The Weight of Guilt and Gym Gear

The hospital room was quiet, but my mind was anything but. I tossed and turned under the thin hospital sheets, unable to find comfort in the sterile environment. The machines around me beeped steadily, keeping rhythm with my racing thoughts. My body ached, but it was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil I was drowning in.

I closed my eyes, hoping for rest, but what I got instead was a nightmare—a replay of my past life, so vivid it felt like I was reliving it all over again.

I was back in that alley. The cold, gray sky hung over me like a shroud, the smell of rain heavy in the air. The world was a blur of noise and chaos, but my attention was fixed on her.

Nyssa. Her body was limp in my arms, her once-strong spirit fading with every breath. Blood soaked through her torn dress, staining my hands as I held her tightly, willing myself to keep her safe. Her green eyes were dimming, her breaths shallow.

"No, no, no," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Please, Nyssa, stay with me. Don't go."

But she didn't respond. Her hand twitched in mine, and I squeezed it tighter, as if my grip alone could pull her back from the edge.

Her lips parted, barely a whisper escaping. "Henry... you... you didn't love me. Not... enough."

The words sliced through me like a blade, sharper than anything physical.

"No!" I cried, desperate, my voice cracking. "I—I do love you. I never... I never meant to hurt you, Nyssa!"

But she only smiled weakly, the light in her eyes flickering out. "I—" Her voice faltered. "I'm hate you… I shouldn't have loved you."

And then, in that final, fragile moment, her body went still. The warmth drained from her, and the world around me crumbled. Her last breath—her last words—haunted me.

I jerked awake with a gasp, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum solo from a marching band. The nightmare still lingered, its sharp edges cutting through the haze of sleep. I couldn't remember everything, but I knew it wasn't good. I could still feel her weight in my arms, the emptiness of her loss.

And then, just as reality started to sink in, I realized I wasn't in the alley anymore. I was in a hospital room. My room.

The cool air hit me as I sat up too fast, my mind racing. Sweat coated my skin, and I felt sick to my stomach. That vision—that memory—it felt too real.

I groaned into my pillow, rolling onto my back. The shame of it all hit me like a ton of bricks. What had I been thinking? Why on earth would I ever assume that randomly flexing my nonexistent muscles would be attractive to Nyssa? The only thing I'd achieved was making her turn so red she could've been mistaken for a ripe tomato.

And just when I thought I couldn't get any dumber, a horrifying realization washed over me.

I had licked the air. While sleeping.

Oh God.

My face burned with mortification. I couldn't remember the context, but the faint floral scent that lingered in my dream was unmistakable. Nyssa's scent. That calming, sweet fragrance that had always comforted me, even in the darkest moments. But now? It felt wrong—distorted—mingled with the cringeworthy memory of me, a grown man, licking the air like I was some sort of pervert in a rom-com.

I shuddered and buried my face in the pillow.

Then, through the haze of self-loathing, I smelled it again. The scent.

I froze.

The scent it wasn't from the dream.

My eyes snapped open, my heart leaping into my throat as I stared at the small, familiar figure standing by the bed. Nyssa. So close to my face that I could see the faint specks of dust caught in the strands of her hair, the gentle rise and fall of her breath as it warmed my cheek.

This is it. I'm dead. For the second time.

I tried to scramble back, but my limbs felt like they were made of stone. Panic surged through me, and in my flailing attempt to get away, I accidentally nudged her.

She jolted back with a soft gasp, her wide eyes full of shock. Her face, already flushed from our previous awkward moments, turned an even deeper shade of red.

"H-Henry!" she squeaked, her voice high-pitched, like I'd done something terrible. "Wh-what are you—why are you so close?!"

I stammered, apologies pouring out of me like a broken faucet. "I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I was just—uh, I mean—I didn't—please don't—"

But my brain was already short-circuiting, and the words just kept coming, each more frantic and nonsensical than the last. There was just this incredibly awkward silence as I tried to back away but couldn't seem to move fast enough.

Nyssa, clearly flustered and now practically trembling, raised her hands in defense, as though she thought I might lunge at her. "I-I just came in to... I, um, brought you something."

I blinked, still dazed, my brain struggling to catch up with the situation. "Something?"

