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zelcii · 2 months ago

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passing by (rewritten) | millard nullings

8:43. every morning, like clockwork, you ran toward the house with nothing but joy in each step. arms held close to your sides, your floral dress catching the wind as your feet pounded the cobblestones, making your way toward the home. you always wore flowers in your dress, in your hair, growing in your mind. it was like you lived in a garden only you could see. and i'd be there, waiting for you, always on the third step, just near the pot of flowers fiona left the day before.

“hello, gorgeous,” you’d say, your voice light as you caught your breath, a spark in your eyes that always made me wonder how you could look so alive.

i’d reach for your hand, feeling the soft warmth of your palm against mine, and pull you closer. “darling,” i’d say, bowing dramatically as our hands intertwined. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“oh, you know,” you smiled in a way that made me feel like you knew more than you were saying. “just passing by,” you’d reply, always the same, always with that gleam in your eyes that made me feel like the rest of the world was far, far away.

we’d walk the shores of cairnholm, the lighthouse a distant silhouette, the waves lapping at our ankles. we'd swim in the shallows, never venturing too far, just enough to feel the cool water tugging at us. by 9:00, we’d be lying in the sand, the grains sticking to your hair, though you never cared. your fingers would weave through my hair in slow circles, gently combing through it as if you could see every strand. i’d watch you, your eyes turned toward the sky as if you could hear the ocean speaking to you in a way i never could.

you made me believe that the world was bigger than what we saw. like we had all the time in the world. but that was the problem, wasn’t it? because by nightfall, the loop would reset, and you’d be gone. the memory of you would stay with me, but you wouldn’t.

i’d watch you then, stealing glances when you weren’t looking, when your gaze was lost in the horizon. there was something about the way you looked at the sea—like it held answers, or maybe just a piece of you. my smile never faded, like i was fighting the urge to let go of something fragile.

i told you everything i could in those moments, everything but the truth. i’d tell you about the book you lent me, how i was nearly done. i talked about the way fiona’s plants were growing faster than usual. only the things that concerned your world. the world beyond the loop. a world that now seems so distant.

i’d stumble over my words, trying to remeber everything that happened on september second, nineteen-forty. because i could never tell you how miss peregrine stopped asking about you. or how jacob had supper with us again last night. i couldn’t say it—couldn’t say that you were fading in more ways than one. though i suppose none of it would matter because tomorrow, you won't remember a thing.

the next morning, i was early. too early. i stood by the steps again, the house quiet behind me. the other kids were already up, busy washing their clothes and cooking for supper. doing whatever chores they had to do that day.

i sat there, waiting for you. always waiting for you.

“hello, gorgeous,” you said, that same familiar smile on your lips as you approached. i reached for your hand, feeling the weight of what i couldn’t say pressing against me.

you leaned into me, and i kissed your cheek gently. i didn't do that the days before, but today felt eerily unlike the others. i needed the warmth of your skin to anchor me. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

you laughed, that same soft sound. “just passing by,” you said, but this time, i thought to question whether you meant something deeper than that.

as we walked, the wind tugging at your dress, i kept you close. i didn’t let go of your hand. i couldn’t. every time the loop reset, you seemed to stray a little farther away, even when you were right next to me.

we walked the same paths as always, but i kept you closer this time, feeling the brush of your dress against me as the wind caught it. i wondered, then, how you were outside of the loop. have you moved on? found a husband, and built a home. do you remember me? did you miss me the way i missed you? you must have been in your eighties by now

when i looked at you, that hope, that ache in my chest, my heart kept whispering the same question. were you still alive?

the sky shifted into shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over cairnholm. we walked in silence, your arm brushing against mine. with each step, the weight in my chest grew heavier. the knowledge that time, something i hadn't truly experienced in nearly a century, was slipping through my fingers.

“i love you, i really do,” i said, my voice breaking the quiet.

you laughed softly, and i felt it in my bones. a sound that once brought me so much comfort now felt like an echo, distant and fragile. of course you knew that. how could you not?

