Tap, tap, tap. That's the first sound I hear this morning, the sound that wakes me up. I squint at my alarm clock which tells me it's only 7:39. I thought my mom was coming at 8, but I guess she decided to get here extra early. From outside my window, I glance at the golden threads of light creeping out of the clouds. A shimmery, orange glow shines against my face. Tap, tap, tap.

"Coming!" I yell, rolling myself away from the raveled sheets. To my surprise, my mother is not the one on the other side of the door. It's Sander. This was not what I was expecting, but I invite him in nonetheless.

"Hey. How are you?" he stifles a yawn, clearly not fully awake yet. He sits on my lap, snuggling my cheek.

"I'm okay. Actually, never mind. I feel like I'm about to throw up," I reveal, to which he backs away from me ever so slightly, but not enough to the point where if I were to vomit, it wouldn't spill directly over him.

"You're strong," he remarks. "Stronger than me. I wouldn't know what to do, and the pressure would be too much for me to handle. You're the toughest person I know." Aww. That's such a sweet thing to say. The way he instantly makes me feel better is something I'll always cherish about him. He's a walking ray of sunshine. The calm to my storm. He certainly has a way with words, and it almost makes me rethink my decision. Almost.

"You know, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made it through this week. So, half the credit goes to you," I comment out loud. It's true. He's kept me sane. He's saved me. And because of this, it's going to break me even more when he finds out. I don't have the heart in me to tell him, and I want to enjoy this last moment we're having together before chaos ensues.

I spoke too soon. The queen of mayhem has arrived, or in other words, my very own mother. She's spotted us from down the hall and is now heading straight for me. We've been caught red-handed. Her hostile footsteps sound like clanging drums every time her heels clack the floor. In other words, she's livid. Sander tries to hide himself behind me, but that does more damage than good. Once she gets close enough, she opens her mouth and raises her voice.

"Get out, Sander! Nicolas, you stay with me. I can't believe you would do this," she hisses. Sander immediately obliges and within a second, he's out and far gone. Great. I don't know when I'll be able to see him again, and I hate waiting. Come to think of it, why is my mother so against the two of us together? It's not like that's against any rule she's established, nor is it breaking any law. As if she's reading my thoughts, she explains to me her perspective on this matter.

"Son, boyfriends and girlfriends come and go, but your family is what has your back and will support you unconditionally," she gestures to herself.

"But this is clearly different! You don't know him the way I do," I protest. I want to add that him and I are endgame, but at this point, she's not going to believe whatever I say.

"You're still a teenager. So young. Trust me when I say that every love feels like infinity, even though they rarely ever last. Especially not one stemming from high school."

"He's an exception."

"That's what you think. When I was your age, I was head over heels for the captain of the basketball team. I built up the courage to ask him out and we started going out. We were the star couple; the couple that ruled the school. I'd always dream of us building a future together. I'd plan for us to get married in the beachside village of Crete, Greece and raise the most beautiful children. Long story short, we dated for two and a half years before I found him cheating with my best friend.

I took it as a sign that we weren't meant to be, and boy was I right. It wasn't until after college that I met your father. The first time I saw him, romantic music started playing in my head like it does in movies. Whenever he moved, it felt like it was being played out in slow motion. It turns out that he's been my soulmate all this time," she tells me. Then, her hand reaches for my shoulder and caresses it gently, still reminiscing about the past.

"Wow," is my first reaction. I let her words sink deep down into my stomach. "I didn't know that. Why have you never told me this story before?" When I was in elementary school, I'd get scared to go to bed, so she would comfort me by telling me stories of her childhood. It's one of my favorite memories that we share together, and something I secretly wished that she never stopped.

"It never felt like the right time to tell it to you, not until now."

"Oh."

"Let me ask you this question: is he worth each and every sacrifice you'll have to make? Is he worth the public humiliation you'll have to endure? Is he worth risking everything you've been working your whole life for?" She looks back down and I'm not sure if she's actually expecting an answer or just asking it rhetorically. My mind instantly gravitates to yes. Yes, he's worth every second. He has to be. Except, maybe she's gotten into my head because I can't seem to suppress the doubts I'm having.

"This is your final chance," she continues. "To live the life you've dreamed of, so I urge you to take it before it gets taken away from you." With that, she gives me a firm pat on the back and exits my room. It's 8:12. 48 more minutes. The clock is ticking down. She's given me too much to think about in too little time. The frustrating part is that I know she's right. She's never wrong about these kinds of things. Yet the inner child in me is telling me to do the opposite of what she says simply in spite of her.

I thought I'd made my decision yesterday, but to be completely truthful, the battle going on inside my brain has never stopped. I'm flip-flopping back and forth despite the fact that I know what I have to do. I just don't want to do it. I pace around my room, desperately trying to find the right words to say. The only problem is that I feel empty inside, like my soul is disintegrating down to the floor. I scribble something on my notepad but immediately cross it out and restart. Nothing fits.