Nyssa's face was bright red, and I swear I could see steam coming out of her ears as she fumbled with the strap of her bag. "I—I brought dumbbells, and... and some protein shakes and, uh, some exercise equipment... for you. To... help, um, with your recovery, of course!"

My mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Dumbbells? Protein shakes? This wasn't what I expected. I thought she was bringing me a snack, not a full-on workout package, complete with equipment I barely recognized.

I stared at her, blinking. "Uh, for me?"

She nodded vigorously, her hands shaking as she adjusted her bag. "Y-yes! I—I thought you might need it, y'know, to... stay healthy... and... um... maybe get back into shape..." Her voice trailed off, realizing how awkward it all sounded.

And that's when it hit me.

I glanced down at the bag she had brought—dumbbells, protein shakes, yoga mats, resistance bands, a workout journal... It was all for me. I told her yesterday, even though I was just trying to impress her, she remembered the stupid things I said.

"Wait, wait, wait," I stammered, looking back at Nyssa, still in shock. "You... brought all this... for me?"

She nodded again, her eyes avoiding mine as she flushed even deeper. "I—I thought it would help, y'know. And... and I wanted to—uh, help you." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I wanted to do something for you." FUCCCCCCK I Love her so much.

The sincerity in her words knocked the wind out of me. I was stunned. Most people would've brought a card, maybe flowers. But Nyssa? She'd gone full-on gym mode for me.

I was overwhelmed—completely overwhelmed—and, for once, my usual smoothness failed me. I opened my mouth, but the words that came out were honest, but awkward. "Wow, Nyssa," I said, finally finding my voice. "I... this is amazing. You're incredible."

She smiled, her blush softening just a little, though it was still there, painting her cheeks a soft rose color. "It's... nothing. I just wanted to help."

Trying to gather myself, I couldn't help but make the worst decision ever. I stood up from the bed (carefully, so as not to collapse from sheer embarrassment) and, in a fit of confidence that can only be described as extremely misguided, I grabbed the dumbbells.

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to sound casual as I lifted one of the dumbbells and flexed it in front of her. "You think I need to get back in shape? Well, how about now?"

Nyssa blinked at me, clearly not expecting that display of masculinity. She quickly looked at the floor again, unable to keep eye contact. "U-um... y-yes, y-you're—y-you're... uh, d-doing great," she stammered, the words tumbling out in a completely non-coherent string of syllables.

I tried not to laugh at her flustered state, but I was enjoying the effect I had on her way too much. "Great?" I repeated, raising my eyebrows in mock surprise. "Well, if I'm really that good, I think I deserve a protein shake, don't you?"

She nodded furiously, her voice almost inaudible now. "Y-yes, y-yeah... t-the shakes, r-right. Protein is g-good for, uh, recovery and... um... muscles."

I couldn't hold back my grin. "Muscles. Exactly."

As I turned to grab a protein shake from the bag, I couldn't help but glance at her again. She was still avoiding my gaze, her face flushed, her hands fidgeting with the yoga mat as if it were the most fascinating object in the room.

This is a disaster, I thought. But also... this is kind of perfect.

The day after Nyssa brought me dumbbells and a protein shake, she decided to take things to the next level. Apparently, her idea of "helping me recover" meant full-on workout mode. When she walked into the room, she had an even bigger bag than the last time. This time, it looked like she'd come prepared for a personal training session.

I squinted at the bag. "Uh, what's that?" I asked, half-expecting a yoga mat or maybe a resistance band.

Nyssa grinned sheepishly, her cheeks going a little pink. "I-I thought we could, y'know... do some jump rope. It's g-good for your cardio." She pulled out a brightly colored jump rope and held it up triumphantly.

"Jump rope?" I repeated, a little too enthusiastically. "You're seriously telling me I should jump rope in the hospital?"

Nyssa shrugged, the rope now twisting in her hands. "I—I thought it might help you get your energy back. You're supposed to move around, right? It's good for your recovery."

I stared at her. For a moment, I had a sudden image of me looking like an idiot jumping around the hospital room like a toddler who'd had too much sugar. But... Nyssa wanted to do this. She was trying to help.

