at the same time. Vivian picked up the glass frame from the console table and held it out. “It’s all my fault. Take it back, April. The leaves are precious to you; I never should have accepted them.” The frame had already been pried open. The tip of the first leaf was snapped clean off. The fourth leaf had a deep, jagged crease down its center. The linen backing thread had been severed, exposing the white corner of the hidden envelope underneath. I reached out to take it, but Beth stepped between us and pressed her hand over the glass. “We’re shooting our graduation short film this afternoon! We already agreed to use the frame as a hero prop. We’ll give it back the second we wrap.” “I never agreed to that,” I said. Eli walked in carrying his camera rig. “The entire cohort is waiting on this shoot. Changing props now will throw the whole schedule off. Vivian isn’t trying to steal it from you, April. Stop making this so ugly for everyone.” Jonas rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking bone-tired. “April, it’s just for half a day. I’ll keep an eye on them. I won’t let it get damaged any further.” For four years, he had called me “April” in that low, gentle cadence. He only ever used my full, formal name when he was angry. I looked into his eyes. “Just half a day?” “I’ll put it back together with my own hands the moment we wrap.” Jonas reached over, gently slipped the black hair tie from my wrist, and gathered my windblown hair into a neat low ponytail. “The wind is picking up outside. You hate it when your hair whips across your face.” His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin behind my ear, winding the elastic twice—the exact tension I always preferred. Once again, I yielded. The shoot took place at the abandoned heritage railway station at the base of the mountain. Vivian sat on the wooden bench beneath the rusted station sign, clutching the frame, with Jonas seated beside her. Beth, directing the scene, tossed a thick crimson scarf across their laps, instructing Vivian to wrap it around Jonas’s neck. It was the scarf I had spent three months knitting by hand last winter. “Use a different one,” I said, stepping forward. Beth glanced back, annoyed. “The red pops on camera against the stone! Don’t interrupt the take.” “That was my gift to Jonas.” Vivian’s hands hovered in midair, but before she could pull the wool, Jonas intercepted it. “We won’t use it.” He walked over to where I stood on the gravel path, wrapped the scarf gently around my neck, and cupped the back of my head with a warm palm. “My things. You have the final say.” A few classmates whistled and cheered. On the bench, the smile faded from Vivian’s face. In that brief, shining second, he truly seemed to be choosing me. I gripped the fringe of the scarf, a wave of self-doubt washing over me. Perhaps I had been making mountains out of molehills. Perhaps I was suffocating him with my insecurity. The slate clapped, and the cameras rolled again. Vivian sat alone on the bench with the frame. When it was time for Jonas to step back into the frame, a sharp, metallic screech echoed down the tracks. A distant freight train sounded its long, piercing horn. Vivian clamped her hands over her ears, her entire body trembling as she shrank behind the wooden post. Jonas shoved the camera lens aside and lunged forward, throwing himself in front of her. “Look at me, Vivian! Don’t listen to it.” Vivian clutched his jacket hem, sobbing. “Can you… can you just hold me?” “Jonas.” I said his name once. He looked back at me, his eyes fractured with panic, but his arms had already encircled Vivian’s shaking shoulders. Beth physically stepped in front of me, blocking my view. “When she was trapped in that elevator, the freight train was roaring right outside the shaft! Are you really going to hold her trauma against her?” Eli lowered his camera, glaring at me. “Everyone knows Jonas’s family owes their lives to Vivian’s dad. He’s comforting his benefactor’s daughter—what is wrong with you?” Vivian buried her face in his chest, wiping tears with the back of her sleeve. “April, I’m so sorry… I can’t control it…” Jonas didn’t let go of her. Instead, he reached out, unwrapped my red scarf from my neck, and draped it over Vivian’s head, muffling her ears against the sound. “Let her borrow it for a minute,” he murmured. The fringed end of the scarf dropped into a muddy puddle between the tracks, soaking through with dark, filthy water. In the commotion, the wooden frame slipped from Vivian’s grasp. It struck the steel rail with a sharp “crack”. The shattered backboard split open, and the thick, pristine white envelope hidden beneath the pressed leaves slid out onto the gravel. 