Distance tests many things—patience, trust, and the strength of connections we think will last forever.
For Akutu, Kojo's departure felt like a quiet storm.
No chaos. No drama.
Just a slow unraveling of something she wasn't sure she was ready to let go of.
The night before Kojo left, they sat by the campus fountain, the soft hum of water filling the silence between them.
"Are you scared?" Akutu asked.
Kojo chuckled. "Of what? The internship?"
She shook her head. "Of what happens after you leave."
He exhaled, leaning back on his elbows. "A little. Are you?"
She hesitated before nodding. "Yeah."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.
"I don't want things to change," she admitted.
Kojo turned to her. "Change isn't always bad, Akutu."
"I know," she said softly. "But sometimes, it feels like losing something."
Kojo was quiet for a moment before he reached for her hand.
"We're not losing anything," he said firmly. "We'll figure it out."
She wanted to believe him.
She really did.
But she also knew that distance had a way of rewriting even the best of stories.
The next morning, she stood by the campus gate as Kojo loaded his bags into the car.
"Don't forget me," she joked, forcing a smile.
He laughed. "Impossible."
She nodded, hugging herself against the morning breeze.
"You'll be okay," he said, as if reading her thoughts.
"I know," she replied.
But as she watched the car pull away, she wondered—
Did she really?
The pulleys of life had shifted once again.