"Alright, alright," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'll give it a go..."

I wasn't quite sure how the next twenty minutes turned into both of us jumping rope in my hospital room, but here we were. Me, awkwardly hopping around in my hospital gown, and Nyssa—Nyssa—doing it effortlessly, like she was a gymnast in training.

I tried to keep up, but every time I swung the rope, it felt like I was either tripping over it or nearly smacking myself in the face. But Nyssa? She was graceful. Her movements were smooth, rhythmic. And, for some reason, it was driving me a little crazy. She was bouncing up and down, her hair flying behind her, her figure—that damn figure—perfectly highlighted in the hospital light.

And there it was.

I caught a glimpse of her bouncing, her movements so... so bouncy (and not in the way I meant to think). Every hop, every jump sent a completely inappropriate surge of... well, let's just say it was the exact opposite of a workout.

I stopped suddenly, feeling an uncomfortably tight sensation in my pants. Oh no. My heart started racing for an entirely different reason. The last thing I needed right now was to embarrass myself even more.

"U-uh, Nyssa!" I blurted out, stumbling backward and nearly tripping over my own feet. "I think I—uh—I need a break! I, uh, I think I should lie down."

Nyssa, who had been smiling and jumping like she was actually enjoying this workout (showoff), stopped and blinked at me. "A break? You sure?"

"Y-yeah, yeah," I stammered, my face turning crimson. "Just... just let me, uh, lie back for a second."

I practically dove back into the bed, trying to hide the obvious problem I was dealing with. My heart was pounding, my mind racing in a million directions. God, this was so embarrassing.

But it got worse.

A nurse walked in, just as Nyssa had started another jump.

The moment she saw Nyssa jumping rope in the middle of the hospital room, her eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at me in bed—crouching, pretending to readjust the sheets so I could actually get a grip on my situation. Her eyes flickered between us for a moment, clearly not expecting a jump rope workout in the middle of a hospital.

She paused, and I thought for sure she'd comment or ask what was going on. But she just gave a polite nod and turned to leave.

"I'll leave you two to... exercise," she said, though there was a slight, amused quirk to her lips as she backed out of the room. "I'll just... get your parents."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, I practically melted into the bed, covering my face with both hands. This had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. And I wasn't sure I'd ever recover.

Nyssa, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the room, the jump rope dangling from her hands, her face a deep shade of red. "I-I'm so sorry, Henry. I didn't mean to make things... uncomfortable." She bit her lip nervously, glancing at the door, then back at me.

I wanted to die. "No, no, it's not your fault," I said quickly, though my voice was cracking from the sheer mortification. "I'm just... uh... not used to this kind of... um... exercise." I really hoped she couldn't read between the lines.

A few moments later, my parents returned, oblivious to the awkward tension in the room. The nurse must have kindly filled them in on what was happening, because they walked in looking unusually composed.

"Hey, sport!" Dad said with a thumbs-up, clearly not understanding the level of awkwardness floating around us. "I see you're working out. Good!"

Mom, on the other hand, was eyeing Nyssa's workout gear. "Well, at least someone's getting their exercise in," she said, eyeing Nyssa's activewear—a tight sports bra under her jacket, yoga pants that fit her like a glove.

I wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. "M-mom! Dad!" I sputtered. "I'm... we're just... you know, doing some... exercise."

Mom nodded approvingly, oblivious to the fact that I was dying of embarrassment. "I'm so glad you're keeping your spirits up."

"Uh-huh," Dad chimed in. "Well, we're leaving you two alone for now." He glanced at Nyssa. "You keep him on track, okay?"

"Of course!" Nyssa said, her voice still nervous but trying to act confident. "I'll make sure Henry gets his... cardio."

As they left, my mom paused at the door. "By the way," she added casually, "we're leaving for a little while. You two enjoy your workout. And don't forget to hydrate!" She smiled at Nyssa, completely unaware of how close she was to triggering another wave of awkwardness.

She smiled faintly, looking at me in a way that made my heart skip a beat. "It's okay," she said softly. "You're doing great."

I swore that was the first time anyone had ever said that to me in a way that actually mattered.