3 “The Northern Institute for Book Arts and Rare Paper Conservation. Joint Fellowship Acceptance Notice.” Eli picked up the letter from the gravel and read the official masthead aloud. Jonas shoved past him and snatched the document from his hand. His gaze scanned down to my printed name, then locked onto the stamp date at the bottom right. “You’ve had this for seven days?” “Give it back to me,” I said, stepping forward. “Why did you keep this from me?” “I was going to tell you once the trip was over.” Beth craned her neck. “Wait, isn’t that the fellowship Jonas applied for? He spent two years on the waitlist hoping for an opening. How did you get it first?” “Because this was a direct institutional nomination,” I said coldly. “It wasn’t through the general pool.” “But you two specialize in the exact same field of paper restoration,” Eli chimed in, flipping through his phone. “If April accepts the nomination, our university’s quota is filled. That means Jonas loses any chance at a supplemental spot this year.” Jonas folded the acceptance letter carefully and slid it back into the envelope. His voice softened, taking on that coaxing, soothing tone he always used when trying to de-escalate me. “April, let’s talk about this privately.” He took my hand and led me around to the stone wall behind the station depot. The wind was bitter back there. He immediately shrugged out of his heavy coat, wrapped it around my shoulders, and smoothed down my hair. “Your hands are like ice. Don’t be angry yet.” “Give me my letter, Jonas.” “I’m not keeping it from you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown paper bag of dried sour plums. “I saw these at the general store in town this morning. Bought them specifically for you.” My favorite sour plums. He hated anything tart, yet he could always pick out the exact brand I loved from a crowded shelf. I squeezed the paper bag, my knuckles whitening as his voice dropped to a low, tender murmur. “If you really want to move up north to Boston, I’ll go with you. We can break our current lease, and I’ll find a job at a local archive or studio up there. Just don’t make these life-altering decisions all on your own. Okay?” I searched his eyes. “You would really move for me?” “We promised we wouldn’t be apart after graduation.” A treacherous, shameful spark of hope flared in my chest. Perhaps those four years of pressed leaves weren’t a total lie. Perhaps the future we talked about was still real. Vivian was just a debt of gratitude he felt obligated to pay—an obligation, not a choice. “Jonas,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I can tolerate you checking in on her. But there have to be strict boundaries. No more living under the same roof, and no more keeping secrets from me.” “I promise.” “Give me the frame back.” “The second the shoot wraps, I’ll hand it over.” Vivian’s voice drifted from around the stone corner. “Jonas? The department advisor just called back.” She stepped into view, holding out her phone. “The committee said my overseas studio hours haven’t been fully verified. They need a graduating senior from the same specialized track to sign an institutional endorsement for my portfolio.” Jonas didn’t take the phone. “Ask Eli to co-sign.” “Eli doesn’t meet the qualification threshold,” Vivian said, turning her gaze directly onto me. “April does. She has the official Fellowship acceptance—her endorsement carries the highest academic weight.” I gripped the bag of sour plums so hard the paper tore. “I won’t sign it.” The color drained from Vivian’s face. “It’s just to let me sit for the final thesis defense, April. It won’t affect your fellowship at all.” “I don’t know your portfolio, and I don’t know your restoration logs,” I replied coldly. “I will not legally vouch for work I haven’t supervised.” Beth came around the corner, grabbing my arm. “It’s just a signature! Vivian had to put her studies on hold for a year to nurse her dying father. Why do you have to be so cruel and cut off her entire future?” “You’re not the one putting your professional license on the line,” I snapped, shaking her off. “It’s very easy to be generous with someone else’s career.” “Enough!” Jonas barked, stepping between Beth and me. But as he did, he smoothly slipped my acceptance letter into his own backpack and zipped it shut. “Nobody is forcing anyone to sign right now. We’re heading back to the cabin.” I stared at his backpack. “Give me my envelope.” “You’re too worked up right now, April. You’re