As a last-ditch effort, I think back to what my mother first told me about writing speeches. They don't have to be perfect, but they have to leave the public satisfied. That way they won't bombard me with questions. Okay. I can do this. I jot down some notes and then transform them into paragraphs. Nothing fancy, but they deliver the message across. The remaining time fades away until all I have left are a few minutes to walk to the throne.

When I arrive, everyone's already waiting for me. A man dressed in all black waves his hand, signalling that I can start. I notice that this is being broadcasted live across all television platforms, so the stakes are as high as they can get.

"Good morning. As many of you know, I'm Nicolas, the crown prince, and I've come here today to address a video that has come to interfere with my personal and business relations. First and foremost, I want to clear all the rumored allegations, because the person in the video was not me. I have nothing to do with it and I don't know who put it out there.

Secondly, I hope that this doesn't change anything in terms of how you view me. I'm still the same person that I always was. Thirdly, I have so much respect for the people who are out there in the world being their true selves. Being straight or gay or bisexual is not a choice. It's who you are and no matter what you do, you can't change that.

Our society needs to recognize the incessant momentum toward civil equality for every queer resident living in this country. I believe that with the intention to carve out the landscape of our community, we each have to live an authentic life of compassion and integrity. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity to speak to you all; I hope you can take something positive away from this speech," I announce, standing up from the throne and bowing down.

Synchronous applause comes from the limited crowd who had the privilege to watch me perform in person. I flash them my friendliest smile before beelining it back to my dorm. It's done. I did it. Relief floods my body because the worst of it is behind me now. Or so I presumed. Sander. I was too caught up in perfecting my speech that I totally forgot about him.

I frenetically text him a frenzy of messages to make sure that we're still good. This is the first time I've gone and done something behind his back, and I feel awful about it. I lied to him, but only because I had to. I check my phone every few seconds, but there's no response. Not even the typing bubbles. He's left me on read. I'm hit with the hard truth that we might not be okay.

He and I need to talk. We can't leave things like this, unfinished. I look everywhere for him: the library, the art room, the chapel, but he's nowhere to be found.

"Nova!" I call out when I spot her curly, chestnut hair cascading down her back. No response. Cool. Now I got the full family blatantly ignoring me like I'm a ghost that never existed. If she took the news this poorly, I can only imagine how dismally Sander must have handled it. I need to clear my head, which is how I find myself trekking my way through the dusty trails outside.

This time around, the sun has shrunk and the rags of clouds are clotted. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought that the nature gods were punishing me. The air is so murky that it feels like the sky has been stabbed and left there to rot. Despite this, I don't back down and instead continue down the path that eventually leads to the sports ground.

Way off in the distance, I can see someone lounged across the rugby field. I can't quite make out their features, but as I scoot closer, I know there's only one person that this could be. He doesn't take note of my presence yet, so when he turns around, he jumps back, hands flying to his chest.

"Sander," I pronounce his name quietly, my confidence suddenly dissolving into thin air. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm s-so sorry, but this was the only way," I stutter. He stares at me with wide-open eyes. I want to say something else, but the words aren't there. I can feel my body growing numb with each increasing second. It seems like a lifetime before he finally opens his mouth.

"You're saying sorry just for the sake of saying those words. You don't mean it."

"Yes, I do!" I shout louder than I had anticipated. "Listen, this doesn't have to change anything between us. We're still... us. Sander and Nicolas. The only difference is that we can't be seen together, but that's okay," I try to reason with him, but the more I talk, the more I realize how ridiculous I sound, grasping at every straw I can.

"Can you only be with me in the dark, when no one's looking? Are you ashamed of me, Nicolas?"

"No. Of course n–"

"Then why act like it? Why put all this effort into something that was never going to work?" My brain freezes. I can't answer him. I'm paralyzed while my world is crumbling apart. He glares at me as his features drop with disappointment. The cynical realization that our relationship was doomed from the start hits me hard. The thought of us two together was merely a dream, an intangible hope that's now slipping away forever.

"I'm sorry," I sigh. "I thought that we could last, but I guess it was too good to be true."

"I don't want to hide. I'm not someone's little secret," he aggressively crosses his arms, all the while maintaining eye contact.

"But can't you see the amount of backlash that'll follow if I come out? How can you expect me to live through that?"

"I wasn't demanding you to do anything; it was your choice and you didn't choose me. So now, I'm not choosing you either. I care about you so much, and you can take all the time you need, but you have to do the rest by yourself."

"Please, I can fix this," I plead. It's useless. There's no changing his mind. I can't believe what's happening right now.

"This isn't working. I can't do it anymore," he snaps, storming off. My eyes are burning but I don't have the energy to fight the tears. I gulp as they start pouring down. I break. I hate that I'm hurting the person I love. I hate how I'm trapped in my own life. I hate myself for this, for everything.

Several minutes later, I walk into my room and see the bookshelf that we shared several kisses in front of. I begin to sob and sob, with each sob growing in intensity until I'm bawling my eyes out. I feel like crawling into a ball and screaming. Loneliness lingers through my veins and despite sleeping alone every night, my bed feels the emptiest it's ever been. I'm alone... it's over.