Page 63 of Hannah.
I frown, wondering where she's going with this. “Why would they be?”
Astrid shrugs, a simple gesture that underlines her casual approach to a conversation that feels anything but casual to me. “Well, the next steps of our relationship are probably taking longer than they expected. After all, we’ve been hanging out with each other for two years. That’s a long courting period.”
Annoyance pricks at me, and I flex my hands on the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening. My lips press into a thin line as I ponder my next words. “Astrid…we've discussed this. I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“I know, but…” Astrid shifts in her seat, angling herself towards me. “We've known each other for so long, and our families are so close. Don’t you think we are a perfect match for each other?”
“Astrid…” I exhale sharply, the sound heavy with frustration. “We're not perfect. We're both young and still have things to do before settling down.”
“Don’t you see that we are settling down, though? We can figure out what comes next as we go, but what matters is that we're together. Plus, I don't want anyone else.” Her voice rises slightly, a note of desperation creeping in.
Stunned by her admission, I suck in a sharp breath. “You said you were fine with casual. What if I never want anything more?”
“I’m fine with casual,” Astrid insists, her voice softening. “For now, anyway. But what's the harm in making things official? In giving ourselves a deadline for moving forward?”
“Astrid, listen?—”
“Don’t.” She raises a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I don't want to hear some half-assed excuse. Just...think about it, okay?”
I don't say anything, and she takes that as acquiescence. The rest of the drive passes in oppressive silence, the air thick with unspoken words and stifled emotions. As we approach the familiar streets of Cambridge, the need to clear the air becomes unbearable. I inhale deeply, my resolve hardening.
“Astrid...it's time for you to seriously consider that I might never want to be anything besides friends with benefits.”
She doesn't respond immediately, her gaze locked on the passing scenery, her profile stoic yet vulnerable.
“Astrid? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.” She’s still not looking at me; her gaze is fixed firmly out the passenger side window. “I just don't believe it.”
“It’s not a joke. We've always had an understanding.”
“Maybe, but that's not what I want anymore.”
“That's too bad,” I retort, my tone harsher than intended, reflecting my growing frustration.
Astrid scoffs, turning to face me with a mixture of disbelief and hurt. “What?Too bad? Really, Johan? You’re not even willing to hear me out? You can't even pretend that there's a possibility that we might be able to make this work? Why are you acting like this?”
“Why should I pretend? I’m being honest. This was never supposed to be a real relationship. We were supposed to havefun. To have sex and hang out whenever we're both free. That’s it. That was the deal.”
“I want more. We could have more. We get along so well.”
“I’m not interested in more.”
The tension between us escalates, and the silence is now not just awkward but charged with unspoken reproaches and wounded feelings. I think she's about to let it go when she finally speaks, her voice softer and more resigned. “Fine. We'll keep things like they are for now. But if I have to accept that, then you have to accept that I willalways, always want more from you. And that our families expect more from us, too.”
“Then it’s best we stop hooking up,” I admit, the words dropping between us like a stone into still water.
Her eyes widen, her expression shattering as the implication of my words sinks in. “Are you serious?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly, hinting at the turmoil just beneath the surface.
I nod solemnly, unable to meet her gaze directly, feeling the shift in the air as what was left of our bond fractures under the strain.
She pauses, taking a moment to collect herself. Seeing her misty eyes and the slight quiver of her lip makes my heart clench uncomfortably. “Can we discuss it after the weekend? I think it’s best we give it a few days,” she suggests, her voice trembling with suppressed emotions.
She's right, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from responding too harshly. She doesn’t deserve my anger; after all, she’s unaware of the deeper currents—my hidden feelings for Hannah and Hannah’s entanglement in a theft from Astrid’s show.
“You’re right,” I finally acquiesce, my voice low and controlled, betraying none of my inner conflicts. I pull up to her apartment, every movement deliberate, laden with the weightof impending separation. “Let's talk on Monday, okay? When things aren't so raw.”
Astrid bites her lip, a visible effort to steady herself, and nods. “Okay...you'll hear me out?” Her eyes search mine, desperate for some sign of hope.