I found out today he's leaving. We met after so long, and it felt strange from the start. When he walked into camp, the awkwardness was there instantly, lingering in the air between us. I stayed near the height measurement area because he was sitting there, looking for an excuse to talk to him, to make things feel normal again. He asked if I'd eaten, I said yes, a little. I didn't even know why he was asking. Then he said he was ordering breakfast, that we could eat. I laughed it off, refused even though he offered again.
Later one of the team members came over and told me he was calling me—strangely, she already knew my name. I went over and he asked me to check certificates. I was struggling, taking too long, and he said he'd go eat but if I wanted something, I could join him. I thanked him but said no. The awkwardness stayed so I asked about his PhD. He said it would start in September. I asked about his dream of building a school. He said he'd make it for Mexican kids. I tried to focus on the certificates but kept messing up the order.
Then he told me he was leaving for good. Hearing it from him directly hit me differently. Suddenly it wasn't just an idea—it was real. The thought of losing him felt heavy. Keeping my distance would have been easier than this.
Then I asked him "what about your dream? Of building a school?" He said he'll make it for Mexican kids. The way he said it was so casual but I could see he meant it.
I went back midway just to talk because I was bored and wanted to fix things somehow. He told me about his friend in the library, asked why I wasn't coming around, and suggested I should set aside a day only for free checkups. I teased him, said he'd have to send me dollars, but then he got on his phone and silence crept back in.
~
Later we took pictures with the kids. He called me over specifically, said the rest didn't matter. Just me, my co-organizer, and the kids. After that, I played with them on the swings, and for a while, it felt light and fun again. At the end, over tea, he asked if I could drop him off. I agreed.
On the way he said he wanted me to introduce him to his friend. I said sure. We went to Readings, drank soup, wandered between books. He pointed out ones he liked, and in the elevator, he asked me to hold a book on firearms. Our hands brushed. I felt embarrassed.
We went to Bundu Khan but I couldn't eat, not from hunger but from the fear of being found out by my family and the misunderstandings that would follow. We walked later in a nearby park, just two rounds since it was late and empty, then I drove him home. After that, I went back to mine and then out with family.
But what I keep coming back to is what he told me at Readings. That I've built a cage for myself. One made of my own thoughts. I told him how my parents say freedom comes after marriage, and he said it's just a bigger cage—here you follow your parents, there you'll follow a man, and either way you'll never fly. That line has been haunting me. Because I know it's true. I don't know how to argue with it. I don't even know how to escape it. He said I'm like a bird who's been trapped so long it's forgotten how to fly.
I don't want that. But I don't know how to change it either. He said he could help, but he won't be here for long. And I don't know if I should really…