going to crumple it.” “Jonas. This is my boundary.” Jonas pulled the zipper tight. “When you calm down, I’ll give it back.” On the ride back in the van, Vivian sat in the passenger seat beside him, while Beth and Eli took the row behind them. I was relegated to the front bench beside the heavy metal equipment cases. Across the narrow aisle, Jonas passed me a bottle of water. The cap was already twisted open. I didn’t reach for it. He looked at me for a long moment, then placed the bag of sour plums quietly onto the seat beside my knee. “You’ll get a stomachache if you don’t eat anything sour when you’re nauseous. Don’t punish yourself.” As the van pulled into the cabin gravel, my phone chimed. An updated schedule for tomorrow evening’s department graduation symposium had been posted in the cohort group chat. The final item on the program read: “Overseas Portfolio Showcase – Vivian.” Under the field marked “Institutional Endorser”, my name had already been typed in. 4 “It’s just a placeholder,” Jonas said, closing his phone screen and pulling out a chair for me at the symposium hall. “Without your actual signature, it has no legal effect.” Long banquet tables had been arranged in the courtyard of the lodge, filled with faculty advisors, mentors, and classmates. My seat was tucked at the far edge, while Vivian sat directly beside Jonas, the dismantled glass frame resting on the table before her. The four pressed sycamore leaves were pasted onto the cover of her portfolio binder. The title was embossed in gold: “The Journey Home.” I reached across the linen tablecloth to seize the binder, but Beth immediately slammed her hand down on the edge. “The presentations are about to start! Don’t make a scene here.” “Those are my leaves,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. Vivian stood up, her lip quivering. “Jonas told me I could use them as design accents. I didn’t realize you were still so angry about it, April. If it bothers you this much, I won’t present.” She reached out to peel the first leaf off the heavy cardstock. The delicate veins had been set with industrial craft glue. The second her fingernail caught the edge, the brittle, dried leaf snapped in half. “Stop touching it!” My voice cracked across the quiet courtyard. Jonas caught Vivian’s wrist, grabbed a pair of fine tweezers from his toolkit, and began meticulously separating the leaf from the paper. He managed to salvage most of the first one, but the second leaf had fused entirely with the backing sheet. He looked up at me, his eyes full of pleading. “I can fix it, April. I promise you.” “You promised you wouldn’t let them break it in the first place.” Jonas’s jaw tightened, but he offered no defense. He retrieved a sheet of sterile mulberry paper, gently laid the broken fragments inside, and dragged his chair all the way over to my side of the table. “Sit down, April. I won’t let her touch them again. Once this showcase is over, I’ll help you mount them into a new frame.” He reached into his breast pocket and handed me the pristine white envelope. The paper was smooth, uncreased. “And here is this. I’m giving it back. When we get back to town, we’ll figure out Boston together.” I clutched the envelope, my knuckles white, and sat down. He had stopped Vivian from using the project, returned my fellowship letter, and chosen to sit beside me in front of all our peers and professors. In four days, this was the first clear, unambiguous choice he had made in my favor. When the moderator announced Vivian’s name, she didn’t step up to the podium. She kept her head down, quietly packing away her binders. Just then, Jonas’s phone buzzed loudly against the wood. It was an incoming call from his father. The courtyard was so quiet that when Jonas answered, the older man’s booming, exasperated voice spilled through the receiver for everyone to hear. “Jonas! Why hasn’t Vivian’s portfolio endorsement gone through yet? Mr. Hardy entrusted that girl to our family on his deathbed! You cannot let her walk away without her degree!” Jonas pressed his thumb over the mic. “Dad, this is April’s professional decision.” “You and April have been solid for four years! Missing one signature isn’t going to break you two up! Vivian has nothing left in this world—how many times do you expect her to beg on her knees?” Beth’s eyes were red with indignation. “April, we stayed in that drafty cabin, we gave you your acceptance letter back—do you seriously need the entire world to beg you before you show an ounce of human decency?” Eli shoved the endorsement form in front of my face. “It’s just an