The next day, Nyssa showed up again, this time without any more protein shakes. Since the dumbells are heavy , it was left here. I thought I had made it through the workout gauntlet—finally, not adding anymore gym equipment in the hospital room. But what I didn't expect was her bringing a stack of textbooks, each more intimidating than the last.

"Uh, what's all this?" I asked, gesturing to the pile. "I don't need... more equipment. I'm—well, I'm still trying to figure out how to not pass out after lifting a dumbbell."

Nyssa gave me an apologetic smile. "I... I thought we could focus on your schoolwork today. I know you've been, uh, really focused on, you know, getting stronger, but you're still a student. You... you should study, too."

I stared at the pile of books in horror. "Schoolwork?" I repeated, a sudden wave of panic flooding my chest. "Oh, no." I pressed my hands to my face, trying to calm down. I'm eighteen again. I had completely forgotten that I was a student. The looming weight of exams, assignments, and everything else hit me like a ton of bricks.

"You're right. Schoolwork," I repeated, my voice cracking with anxiety. "I—uh—I thought I could just avoid all that for a while. I was really hoping to just focus on, you know... surviving the second chance I've been given."

Nyssa gave me a nervous glance and set the books down on my bedside table. "I brought everything from your... last semester." She hesitated, looking at me like she wasn't sure whether I would appreciate the gesture or throw her out of the room in panic. "I thought it might help."

I swallowed hard. "Oh, yeah. Thanks. It'll... definitely help, especially since I'm supposed to be studying again."

My hands started to sweat just thinking about the notes I hadn't read in years. I was supposed to know this stuff already. I had no idea where to even start.

The hospital room felt suffocatingly quiet. The soft, rhythmic hum of the machines was almost too much to bear as I sat up in bed, books and notes sprawled across my lap. I was supposed to be studying, supposed to be focusing on catching up on everything I missed, but the words in front of me were like a foreign language. Every time I tried to read, they blurred together, slipping away like sand through my fingers.

I glanced at Nyssa, who was sitting at the small desk beside me, her notebook open in front of her. She had been quiet, methodical in her focus, reading through her materials, turning pages with careful precision. But it wasn't just the silence that was making it hard to concentrate. It was her. There was something about the way she was sitting there, completely at ease with herself, that kept pulling my attention away.

I found myself staring at her more than I should have. She was mouthing something to herself, likely a set of vocabulary words, her lips moving softly, almost inaudibly. But when she spoke, her words stumbled, faltering in a way that I hadn't noticed before.

She was whispering to herself again.

"A-abstract... meaning... big... ideas…" Nyssa's voice trembled slightly, each word stumbling over the next like they were caught on an uneven path. Her orange hair fell in soft waves, the vibrant red tips framing her flushed cheeks as she focused intently on the book in front of her. Her lips moved delicately as she muttered the sentences under her breath, her fingers tracing the words across the page.

It was... adorable.

She'd always been so composed, so confident in class. I'd seen her give presentations before, standing tall, her voice clear and steady, commanding attention with every word. But now? Sitting here with me, the same girl who once seemed untouchable was faltering over abstract.

My chest tightened—not with pity, but with something warmer, softer. She only stutters with me.

She stumbled again, her voice catching on another word. I didn't even know what it was; I was too busy watching the way her cheeks turned a deeper pink with every hesitation.

Was it wrong that I felt weirdly happy about this?

Does this mean I make her nervous?

The thought sent a strange mix of pride and guilt rushing through me. I shouldn't be thrilled that she struggled around me, but... I was. She could speak eloquently with anyone else, but with me? She fumbled. Stuttered. Turned red like I'd just told her the most scandalous joke in the world.

"Uh, Nyssa?" I asked finally, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "Are you... okay?"

Her head snapped up like I'd startled her, those wide green eyes locking onto mine for a fleeting second before she quickly looked away. Her fingers fidgeted with the corner of her notebook, and her cheeks flushed a bright crimson. "H-Henry? I'm fine! Really!"

Her stammer sent another pang of guilt and—dare I say it—delight straight to my chest.

I hesitated, trying to figure out how to word my next question without sounding like a complete idiot. "You're, uh..." I started, my words faltering as much as hers. "You're stumbling over your words a little. Are you sure you're okay?"

