Noticing a pause where the wind should have continued, I responded, “I can do both, I can love
him, and work too.” Her thin smile looked more like doubt. The clouds were stranded, halted,
scattered. It was one of those rare moments: the world suspends itself for you. She turned to face
me, and I looked over her shoulder. There seemed to be a right and a wrong choice. She was
trying, but so was I. Sometimes small kindnesses feel like evidence of defeat. I thought of earlier
and of ceramic blades. And the first blood orange of my tree. The blade was sharp, and it cut
easily. What I thought would be red turned out to be orange—the sweetness, sour.

And so there were old words like “bittersweet,” “inescapable”, and I couldn’t breathe. Large
drops started falling around us, soaking the pavement black. The heat broke. The next few
minutes passed in silence. The storm caught us with increased intensity. The wind hit the tree in a
cold wave. Somewhere in me, a play button was hit, and a deep-seated urgency turned its lights
back on. Across the field, I could see where the rain thickened into a wall. When I turned back to
look at her, she wasn’t there. Together with her and within myself again, I opened my umbrella
and stepped out into the rain.