“obviously,” you teased, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “tell me something i don’t know."

i paused, the words catching in my throat. what more could i say that you haven't already heard? but there was so much—so much that i had never found a way to tell you, not fully, not in the way you deserved. i looked down at my feet, feeling the pebbles of cobblestone under my shoes. for a moment, i struggled to find my voice again.

“alright,” i started slowly, my gaze lifting to meet yours. “you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.” i could feel my heart beating louder with each word, the vulnerability almost too much to bear. “it is a blessing, by the birds or by whatever forces of the universe, that you are my everyday.”

i stopped walking, turning to face you, my hands trembling as i reached for yours. “i love you in ways i cannot express,” my voice softened, barely above a whisper. “and i am overflowing with words that i simply do not have.”

there was a silence after that, one that stretched between us like a vast, unspoken truth. i felt raw, exposed, like every piece of me was laid bare before you.

when i got back to the home, supper was waiting, and the others gathered around the table. jacob was there again, sitting beside emma. i tried not to watch the way they looked at each other, their stolen glances. i could barely hear any of the children at the table, my mind still full of you. fiona and hugh sat across from me, hands intertwined under the table. it made my stomach churn to watch them. they didn’t know how lucky they were—to have time that didn’t vanish, to have a love that didn’t dissolve with the sunrise.

after dinner, i slipped away to the parlour, sitting in the quiet. my mind was spinning. i didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel the emptiness growing in the space where you should've been. next to me.

that’s when olive appeared, her small feet making heavy, deliberate steps as she approached me.

“millard!” she chirped, her voice brimming with the kind of enthusiasm that only a child could muster. i had to remind myself that she couldn't see the whole world unravelling around me. “what’s the matter? you're all gloomy.”

i lifted my gaze, meeting her wide, innocent eyes. how could she ever understand? “nothing, olive. just... thinking.”

“aboutttt??” she perched herself on the edge of the chair beside me, her small feet kicking rhythmically against its legs. her eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief. “you mean the girl, don’t you?” her voice took on a sing-song quality, leaning forward with eager anticipation. “tell me about her, will you?” olive had always been a dreamer, crafting stories of grand romances and fairytale endings.

with little hesitance, i started, “she’s the sweetest.” the weight of my unspoken sorrow sinking deeper with each breath. “a caring soul, full of nothing but love, much like you.”

olive’s face lit up at the compliment, her round cheeks flushed with pride. “really?” she asked, bouncing slightly in her seat.

“she’s in love with poetry and passion,” i continued softly, my voice laden with a bitterness that belied the gentle words. “and everything she can feel but cannot see.”

olive tilted her head, her eyes wide and curious. “like you?” she asked, her voice brimming with innocence, not minding the pain woven into my words.

i swallowed hard, struggling with the weight of my own emotions. “yes,” i said, my voice trembling slightly. i looked at her, trying to convey the depth of what i felt. “like me.” but the truth was, it wasn’t the same. i spent my days chasing a ghost, an illusion of you that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. olive didn’t understand. she couldn’t. her world was still full of dreams and possibilities, while mine was shadowed by the echoes of a love that slipped through my fingers.

when miss peregrine came to me, i already knew what she was going to say. her steps were slow, her voice low as she told me that you were sick—that you were fading faster than she’d thought. but i knew. i had felt it for weeks, even if i didn't want to admit it.

i left the loop alone the next morning. leaving you to get to you. it felt strange to walk the familiar path without you—my steps heavy with dread—though i suppose the pavements weren't so familiar with new cracks and patches of moss. when i reached your house, i knocked, my heart racing in my chest. your voice, weak but still you, called for me to enter.

your home felt different. the warmth was gone, but nearly everything remained the same—your lace curtains, the smell of the sea mingling with the scent of warm tea. i sat beside your bed, taking your hand in mine, the weight of all those unspoken words pressing down on me.

when you opened your eyes, i could see the years on your face, the way time had touched you in ways it never would me. i should’ve been there, growing old with you like i promised. instead, i’d been stuck in a place where time couldn’t touch me, and you had moved on without me.

“hello, gorgeous,” i said, my voice breaking as i pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

you smiled, but it was weaker than before. “millard…?”

i held your hand tighter, not wanting to let go. “don't worry, love,” i whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “just passing by.”

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