Nyssa froze, her hand hovering over the page as though my question had caught her completely off guard. Her lips parted, and I caught the faintest flicker of hesitation in her eyes before she spoke again.

"I... I just—sometimes I s-stutter, y'know?" She let out a small, nervous laugh, but it felt forced, shaky. "It's just... when I'm nervous."

Nervous.

The word echoed in my mind like a dropped pin in an empty room. My heart flipped, and I couldn't stop the stupid grin spreading across my face. "Nervous?" I asked, trying and failing to keep my tone casual. "Why are you nervous around me? You don't have to be—"

I stopped mid-sentence, realizing how smug I sounded. Reel it in, Henry.

Nyssa's eyes darted downward, her fingers playing with the corner of her notebook. She didn't answer right away, the silence between us stretching uncomfortably. Finally, she whispered, "I just... I stutter sometimes when I'm... with you."

Her words hit me like a freight train—but in the best way possible.

With me. Only with me.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh, cry, or celebrate like I'd just won the lottery. She wasn't nervous with anyone else. Just me.

I affect her that much?

But as I watched her, her cheeks still burning and her shoulders shrinking inward, a flicker of guilt crept into the back of my mind. She looked uncomfortable, vulnerable, and I couldn't stand the thought of making her feel like that.

"I—I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," I said quickly, sitting up straighter.

She shook her head immediately, her hands clutching the edge of her notebook like it was the only thing anchoring her. "No, it's not you, Henry. It's just..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked away again, her blush deepening. "I've always had it. The stuttering. It doesn't go away."

Her words felt like a lie. I knew it. She only stuttered when she was with me, and the thought of that sent another rush of warmth through my chest. She's hiding something, I realized, but I didn't want to push her.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that!" I said quickly, leaning forward as if that might somehow fix the awkwardness between us. "I just... I mean, if it's a problem, you should totally—uh—try speech therapy. You know, to make it easier for you."

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw her freeze. Her face went pale, the rosy color draining as her eyes widened. She opened her mouth as though to say something, but no sound came out.

Her lips trembled, her gaze flicking nervously away from mine, and finally, she let out a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping. "Maybe... maybe I should," she whispered, the words so quiet they barely reached me.

I immediately felt like the world's biggest jerk. Nice going, Henry. She opens up to you, and you respond by telling her to get therapy.

"No, no," I said quickly, trying to backpedal. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad, Nyssa. That's not what I meant. I just—I mean—therapy's good for all kinds of things, right? It could help. That's all I'm saying."

Her gaze stayed fixed on the notebook in her lap, but I thought I saw the corners of her lips twitch upward, just for a second.

"It's fine," she said softly, though her voice still wavered. "I'll... think about it."

I tried to lighten the mood, reaching out to nudge her notebook gently. My smile felt weak—awkward, even—but I hoped it would make her feel better. "It can help, you know? Therapy's good for a lot of things. And you're really smart. You don't have to worry about this. It's just a little thing. A small thing."

Her expression didn't change. She still looked pale, her green eyes downcast, lost somewhere in her thoughts. Her fingers clutched the edges of her notebook so tightly that the paper crinkled under her grip.

"I just..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "don't want to be a burden to you, Henry. You've been through enough."

I froze. A burden? To me?

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. The idea was so absurd, so ridiculous, that it almost made me laugh out loud. A burden? Nyssa? If anything, she was the one holding me together right now.

But I didn't laugh, because her expression stopped me short. There was a quiet, sincere hurt in her posture, the way her shoulders hunched ever so slightly, the way her gaze stayed fixed on the notebook in her lap like it might crumble if she let go. She meant it. She truly believed she might be a burden to me.

I shook my head immediately, reaching out to touch her hand gently. Her fingers were trembling slightly beneath mine. "You're not a burden. You're..." I faltered for a moment, my voice catching in my throat as I searched for the right words. "You're incredible, Nyssa. You're the last person I'd ever think of as a burden."

Her green eyes flickered toward me for a brief second before darting away again.

I squeezed her hand lightly, hoping it would get through to her. "You don't have to worry about any of that with me. You're always going to be enough."

