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Chapter 17 The apartment was quiet except for the sound of the movie flickering on the TV screen, its soft soundtrack adding a low hum to the space. Eile had settled herself on the couch, her legs stretched across Henry’s lap. It felt casual, natural—even though her heart was racing. They had done this before, sat together in the same room, but tonight something felt different. There was a new layer between them, something unspoken. Her body was aware of his presence in a way that made her shift uneasily every few minutes, the weight of her legs on his lap oddly comforting and terrifying at the same time. The movie was playing, but Eile barely noticed it. Her attention kept drifting to Henry, catching glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye. His fingers, relaxed, rested lightly on her calves, and though they didn’t move, the contact felt too heavy for something so simple. Henry didn’t seem to mind the silence. His gaze was focused on the screen, but every so often, it would flicker back to her. She would catch him looking, and he’d offer her a small, unreadable smile before turning his attention back to the film. It was a quiet kind of attention, but it made her feel seen—maybe too much. The quiet stretched between them, and Eile’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart was beating too fast, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the movie or the proximity between them. After what felt like an eternity, Henry shifted slightly, his hand brushing the edge of her leg. The touch was subtle but enough to stir her. He turned toward her, his expression neutral, but his eyes held a soft kind of hesitation. “Hey,” he said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. His voice was steady, but there was a softness to it she hadn’t heard before. “Can I try something?” Eile froze for a second. She blinked, unsure of how to respond. Her stomach twisted, nerves bubbling up in her chest. What did he mean by that? She felt the weight of his eyes on her, waiting, and she realized she hadn’t said anything. What if it’s too much? Her thoughts scrambled, but she could tell that whatever he was asking, it wasn’t to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. His voice was open—no urgency, no pressure. Just an invitation. She hesitated, her gaze drifting down to where her legs rested across his lap. “What do you want to try?” Henry leaned forward slightly, his hand moving to the blanket draped across them, his fingers grazing her knee as he spoke. “Nothing intense. Just… can I hold you closer?” The words hung in the air between them, simple but heavy. Eile swallowed. There was a moment of quiet before she managed a soft nod, unsure if she was ready but wanting to give him something, to meet him where he was. “I... okay,” she said, her voice breathless. He gave her a soft, reassuring smile, like he was relieved by her answer. Slowly, he moved her legs off his lap and patted the space next to him. The shift felt natural, like it had been building since they sat down. Henry didn’t rush, didn’t pull her in too quickly. Instead, he waited for her to make the next move. Eile shifted, cautiously, until she was lying beside him, her head resting on the pillow next to his. His arm came around her, gentle and careful, like he was afraid she might pull away. He didn’t crowd her; instead, he let her settle at her own pace. His body was warm next to hers, and his touch light, like he was waiting for her to give him permission to move closer. Eile’s breath hitched, her chest tight with nerves, but she let herself relax into him, inch by inch. She didn’t know exactly what this meant, what this would become. But right now, this closeness felt like something she could handle. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall would be gentle. Henry shifted again, just slightly, to pull the blanket around them both. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her arm, a simple touch, but one that seemed to send a ripple of heat through her. It wasn’t sexual—not yet. But the intimacy of it, the simplicity of lying together, felt too big and too small at the same time. He waited for her to say something, to move, to do anything. But Eile couldn’t. She just let herself feel it—his warmth, his presence—and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing. After a moment, Henry’s voice came again, low and tentative, as if checking in. “Is this okay?” Eile's heart leapt into her throat. Her body trembled just slightly as she fought to steady herself, unsure if it was the vulnerability of the moment or the weight of her own emotions. “Yes,” she breathed, the word coming out quieter than she intended, like it wasn’t meant for anyone but him. Henry exhaled, a slow, relieved breath. His arm tightened around her just a fraction, pulling her a little closer as he settled against the couch. Eile let herself relax further, her body sinking against his, her head nestled against his chest. His heartbeat beat steadily beneath her ear. She could hear it, feel it—alive and grounding. It was strange. She was nervous, still unsure, but something about the way he was holding her—careful, patient—made her want to stay. To stay in this quiet, simple moment. She could feel her chest rising and falling in rhythm with his. It was calm now. No rushing. Just the steady hum of his presence, the comfort of being close to someone in a way that didn’t feel like it was leading somewhere, just... was . Her mind quieted, and she let herself drift, the movie now forgotten, her thoughts easing into the steady beat of his heart. xoxo,@auroxisia_

