Freya — For A Little While Longer

Mondays are the only days I leave Eldermoor for block sessions at the Culinary Institute of Kliburgh. Those days are a mosaic of theory, instructor meetings, and skill assessments—a welcome shift. For a little while, all I do is study.

Everything else fades.

Kliburgh is one hour away by train. There are programmes closer to home, but I chose this one. I don’t drive; city traffic overwhelms me, and the tangle of rules feels just as daunting.

The train is my refuge.

Here, I’m just Freya, the girl who loves to bake. Shedding my other self is a relief. No one asks about football, and I’ve never felt the urge to confess.

The secrecy feels like freedom, not guilt. Still, holding parts of myself back is tricky; switching from star athlete to invisible student always leaves me teetering between two worlds.

When I step through the doors, the weight of one existence lifts, and the comfort of the other settles over me.

The large lettering above the entrance welcomes me back to Kliburgh life.

As I walk through the hall, students move around me in every direction. My eyes catch Jessica, her grey eyes lighting up before she slips away from her group to join me.

Jessica is pure Kliburgh: fashionable, effortless, always looking like she’s stepped out of a magazine.

“Oh my gosh, Freya!” she says, zigzagging through the crowd. “It’s so nice you’re here. We missed you at the start-of-year party.”

“Yeah, I know. I had a family thing.”

The lie comes easily. Really, I was at training. I can’t tell her that; she wouldn’t understand.

“You have to come to Winter Fest,” she says, her voice lifting. A tiny diamond glints on her tooth.

In winter, Kliburgh turns into a world of lights, music, and food stands. Every year I promise myself I’ll go. Every year, something comes up, training, matches… me.

Still, the idea tempts me. It always does.

“I’ll think about it,” I say as we head down the hallway together.

Her smile shifts, becoming more serious. “No, you have to come. Bring your boyfriend if you want.”

I return an awkward smile. If only things were that simple.

We head to the changing rooms. After pulling on my chef’s coat and blue-and-white patterned trousers, I meet her in theory class.

We take our seats, open our books, and begin taking notes as the instructor talks through the origins of baking.

I try to focus, really try, but everything I write feels disconnected, as though the words forget what they mean the moment they hit the page.

A few minutes in, Jessica leans towards me, whispering, “So, last weekend? Max took me to that new Thai place, the one in the square. Freya, I almost died. It was so good. ” I grin, watching her reenact the moment. “Is Max the new boyfriend, or…?”

She laughs, flicking her hand dismissively. “If he can handle spicy curry, he might handle me. What about you? Anyone heating you up?”

The pen slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor.

The instructor glances up. I offer a quick, apologetic smile. He nods and continues. I shift my chair back and bend to retrieve the pen ... And the thoughts I’ve been avoiding slam straight into me.

I made it through almost the entire morning without thinking about Nathaniel. About why he read Kaiden’s messages.

Why didn’t he tell me? And Kaiden ...

His message flickers through my mind before I force it away. I have to.

I straighten, heart thudding. Jessica is still watching me, waiting.

Right. Her question. “No… I’m not seeing anyone.”

It comes out too quickly. Her raised eyebrows tell me she doesn’t believe it.

“Right,” she echoes.

I bite the end of my pen and drop my gaze back to my notes. I have to focus.

My time at school ends the way it always does, scraping dried sugar off my metalwork bench and rinsing it with hot water until it shines again. Jessica waves as she heads out, fingers fluttering.

“Text me!”

I won’t.

Mrs Sanders enters the classroom just as I’m hanging up my apron. Her heels click sharply against the tiles, an unmistakable sound.

“Good to see you’re still here. I’d like a word before you go.”

My stomach drops. I follow her to her office, the weight between my shoulders growing heavier with every step.

She gestures to the chair opposite her desk. Her black chef’s coat and flowered headband frame her ginger hair, softening the severity of her expression.

I sit, hands folded in my lap, fingers tapping lightly against my knees.

“Freya, we’ve reviewed your assignments,” she says, a crease forming between her brows.

A brown folder with my name on it rests between us. Everything important about me, my progress, my potential, the pressure, fits inside those thin pages.

I place my hands on the desk. The surface is cool. Unforgiving.

“It’s nothing to worry about… for now.” She flips through my recent work, tapping a page. “But something’s changed since last year. Your work feels rushed.”

She leans forward, her voice softening. “Are you alright?”

Her hands settle over mine, warm, steady, grounding. I stare at them instead of her face.

How much do I tell her? Would she understand the constant tug-of-war I’m trapped in, between football, school, the bakery, expectations, grief, love I’m afraid to name, and a version of myself that’s slipping through my fingers?

If I admit I’m drowning… what if everything collapses?

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just busy. I’ll do better.”

Mrs Sanders draws her hands back, and I hate how quickly I miss the warmth.

“Freya, if you need time for football, we can postpone your studies. Give you some breathing room.”

I hesitate, my fingers curling into my lap.

“Can I… think about it?” I say, more quietly this time. “It’s a big decision. I want to weigh the pros and cons before I commit to anything.”

Mrs Sanders studies me for a moment, then nods. “Of course. It isn’t shameful to prioritise. No one will think less of you if you take an extra year.”

I nod back, though the weight in my chest doesn’t ease.

“Take your time,” she adds gently. “You know how to reach me when you’re ready.” Outside her office, the corridor feels too bright. My fists clench as doubt creeps in at the edges of my focus.

Am I fooling myself? Is this really what I want? Or am I just too afraid of choosing the wrong thing?

I keep walking. If I stop, everything will hit me at once.

By five, I’m back on the train, leaving Kliburgh’s skyscrapers behind as the countryside stretches open again. I flip through my textbook, the rhythm of the rails syncing with each turn of the page. Golden light spills across my seat, warming my legs.

My phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. A stack of unread messages lights up the screen.

They tug at me, pulling me back to Eldermoor. To everything I’ve spent the day trying to outrun.

I hold the phone for a moment longer.

Then I press the power button until the screen goes black and drop it into my bag. For just a little while longer, I want to stay this version of myself.

But the world won’t wait. And I know, when I turn that phone back on, everything is going to change.

❤️ Maliyka ❤️