attestation that she completed foundational lab hours! The department board conducts the final review anyway—you won’t be held liable!” “Then find someone else to sign it.” “No one else has the credential,” Vivian whispered, her hands shaking over her portfolio. “Forget it, Jonas. My father didn’t give his life for yours just so I could hold it over your head. I’ll just drop out.” She reached out to rip the registration form in half. Jonas’s hand shot out, catching her wrist before the paper could tear. I saw the violent hesitation in his eyes. And then, as his gaze turned back toward me, that familiar, stubborn certainty hardened on his face. “April,” he said, his voice dropping into that pleading, suffocating pressure. “Help her. Just this once.” “I will not sign.” “If she doesn’t get the degree, she loses her studio apprenticeship.” “That is the consequence of her own incomplete coursework.” “April!” He barked my name, the frustration finally snapping through. “You already have the most prestigious fellowship in the country! Why can’t you leave a single path open for her?” The entire courtyard fell dead silent. Dozens of eyes burned into my back. The senior advisor flipped through Vivian’s submitted portfolio, pointing at the signature line on the final page. “Once the endorser signs, both students’ portfolios undergo a joint ethics review. April, think carefully before you proceed.” “I refuse to endorse it,” I said clearly. Jonas reached over and pulled the acceptance letter out of my hands. “Then we’ll temporarily defer your fellowship confirmation. We’ll wait until Vivian’s board review is complete, so it’s fair to both of you.” I stood up, my chair scraping violently against the flagstones. “By what right do you touch my future?” “Your online portal passcode is our anniversary date,” Jonas said, his fingers already flying across his phone screen. “I’m only submitting a temporary deferral request, April. I’m not canceling it. The second Vivian’s graduation is secured, I will personally reinstate your acceptance.” “Let go of me!” Beth stepped into the aisle, physically blocking the courtyard exit. “We’re not done sorting this out! Where do you think you’re going?” Jonas held me with one hand while tapping the confirmation portal with the other. He was still the same boy who remembered every password, every date, every tiny detail of my life. The very familiarity that once made me feel cherished had now become the cage that trapped me. Suddenly, Vivian picked up her portfolio binder and thrust it toward me. “Fine, April! If you won’t sign, take your damn leaves back!” She jerked the binder. The four dried sycamore leaves slipped from the loose plastic sleeves and fell straight into a wide ceramic mug of boiling tea on the table. The delicate, brittle veins expanded in the scalding liquid, instantly dissolving into dark, soggy mush as they sank to the bottom. Jonas instinctively reached into the scalding water to fish them out. Before his fingers could touch the surface, I reached over and pressed the power button on his phone, killing the bright screen. Then, I pulled off the simple silver ring he had given me for our third anniversary and dropped it into the mug of tea. It hit the ceramic bottom with a dull “clink”, settling right into the ruined leaves. His phone screen had been frozen one second before the deferral request could be submitted. “You don’t need to defer anything,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “I already formally accepted the fellowship.” Jonas looked up, dazed. “When?” “The night you left me alone in the leaking attic.” I pulled my arm from his grip and picked up my duffel bag, which had been sitting packed by my chair since dawn. Accepting that fellowship meant forfeiting the three-year apartment lease we had signed in the city. It also meant the supplemental candidate on the waitlist—Jonas—would never get the call. Outside the courtyard gates, the official shuttle from the Northern Conservation Institute was idling, its headlights cutting through the dusk. Jonas sprinted to the gate, catching the handle of my rolling bag. “April! The lease has three full years left! What about our home? What about our life?” I reached down and peeled his fingers off the handle, one by one. Behind us, the advisor at the table flipped to the very first preservation log in Vivian’s portfolio binder and suddenly shouted Jonas’s name across the courtyard. “Jonas! This portfolio piece wasn’t restored by Vivian! The primary registry and archive seal belong to April!”
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