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she looked at me—really looked at me. I caught the faintest glimmer of something in her gaze: relief, maybe? Hope? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and she turned her head away again, her cheeks flushed a soft pink.

"Thanks, Henry," she said quietly, her voice steadying just a little. "I—I appreciate it."

The moment hung between us, heavy and charged, stretching on longer than I expected. I didn't know what else to say. I felt like I'd said everything I could, but the gnawing feeling in my chest told me there was still something left unspoken.

Nyssa wasn't just stuttering because she was nervous. I could see it now, the way she avoided my gaze, the way her fingers fidgeted with her notebook, the way her blush deepened with every word I said. There was more to it than just nerves, more than she was willing to admit.

And maybe... just maybe, I was the reason.

The thought sent a warm, smug satisfaction through me that I immediately felt bad about—but not bad enough to stop myself from enjoying it. I make her nervous. Me.

Still, the silence between us stretched a little too long, becoming thick and uncomfortable. Nyssa fidgeted with the corner of her notebook, her thumb brushing against the crinkled paper. Her presence, usually so calming, now felt heavy with uncertainty.

I glanced at her again. She had always been so poised, so articulate, especially when she spoke to others. I'd seen her in class, answering questions with confidence, giving presentations without breaking a sweat. Yet here she was, fumbling over simple words, her voice catching on every syllable.

I couldn't help but let my lips curl into a faint smile. She only stutters when she's with me.

It wasn't wrong to feel happy about that, right? It's not like I was actively trying to make her nervous. But knowing I had that effect on her? Yeah, I couldn't lie—it was a little flattering.

Just as I was about to dive back into my internal spiral, the door swung open with all the subtlety of a freight train.

Of course, it was my parents. Again.

Just why do they keep coming back? Can't they at least call ahead or, I don't know, send a smoke signal?

The door swung open with the kind of force that suggested an emergency, and in stormed my parents, their eyes wide and expressions brimming with a mix of panic and determination.

They must've overheard the word "therapy" because they entered like they were about to stage an intervention—or a hostage negotiation.

"What's this about speech therapy?" my mom demanded, her voice sharp with concern as she glanced between Nyssa and me, clearly jumping to all the wrong conclusions.

"Mom, Dad! It's not—" I started, raising my hands in protest, but they were already inside, full steam ahead.

"You should've said something earlier, Henry!" my dad boomed, his voice so commanding that I half-expected a boardroom table to materialize out of thin air. He crossed his arms, his authoritative glare sweeping the room. "You've been talking about it for years! You need to get this fixed before it becomes a real problem."

"Wait, what?!" I blurted, staring at him in disbelief. "I wasn't talking about me! That's not—"

Both of them froze mid-step, looking at me like I'd just announced I was planning to take up interpretive dance as a career.

"Nyssa?" my mom asked, blinking in confusion. Her brows furrowed as she turned toward the now very uncomfortable girl in the corner. "Is... is that why she's here? To help you with your speech?"

For a second, I thought I might have hallucinated that sentence. I turned my head slowly toward Nyssa, who had gone completely still, her hands clutching the pile of books in her lap like they might anchor her to reality. Her face was so red it could've been mistaken for a warning light, and her eyes stayed glued to the floor, as though willing it to open up and swallow her whole.

"Mom!" I said, exasperated and desperate to clear up this train wreck of a misunderstanding. "that's not what I thought its -"

But before I could finish, my mom's face crumpled, and the waterworks began.

"You thought?" she sniffled, pressing a tissue to her eyes like she'd just heard the saddest story ever told. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? You could've asked for help, Why didn't you say anything?!"

I buried my face in my hands. Oh no. Here we go. My mom had a special talent for turning minor misunderstandings into Oscar-worthy drama.

"Mom," I groaned, dragging my hands down my face in frustration. "It's not me! I didn't mean—please, for the love of all that's holy, stop crying!"

Dad, ever the stoic, crossed his arms and surveyed the scene like an impartial judge at a trial. His expression was unreadable, but the faint sigh he let out was enough to let me know he thought this was entirely my fault.

"Well," he said finally, his tone flat. "I guess that explains why this scholar friend of yours is here, to help you with your speech." He gestured vaguely between me and Nyssa. "Henry, stop embarrassing yourself."

