Chapter 2

I started having nightmares.

In them, Julian would wrap an arm around Celia and turn to me with contempt: Sophie, don't come looking for me anymore.

I became impossible to reassure. The anxiety clung to everything.

By graduation, I'd made up my mind — I was moving to London. That was where Julian was. That was where I needed to be.

A month in, I hadn't heard back from a single company I'd interviewed with. I'd made it to final rounds and then just — silence. The failure piled up wave after wave until I could barely get off the floor.

Julian said he'd take me somewhere to clear my head. And a few days earlier, I'd accidentally seen his phone screen — a notification about travel around Sydney.

I spent the next week building an itinerary. I even picked up extra late shifts to save money for the trip.

One night, walking home from work, I had the uneasy feeling I was being followed — something about the man who'd been lingering outside the corner shop.

I sped up and called Julian.

It took three tries for him to answer.

"Sophie, my battery's almost dead — I'll call you back later."

Before I could get a word out, the line went to a busy tone.

When I got home, still shaken, I opened Instagram — and stopped.

Celia had just posted a story. Thanks to a certain someone for running my phone battery flat as a photographer! she'd captioned it, laughing-face emoji.

In the photo, she was grinning in the golden afternoon light. Behind her: a grand Victorian building draped in jacaranda. Beneath the image: University of Sydney.

I sat there for a long time.

Late that night, Julian finally called back. I asked one question at a time, and he answered each one.

Yes, he was at Sydney. He'd be back by the weekend. It was a research exchange with their lab — a collaboration project. He wasn't there to sightsee. Of course there were others — him, Celia, Professor Forsythe, and two postgrads from the lab.

I suddenly felt very, very tired.

As if something had been drained out of me entirely, and every last urge to speak had gone with it.

"Then why did you hide it from me?"

"I didn't want you to overthink things."

A long silence. I thought I heard him sigh.

"Sophie," he said, "you didn't used to be like this."

This wasn't our first argument. But this time, with seven thousand miles between us and two hours of time difference — neither of us reached out first.

Then, one morning, I woke up to a job offer.

The dream one. From the company I'd wanted most.

The cold war evaporated on the spot. I called Julian immediately.

"You cooled down, then," he said, and I could hear the smile. "I'm already boarding. I got you a souvenir — a jacaranda snow globe from the university gift shop. The queue was insane. I stood in line for hours."

I forgave him on the spot.

I went to the airport to pick him up, intending to tell him about the offer in person.

Instead, I found Celia perched on top of a suitcase, tugging at his sleeve.

"Julian," she was saying, her voice light and coaxing, "I heard your exchange application's already been filled in? Can I have a look? Please?"