Chapter 16 Since the night Eile and Henry watched TV on his couch, a quiet tension had begun threading between them. It wasn’t loud or dramatic—it hummed beneath their moments like background static. Sometimes she could ignore it entirely. Other times, it felt like the only thing in the room. They didn’t talk about it afterward. She left shortly after the credits rolled, a quick goodbye, a “thanks for the snacks,” and a smile that felt too careful. But that was the night something changed. Or maybe something surfaced—something that had always been there, quietly coiled between them. Since then, there had been moments. Tiny, flickering things. His fingers grazing hers when he handed her a pencil, lingering longer than necessary. Jokes with sharp, flirtatious edges that made her stomach tighten. The way he sometimes looked at her—not with the casual gaze of a friend, but with something more focused, like he was searching for the parts of her she didn’t mean to show. It never lasted. He always reeled it back in. A smirk. A laugh. A shift in conversation. Henry never pushed. He just... hovered. Subtle. Intentional. And Eile pretended not to notice. Because noticing meant acknowledging. And acknowledging meant risking the only friendship that felt like stability in a world she was still learning to survive in. Now they sat beside each other again—on the carpeted floor of a tucked-away study room in the art building, backs against the wall, laptops open but largely ignored. A familiar playlist hummed from her phone, low and ambient. Her sketchpad was balanced on her knees, pages filled with soft graphite outlines she wasn’t sure she liked. “You always stop before it gets good,” Henry said, tilting his head to look at her page. “I don’t want to overdo it.” “That’s the fear talking.” She scoffed, but he wasn’t wrong. Most things she left unfinished lately had more to do with fear than time. Henry leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “Let me try something?” Before she could answer, he gently took the pencil from her fingers, his hand brushing hers—deliberate, quiet. He didn’t even pretend it was an accident this time. Eile froze, just for a moment, watching his hand move over the page. His wrist, the curve of his fingers, the soft concentration in his brow. She’d always liked watching people draw. It was intimate, in a way—like seeing them think without words. “See?” he murmured, sketching a shadow over one of her lines. “This part just needed a little push.” She nodded, unsure if they were still talking about the drawing. He glanced at her, lips twitching in a barely-there smile. “You’re letting me touch your sacred sketchpad. That’s new.” “You’re not that special,” she said, a little too quickly. “I think I am.” There was that look again. That quiet, simmering thing in his eyes. Not a challenge exactly—but something else. An invitation. Her pulse stuttered. She looked away, back to the paper, forcing herself to pretend that nothing had changed. That they were still just friends, that his thigh wasn’t pressed lightly against hers, that the warmth between them was from the radiator nearby and not the slow burn of something unsaid. “You’ve been weird lately,” she muttered. Henry leaned back slightly, grinning. “Weird how?” She hesitated, then shook her head. “Never mind.” He didn’t push. He never did. Instead, he leaned forward again, tapping the eraser against her knee like he was drumming a rhythm only he could hear. “You know you can tell me stuff, right?” “I know,” she said quietly. But she didn’t. Not yet. Because saying it—whatever “it” was—would change the shape of everything. And Eile wasn’t sure if what they had could survive the weight of truth. She didn’t know if she  could. So instead, she turned the page in her sketchbook and handed him the pencil. “Your turn.” He raised an eyebrow but took it without question. Just like always—reading her silence as clearly as her words. And for now, that was enough. The tension between them remained, soft and crackling. Neither of them naming it. Neither of them denying it. And maybe that was its own kind of intimacy—the kind built in the spaces between almosts. Eile watched as Henry sketched, his hand moving with a casual confidence she envied. He added depth where she had hesitated, texture where she’d left things flat. It should’ve irritated her—having someone take over her work like that—but it didn’t. Not with him. His additions didn’t erase her—they built on her, softened her sharp lines without dulling them. They were quiet for a while. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward but not entirely comfortable either. A silence that knew it had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. Eile shifted, pulling her knees up again and letting her head rest against the wall. She was hyper-aware of the small distance between them. Of how easy it would be to let her head fall sideways, just enough to lean against his shoulder. She didn't, but the thought sat heavily in her chest. Henry set the pencil down and looked at her. She didn’t meet his gaze, but she felt it anyway. That kind of looking that made her feel like a page being read. “You know,” he said slowly, “if I ever said something... not so friendly... would you tell me to stop?” Her breath caught. It wasn’t a confession, not quite. But it wasn’t nothing either. Eile stared at the sketchpad, her eyes tracing the shape of a line he’d drawn over hers. Her heart was loud in her ears, like it was trying to drown everything else out. “I don’t know,” she whispered. She felt his gaze shift—softer now, like he understood more than she wanted him to. Like he knew she was afraid, and not of him. “Okay,” he said simply. “I won’t.” She looked at him then, finally. And there it was again—that tension between what they said and what they didn’t. A question left hanging in the air, not asked, not answered. Maybe one day she’d be brave enough to pull it down and open it. But not today. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 15 Eile had never been one for movie marathons, but there was something about the way Henry made everything feel effortless, as though time stretched just for them. It was rare that they found themselves with no obligations, no looming assignments, just two people unwinding after the chaos of their university lives. She liked this. She liked it more than she let on. The film was playing in the background, but she wasn’t really watching it. Eile was lying out on one side of the couch, and Henry sat on the other. He glanced over at her and, after a beat of hesitation, offered a small smile. “You can lie out more if you want,” he said, his voice soft but steady, like he was giving her permission to take up more space. Eile raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling on her lips. “Okay, if you say so.” She stretched out, pulling her feet up onto his lap with a casualness that surprised her. The movement was thoughtless and natural, like she had done it a thousand times before. She didn’t think much of it. After all, she’d kicked her feet up on the laps of family members countless times. What difference did it make to do the same with a friend? At first, nothing felt different. Henry didn’t flinch or pull away; he simply settled his hands on her feet, his fingers brushing lightly over the arch of her foot. It was a small thing, a simple touch, but it felt more intimate than it should have. She glanced at him, catching the flicker of something in his eyes. His focus seemed to shift, his gaze lingering on her feet before quickly darting away, like he wasn’t sure what to make of this new proximity between them. Eile tried to ignore the small flutter in her chest, chalking it up to the fact that she wasn’t used to having someone so close in this way. The movie played on, but she didn’t really care about the plot anymore. Her attention was on the feeling of his hand on her feet, the warmth of his touch sending little ripples through her. It was a strange mix of comfort and something else, something she wasn’t ready to name. She shifted slightly, trying to ease the sudden tension that had built up between them. “You’re not uncomfortable, are you?” she asked, her voice light, teasing. Henry paused for a moment before answering, his thumb slowly brushing across the top of her foot. "No," he said quietly, his voice low. "Just... not used to this." Eile’s heart skipped a beat at his words. It felt like a confession, a soft admission of something more than casual friendship. But before she could overthink it, she forced a smile, trying to keep things light. “Me neither,” she said, but even as the words left her lips, she wondered if either of them believed it. The movie continued to play, its plot barely registering in the back of her mind. The tension between them settled into something that neither of them dared address. Henry’s hand remained on her feet, his fingers now moving slowly, tracing patterns that made Eile’s breath hitch despite herself. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that—his hand on her feet, her body angled comfortably on the couch, the space between them shrinking in the quiet way that only moments like these could. Then, without a word, Henry shifted. He gently pulled her feet closer to him, the movement slow and deliberate. Eile squeaked softly in surprise, the sudden change in position catching her off guard. For a brief moment, she was aware of how close they were, how her feet were now resting firmly on his lap, inches away from his chest. Her heart fluttered, and she could feel the warmth of his skin against her feet. Henry’s gaze flickered to her for just a second, and in that instant, she caught the shift in his eyes—a brief darkening, something unreadable passing through them. It was like he was weighing something, deciding whether to push further into this space between them or hold back. But just as quickly as the look appeared, he looked back at the TV, his expression smoothing into something neutral. Eile didn’t know how to read the moment, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Instead, she did what came naturally—she focused on the TV, letting the soft glow of the screen wash over them both, the sounds of the movie filling the space between them. The tension hung in the air, thick but unspoken. Neither of them addressed it. Neither of them needed to. They simply stayed there, Eile’s feet resting in Henry’s lap, the movie playing on in the background, and the quiet, unspoken understanding between them growing stronger with every passing second. For that moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything. They just let the night unfold, knowing, in some deep part of themselves, that things had shifted. But neither of them were ready to admit it yet. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 14 Twenty minutes later, Henry texted. Henry: I’m here. Eile looked at her phone blankly for a minute before slowly getting up and going to meet him downstairs.  Henry’s car rolled to a stop, engine humming like it didn’t want to disturb her. He didn’t honk. Just got out and opened the passenger side like she was made of something delicate and breakable. She stood slowly and slid into the seat without a word. He closed the door after her. When he got back in, he didn’t start the car right away. Just looked at her gently, hands still on the steering wheel. The car hummed quietly between them as Henry’s eyes kept flicking back to her. She could feel him studying her, like he was trying to measure the space between her quiet and the rest of her. It made her uncomfortable and comforting all at once. "So... wanna talk about what made you sad?" Henry asked, his voice careful. Eile paused. She wanted to brush it off, to tell him it was nothing. But something about the way he asked, something about how gently he was approaching it, made her hesitate. Her gaze flickered to her lap. For a moment, she thought about just letting it go. But then, as her fingers absently twisted the fabric of her sleeve, the words slipped out before she could stop them. "Ric and Bailey... they’ve been saying stuff to me." Henry raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "Stuff?" Eile nodded, feeling the weight of the words before she even said them. "Bailey... she’s worried about you and me." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "And Ric... Ric said I was being 'ignorant' for not seeing how messy this could get." Henry’s grip tightened on the wheel, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yeah... Bailey talked to me, too," he muttered, his brows furrowing in irritation. "It was... annoying... to say the least. She’s always got something to say, doesn't she?" Eile blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected him to react this way. "Really? You talked to her?" "Yeah," he said, voice dripping with exasperation. "She thinks she's the relationship expert of the group. And Ric?" He scoffed. "I never liked him anyway. Always feels like he’s trying to play this role of ‘the wise one,’ like he’s got all the answers." Eile glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile at the unexpected fire in his voice. He wasn’t just annoyed—he was riled up, ranting now like he couldn’t stop. "It’s kind of funny, you know," she said, her amusement breaking through. "I always thought everyone liked everyone in the program." “Not really,” Henry said, shaking his head as if the whole situation was too ridiculous to take seriously. “Bailey’s nosy. Ric’s smug. It’s not like I’m gonna sit here and let them tell me what I can and can’t do with my time." Eile stared at him in slight disbelief. She hadn’t seen this side of him before—Henry, always so relaxed and easygoing, getting genuinely worked up over something. It was strange to hear him so annoyed by people she thought were the pillars of their little group. "Really?" she asked. "I thought everyone got along." Henry gave her a sideways look, then shrugged. "The thing is, people get weird when they think they know what’s best for everyone else. Especially when they think they know how other people feel. Like... people see us hanging out, and suddenly, they’ve got us all figured out. It’s annoying." She was quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in. Then she felt a strange relief wash over her—maybe because it wasn’t just her feeling confused by it all. Maybe because Henry seemed just as frustrated by their assumptions. "Well," she said slowly, "I guess you can’t always avoid the nosy people." She smiled at him again. "But I didn’t think you were the type to let it bother you." Henry glanced at her, his irritation softening into a more mischievous grin. "I’m not. But I don’t like people poking into things they have no business in. You’re my friend, Eile. You’re allowed to make your own decisions about who you hang out with. And who you don’t." Eile’s heart skipped, surprised by the protectiveness in his tone. But before she could say anything else, he suddenly snapped his fingers, as if he’d just remembered something. "You know what? Screw this," he said, leaning forward with a smirk. "Let’s go to the movies. Forget about them for a while." She blinked. "What? Now?" "Yeah. You’re still coming with me. We’re watching something stupid, eating popcorn, and not worrying about anything else." He threw her a playful look. "Besides, you need a break. From everything." She paused, then nodded. "Fine. What’s playing?" He shrugged nonchalantly, tapping the wheel. "Doesn’t matter. We’re going for the popcorn, not the plot." Eile chuckled, a real laugh this time, and felt the tightness in her chest loosen just a bit. "Alright, alright. As long as it’s not a rom-com, I’ll go." Henry grinned. "Deal. No rom-coms. Maybe a sci-fi with bad CGI. I’ll let you choose if you want." She rolled her eyes at his theatrics but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. As they drove toward the theater, she realized she didn’t feel so heavy anymore. His rant, his warmth—it had chipped away at the dull ache in her chest. As they got their tickets and settled into the dark theater, Eile sat back in her seat. The cool air from the theater’s AC brushed her skin, the dim lighting cast soft shadows over the rows of people around them. The movie was just starting, some chaotic action scene with explosions and bad CGI, but none of it mattered. It was all background noise, a blur of color and sound. What mattered was that she didn’t have to think for once. She didn’t have to analyze every little thing. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she felt a strange, light calm in her chest. The tightness—one that had been there since her conversation with Ric, the one that followed her through every day like an unwanted guest—was gone. It wasn’t fully gone, not yet, but it was fading. Henry sat beside her, his presence easy and effortless. His foot nudged hers under the seat, a small gesture that somehow felt grounding. Every so often, he would glance at her, his eyes soft, as if checking if she was alright. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. She was here, present, right next to him. And for once, that was enough. No overthinking. No worries about what Ric or Bailey thought. No concern over what would happen next with Henry, whether they were stepping into dangerous territory with their friendship. None of it. She stopped thinking altogether, a rare freedom she hadn’t realized she needed. Eile curled up in her seat, hugging her knees to her chest like a kitten finding comfort in the warmth of its own body. She let herself breathe without the pressure of everything else. The world outside the theater didn’t exist. It was just her and Henry, and the flickering screen. She glanced at him, catching him still looking at her, that mischievous glint in his eyes. She smiled weakly, and in that moment, she knew—she didn’t have to say anything. She didn’t have to explain herself. He wasn’t expecting anything from her, not now. Not here. For the first time, she let herself just be . It wasn’t about the movie or the popcorn or even the conversations they might have had. It was the quiet that filled the space between them, the way his presence made her feel lighter. Henry was just... there. And for once, that was enough. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she relaxed further into the seat, the sound of the movie becoming a distant hum. The weight in her chest didn’t vanish entirely, but with Henry beside her, it didn’t seem so heavy anymore. And that was enough for now. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 13 Eile’s days blended into each other like overexposed film reels—bright moments washed into white noise. Between study sessions, cramped van rides, and spontaneous grocery runs that turned into golden-hour shoots, life took on a hazy rhythm. She laughed with the girls. She filmed with Henry. They all piled into booths at roadside diners and acted like they belonged there. Henry always flirted—but quietly. In the way his eyes lingered on her face when she was talking to someone else. In the way he always made sure she had the front seat. In the way he never once failed to say, “You look good today,” even if she was in baggy sweats and hadn’t brushed her hair. She didn’t think much of it. That was just Henry, she told herself. That was just his way. He flirted because it was how he spoke—like another language. She didn’t take it personally. Not until lately. Not until the way he looked at her started to feel like it meant something. But she brushed it off. That was just Henry. It didn’t mean anything. Then Ric’s voice cut through her autopilot like glass. It happened one sleepy Tuesday before class, during that soft hum of chatter and half-hearted yawns. Eile had mentioned their weekend trip in passing—something about the lake, the footage they got, the gas station with the good donuts. Bailey leaned in, elbows on the table. “You’ve been going out with Henry a lot lately.” “Yeah,” Eile shrugged. “He doesn’t really hang out with anyone else. I think he’s kinda lonely, y’know? I don’t mind being there for him. It’s harmless.” “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Ric said, tone calm but direct, “but you’re kind of ignorant.” The air thinned. Eile blinked. “Sorry—what?” Ric didn’t flinch. “I know you mean well. But sometimes meaning well isn’t enough. You mistake someone’s loneliness as a reason to stay close… and that can get messy. Might be helpful to work on that.” He didn’t say it cruelly. No judgment in his tone. Just something solid and cold, like stepping barefoot onto tile. It wasn’t even a confrontation—it was a realization, dropped in her lap like a stone. She laughed, small and forced. “Okay. Well. That was blunt.” But Ric had already gone back to highlighting something in his book. Bailey stayed quiet, biting her lip like she’d heard it before. Eile smiled, nodded, and pretended to move on. But the words followed her like shadows—quiet, insistent, cold. She barely heard the lecture. Everything was static. Her mind kept looping: Ignorant.Messy.Work on it. It wasn’t the insult that got to her. It was that maybe—just maybe—he was right. And Bailey? She knew it too. Because halfway through the class, she slipped out and found Henry. They stood just outside the building, tucked behind a vending machine humming with old energy. “I need to say something,” Bailey started. “About Eile.” Henry cocked his head. “What about her?” Bailey crossed her arms. “You and Eile are…close. If you’re not interested in her, then you guys should set boundaries and not be so close. I’m saying this as a friend to both of you. It won’t end well.” Henry’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped for a second, then flicked up again, sharper now, like he was deciding whether or not to defend himself. “I wasn’t trying to mess with her.” “I’m not saying you were,” Bailey replied. “I’m saying you are. Whether you mean to or not.” After class, Eile checked her phone.Henry: Hey, gonna skip today. Hope you're good tho. No explanation. Just silence dressed as courtesy. She stared at the message blankly. Bailey caught her on the way out. “Hey,” she said gently. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” “I won’t,” Eile murmured. “I know I’m blunt sometimes,” Bailey continued, “but I’ve been right before. You deserve clarity, not confusion. This won’t end well if it keeps going like this.” Eile smiled. “Thanks,” she said. It sounded like goodbye. The drive home was a blur of streetlights and stop signs, her vision clouded by tears she kept trying to blink away. But they came anyway—hot, messy, and merciless. Her breath hitched as she gripped the wheel tightly, the familiar route home warping under the weight of her spiraling thoughts. Her throat burned. Her chest ached. The cries she kept at bay finally came through. Her sobs came in waves. Ugly, raw ones—the kind that made her whole body tense, the kind that left her gasping for air.It felt like something inside her was cracking open. Like grief wasn’t just an emotion, but a muscle—pulled too tight and finally tearing. By the time she pulled into the lot beneath her apartment, her hands were trembling. She turned the car off but didn’t move. Just sat there, the cries turned to agonizing sobs, only to be heard by her. Her phone lit up. Henry. She let it ring once. Twice. Then she answered, voice barely above a whisper. “Eile?” His tone sharpened. “Are you okay?” She didn’t respond right away. A quiet sniffle gave her away. “Are you crying?” he asked, softer now. “Where are you?” “In my car,” she managed. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “You’re okay,” he said quickly. “You’re okay, Eile. Listen, get dressed. I’m picking you up. You need to get out of your head for a bit.” She shook her head even though he couldn’t see. “I’m fine.” “I know,” he said gently. “But I’m not asking. Just throw something on. I’ll be there soon.” She hesitated. She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to talk. But she also didn’t want to sit in the dark with her thoughts clawing at her ribs. “…Okay,” she said finally, voice hoarse. “All right. I’m on my way.” The call ended. She sat there a second longer, then forced herself out of the car. Upstairs, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and avoided the mirror. She didn’t want to see what was left of her. Didn’t want to confront the red eyes and the cracked veneer. But she pulled on a sweater. Not for Henry—for herself. Just enough softness to hold herself together. She didn’t smile. She didn’t pretend. But Bailey’s voice lingered in the back of her mind. This won’t end well if it keeps going like this. Then she lay on her bed, limbs heavy, thoughts loud.She just waited—tired, swollen, and still hurting—but willing, for now, to let someone else take the wheel. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 12 - In the Moment A couple of days after the beach, Eile found herself sprawled out on the floor at Angela’s place, a half-empty can of soda in hand, her shoes kicked off by the door. The girls were gathered around—Angela perched on the arm of a chair, Jane cross-legged across from Eile—all of them riding that post-class exhaustion high where everything felt a little more amusing than it should’ve been. “So,” Jane said, dragging the word out like she was preparing for something scandalous, “are you and Henry dating yet, or what?” Eile nearly choked on her soda. “What? No! God, no.” Angela raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Okay, maybe not dating dating. But something is definitely going on.” “Yeah,” Jane added, leaning in. “People don’t just hold each other during sunsets on the beach unless they’re in a movie. Or a relationship.” Eile groaned, tugging a throw pillow over her face. “We were cold! And it was a long day! He’s just… comforting. That’s all. Plus, that was platonic.” Angela and Jane exchanged the look again—that smug, “you’re in denial but we’ll let you have this” glance that had become a little too familiar. Eile pouts as she looks at them. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, she says, “So, I was looking at how many classes I have left and it seems that I should be graduating this time next year. Do you think we’ll all graduate together?” Angela ponders it for a minute before shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m a month ahead of you guys, so I should graduate a month before you guys.” Jane is looking at her own schedule on her phone. “I seem to be graduating around this time next year, too. So we should be graduating together!” Eile smiles wide. “Really? Awesome!” Eile wondered if Henry would graduate with them, too. He is in the same program as them, after all. She reached for her phone on the floor. She finds Henry’s name in her messages. Before she could second-guess herself, she tapped and typed: Hey! I was just talking about graduation stuff with the girls last night—Jane and I realized we have the same date next year. I know we’re all in the same program, so I was wondering… do you have the same one too? She stared at the message for a second. It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t even that casual. But it was her reaching out. And that felt… weirdly big. Almost immediately, the typing bubbles appeared. I think mine is around April. Angela’s should be a month ahead of us, right? Eile was surprised he knew that. Though she supposed that they seemed to all know each other longer, so it made sense. “Are you guys still hanging out? Wanna grab dinner?” She smiled before she could stop herself, quickly typing back. “Yup. Hanging out at Angela’s. You can bring food and come hang out here with us!” “On it.” She dropped her phone back onto the ground. “Henry’s picking up food. He’s coming over.” She paused before asking, “You guys don’t mind, right?” “Wow,” Jane said with a knowing smirk. “Boy’s practically a golden retriever.” Angela snorted and rolled her eyes. “No, it’s fine.” She nudges Jane. Eile narrows her eyes at Jane. “Shut up. We’re all friends.” The thought of her and Henry being anything more filled her with anxiety. Despite the small moments that made her question their friendship, she didn’t want their relationship to change. The prospect of anything more than friendship scared her. When Henry showed up, arms full of takeout bags, the room immediately filled with the scent of spice and soy sauce and comfort food. The girls cheered like he was a celebrity, and he played along, grinning and bowing exaggeratedly as he handed out the food. They all settled around the living room—plastic containers open, drinks in hand, laughter bouncing off the walls. It was easy. Warm. Henry slid into the spot beside Eile without even asking, their knees brushing every so often as they dug into the food and swapped stories about their professors’ odd habits. At some point, Angela pulled out a bottle of wine, and the energy shifted. Not in a heavy way—just looser, more playful. They were giggling at nothing, all slightly flushed, when Eile leaned back against the couch and declared, “I can’t whistle.” Everyone turned to her. Henry blinked. “Wait. Really?” “I’ve tried,” Eile said, gesturing vaguely with her cup. “It’s just air. Like—” She demonstrated, a breathy, pathetic puff of wind escaping her lips. “See? That’s it.” “You just need to purse your lips and blow,” Henry said, clearly trying not to laugh. “I am blowing!” “Here, let me show you.” He leaned in, whistling effortlessly. “Now try again.” Eile straightened, brow furrowed in concentration, and tried once more. Pppppffffft. Everyone burst into laughter. “Okay, that was worse,” Jane cackled. Henry grinned. “Try again, but loosen your lips a little.” Eile shot him a playful glare. “If you make that sound dirty, I swear—” He raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “Hey, you said it, not me.” She hit his shoulder gently. “Hey!” “Okay, okay. Here, try this.” He handed Eile an empty wine bottle. “Blow on the top of the bottle. It’ll help.” Eile gave him a skeptical look. She glanced between the bottle and him. Doesn’t seem like it’ll help, but it’s worth a try. She blew into the bottle. Pppppffffft. She pouted as she looked at the bottle. The room erupted into laughter once again. Pppppffffft. “Hey, stop laughing! It’s not working.” Eile whined. She put her hands on her waist as she tried to act serious. After a couple of seconds, she let go of the act and laughed. They went back and forth like that—her trying, failing, laughing until her cheeks hurt, him patiently instructing her like he was training a puppy. Angela and Jane sat back, watching them quietly. There was something soft in the way Henry looked at Eile, and something even softer in how Eile had finally let herself fall into the moment, no longer analyzing or holding herself back. “She really doesn’t see it,” Jane murmured, voice low enough so Eile wouldn’t hear. Angela shook her head, a faint smile on her face. “Nope.” Jane softly laughed. “Idiot.” Jane exchanged another glance with Angela, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not fooling anyone, you know.” Angela smirked. “Yeah, but she’s oblivious. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Eile didn’t feel the romantic spark yet. She liked Henry—he was easy to be around, and he made her feel good about herself. But right now, he was just Henry—fun, funny Henry. She liked that he was comfortable around her, and she was comfortable with him, too. It felt natural like they’d known each other forever. But the idea of it becoming something more? That idea still felt like an unfamiliar road she wasn’t ready to travel. The night wore on, the laughter eventually giving way to drowsy contentment. Eile had leaned into Henry’s shoulder at some point, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she caught herself. She didn’t feel like she was floating anymore. She felt… anchored. Not just to him, but to the moment. To the group. To herself. No pretending. No overthinking. Just being. And for once, that was enough. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 11 - Just Friends, Right? The sun hung low in the sky as Eile stood at the edge of the campus quad, watching Henry and the girls laughing in their usual circle. It had become a rhythm—one Eile was slowly getting used to. The familiar feeling of being on the outside, yet somehow still within reach, had softened over the weeks. Lately, it wasn’t as painful to watch them—her friends, her new family—interacting with a casual warmth that made Eile feel like an honorary member, even though she still held back in ways they probably didn’t notice. Henry, in particular, had been a puzzle. From the very beginning, he had this easy charm about him. The kind that didn’t need to try too hard. But lately, when they talked, there was something else—something deeper. She noticed it in the way his smile lingered a little longer when their eyes met, or how his jokes seemed to have an edge to them that wasn’t just about making people laugh. And when he leaned in to speak a little softer or reached across the table for something, his hand would brush hers just slightly, like it was intentional, even though it didn’t seem like it. The girls noticed, too. Angela and Jane kept exchanging knowing glances, nudging Eile with comments that were half-joking, half-serious. “Henry’s got his eye on you,” Jane said one afternoon, her eyes glinting mischievously. Eile had just laughed it off. “Yeah, right. We’re just friends.” Angela shrugged, her lips curling into a small smile. “Sure, if you want to think that.” Jane gave Eile a deadpanned look. “There’s no way he sees you that way. You guys flirt way too much.” Eile flushed in embarrassment. A smile snuck onto her face without her realizing it. “No way! We don’t flirt. Plus, it’d be weird if anything were to happen between us. We’re all friends.” Angela and Jane shared a look and smiled. “Uh huh, sure. Whatever you say,” Angela says with a teasing smile.  Eile dismissed their teasing with a shake of her head. She wasn’t blind to the attention, but she didn’t think it was anything more than friendly. Besides, there were more pressing things to focus on—like her projects and her overwhelming desire to just… fit in. To not feel like she was just pretending to belong. She had enough to figure out without analyzing every word Henry said or trying to dissect the meaning behind every glance. But deep down, there was a shift. She wasn’t sure what it was or when it had happened. