Haley gazed at the empty living room. She stood in the middle of the room taking in the hollowed shelves, a scratch on the floor, and the way the blinds filtered a honey glow among the room. Sunkissed. Haley felt a little light headed, taking a deep breath, and shut her eyes.

She remembered the first night they moved in together. It was a summer night in July and she was coated in sweat. Her shirt clung to her body as they offloaded the moving truck, her hair pulled back in a frizzy mess from the humidity.

"We should make sure the shower works when we get inside…." Greyson said, with his hand trailing alongside her back. Haley looked up, noting his mischievous grin and gave him a wide smile- the kind of smile that can't contain how you feel- all gum and teeth.

The back of Greyson's neck was wet, his hair curling in whichever way and she reached up to toy with it, "I thought you liked seeing me get all sweaty?" she asked in a naive way, knowing how easy it was to get him excited.

"With your clothes off. Preferably in a few positions," he commented, "Yea, you're right, let's skip the shower and cut right to it." Haley swatted at him, telling him to quit being distracted, although she knew he was right, and motioned him towards his desk for help.

She was adamant about her and Greyson doing it together- no need for movers. They were fresh out of schooling [Haley, her bachelor's; Greyson, his master's], in love, a bit of debt, and deliriously happy as they charged head first towards a new chapter in their life.

The UHaul truck was small, but they didn't have a lot. It was mainly filled with clothes, books, silverware, some kitchen appliances, a worn chaise lounge chair from her bedroom at home, Greyson's desk, an air mattress, and more books. The desk was heavy, made of real wood that he and his father worked on together when Greyson was in high school. His father was a carpenter, and on the bottom panel of the thin middle drawer was an engraving of Greyson's initials: G.A.I. It was smooth, precise, and just below was etched H.B.J.- something Greyson added in their early days.

"There, written in wood, it's forever," he shared with a boyish grin.

"Who says 'written in wood'?"

"Haley, I'm pouring my heart out over here and you're caught up in semantics?"
"I'm caught up in forever."

"Me too."

He always knew what to say. Whether it was providing comfort, comedic relief, or advice. He was so in tune with her sometimes it scared her. He was always one step ahead and she followed, lovestruck.

Bringing the desk up to the fourth floor of their building wasn't easy. It was a lot of pivoting- "maybe if you just angle it this way" - and taking a breather on the stairs. Haley wasn't fittest, but she wasn't out of shape either; Greyson was tall and lean, some muscle, but average shape and the night wore on them. By the time they were finished moving in, they were exhausted, cracking open a cold beer, ordering a large pizza, but mostly they were so proud.

Stacks of boxes were surrounding them, almost as if they were in their own makeshift fort or castle. A kingdom of cardboard, surrounded by endless possibility. The apartment had good bones. There was a large window in the living room that faced the front of the building and they envisioned her reading chair in the corner. There were built-in shelves that sat mid wall to ceiling and she was already thinking about how she was going to organize her books. His desk would sit to the left of the window in the other corner, his books resting above, and he wondered if he should pursue his PhD. She entwined their fingers, as she imagined resting in her chair into the early morning hours, as she similarly laid in his bed for so many nights while he worked on his thesis. She would be supportive and she knew he could do anything he set his mind to.

It was their first night of forever and they spent it drinking, dancing in the middle of the floor, fantasizing about their future, making love here… and over there, drinking more, talking more, and clumsy, drunken sex on the air mattress. The entire night she waited for someone to pinch her.

But it was real life, she was madly in love, and she couldn't get enough of it. She could do this over and over again. Caught up in forever. Written in wood. The next morning when she lifted her head, the first thing she noticed was a handprint on the wall, hers, and she smiled to herself and took a mental picture of it.

But forever didn't last as long as she thought it would. And the handprint was painted over with a bluish gray.

It had been almost 10 months since he left her. Some days it felt like just the day before and he'd turn back around, walk back in the door and envelop her in his arms, his smell, his warmth. But those days of reminiscing felt like years, and those years felt like torture, and it was a never ending cycle of watching the past play out and seeing the life they could've had taken from them.

Initially she hadn't been able to bring herself to leave, despite her friends and family calling and pleading. How could she leave when his books remained on the shelves? When she plopped down on the couch the faintest scent of him appeared. When she opened the closet his dress shirts were hung, ready to be worn and he wore them well. A picture of the two of them were by their bedside table-their first picture together. By staying there, she could pretend just a little longer. She could stare out, just as she was doing now, and see the two of them, hopeful, and so certain in themselves and each other.

But staying had become too painful; she could no longer catch his scent- it was just a memory now- and the quiet consumed her. She knew that if she stayed any longer she would never heal… it was just placing a band-aid on things. As soon as she'd take the band-aid off thinking she was ready, the wound would reopen and sting. Over and over and over again.

The day she decided she needed to leave was a Sunday morning. She stirred, listening to the rain. Her body felt heavy and weak all at once. She was tired: mentally, physically, emotionally. She could hear a persistent knocking, a jiggling of the door knob, and the faint call of her name. Confused, she pulled herself out of bed and trudged to the door. To her surprise, it was her parents and Greyson's asking her to come home. As their eyes fell on Haley's, she saw their sympathy and concern. She knew she had lost a significant amount of weight, her hair was messy, and who knows when she changed her shirt last. All she could remember was hearing "it's okay, it's okay… Haley, come home. Come back to us." And she cried. Her knees even buckled, betraying her, and she fell to the floor.

Haley swallowed as she opened her eyes and was transported back to the present, the quiet. Seeing an empty room wasn't easy. Seeing her items packed away in cardboard boxes that didn't have his indecipherable scrawl was hard. Watching Greyson's parents drive away with his desk in the back of their truck - the engravings of their initials - was heartbreaking. But she couldn't stay. She knew she couldn't.

"Haley Bob, are you ready?" her mother asked.

No. "Yea, I'm ready."

"We figured we could stop for something to eat on the drive home. You must be hungry after all this packing and moving," her father offered, wrapping his arm around her shoulder giving her a slight squeeze.

No appetite. Stomach is too busy turning itself in knot after knot. "Maybe."

"Ziggy's been staying in your room. I think he can sense our baby's gonna be back in Tree Hill." Haley had been tempted months ago to bring their dog Ziggy to live with her. "Thanks again for everything. I know that helping me move out and come back home wasn't a part of the plan."

"Nonsense, sweetheart. This gave your dad the extra push to finish the suite outback. Granted, we were going to rent it out, but we like you enough to cut you a fair deal," her mom teased, tussling Haley's hair as she grabbed the last box and headed out the door.

"Can you give me a minute, dad?" Haley asked.

"Take your time."

And just like that, 5 years packed up in dinners, inedible recipes, organizing and reorganizing the dishwasher, baths, phone calls over what soap to buy, mundane tasks, puzzles, board games, dancing, binge watching shows, books, fights, sex, love, and most importantly Greyson. Gone. Packed neatly in a square box labeled Fragile - what a loaded meaning.

She would never forgive herself. She knew that much. She was mad at herself, mad at him, and frustrated with the world. It didn't feel right that life moved on without him. But it was, no matter how stuck she felt in their past.

Haley rested her hand on the wall, briefly, as she gathered up all her courage to walk away. She spent almost 10 months grieving in this space, 4 years madly in love, and quietly she said goodbye to a version of herself she'd never know again.

Hi everyone! Decided to take a stab at writing again - I've had this idea stuck in my head for about a month now - and couldn't stay away.
Hope you all enjoy or find interest.

I really wanted to pursue a story where Nathan and Haley know of each other, had some contact in high school [tutoring/Haley's friendship with Lucas] but grew up without each other and have plenty to learn about one another. I intend to have the story reflect on Haley's relationship with Greyson more often in the beginning, as she's working through loss and healing. And Nathan's got his own plot as well but no need to ramble any longer...

Would really appreciate feedback.