He turned to Nyssa, giving her a small nod of approval. "And you—good job bringing the study books. I'm proud of you."

Nyssa, still visibly flustered, managed to whisper, "Thank you." Her voice wavered as she glanced down, her blush deepening further.

I stared at my parents, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to find the words to salvage what was left of my dignity. Meanwhile, Nyssa looked like she might combust at any moment.

Finally, sensing the awkwardness they'd created, my parents began their retreat.

"We'll... let you two figure this out," my dad said, clearing his throat. My mom gave Nyssa an encouraging smile through her tears before they both shuffled out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

I let out a long sigh, the tension in the room lingering like an unwanted guest. For a moment, neither of us said anything.

They left again after embarrassing me, like why even visit in the first place?

The sound of the door clicking shut behind my parents should have been a relief, but instead, it left an echo of awkward tension in its wake. I stared at the closed door for a moment, willing myself to believe they wouldn't come back.

Why do they always make everything so much worse?

Nyssa let out a nervous giggle, breaking the silence. "I-I guess that went well, huh?"

I turned back to her, still trying to process the emotional hurricane that had just passed through. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, but she managed a small, tentative smile that made something warm twist in my chest.

"Oh, yeah. Totally," I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's not like my parents just managed to make me look like the world's biggest idiot or anything."

Nyssa's laugh was a little louder this time, her lips curving into a shy smile. "I-I think it's sweet, though. They me-mean well."

"Sweet?" I raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. "Nyssa, if that's what you call sweet, I'd hate to see what you think of full-blown chaos."

Her giggle softened, her blush deepening as she glanced at me again. "I-it's not that bad," she said, her tone teasing but still shy.

I grinned, leaning forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees like I was sharing some deep secret. "You're only saying that because you didn't grow up with them. Trust me, Nyssa. Living with them is like surviving a never-ending sitcom where I'm the punchline."

She tilted her head thoughtfully, her smile growing. "I don't know. Maybe if they were my parents, I'd understand better?"

I snorted, leaning back and crossing my arms with a mock air of nonchalance. "They can be," I said casually, not immediately realizing what had just come out of my mouth.

Nyssa froze, her hands mid-motion as she played with a strand of her orange hair. "What?" Her wide green eyes locked onto mine, a mix of surprise and curiosity flickering across her face.

Oh no.

I replayed my words in my head, and the realization hit me like a freight train. Oh no no no no no—did I just propose?

"I mean—" I blurted, my voice cracking slightly as I scrambled to backpedal. "If, uh... if they adopted you! Yeah, that's what I meant. If they adopted you, they could be your parents."

Her head tilted again, her expression shifting from surprise to amused disbelief. "Adopted me?"

Abort mission, Henry. Abort mission.

"Totally logical," I said, my voice an octave too high. "You know, honorary family member and all that. Happens all the time!"

To my utter relief—and mortification—Nyssa let out a soft laugh, her shoulders relaxing. "Y-you're so strange sometimes," she said, her cheeks still a little pink. "But... I think I like that about you."

Her words hit me square in the chest, and for a moment, I couldn't think of anything clever to say. My heart was doing this stupid little fluttery thing that made me feel like I was a middle schooler again. She likes me, but i shouldn't make things worse ok!!!

Okay, time to pivot before you make this any worse.

I cleared my throat, desperately grasping for something to change the subject. My gaze fell on the dumbbells sitting neatly be the table. Perfect.

"So," I said, leaning forward again, this time with a playful grin. "About those dumbbells..."

Nyssa blinked, her green eyes following my gaze. "W-what about them?" she asked, her voice cautious.

"I think it's time we put them to use," I said, reaching over to grab one of the weights. I held it up dramatically like it was a holy relic.

She tilted her head again, her expression shifting to one of concern. "You... you mean now? Henry, we're still studying—"

"Exactly why I need to start!" I cut in, giving her my most convincing grin. "Take it as a break from studying. You brought them here, so technically, this is all your fault. And I refuse to let these muscles go to waste."

I flexed my arm with exaggerated effort, trying to look impressive.

Steering clear of my sudden proposal and stupidest in front of her.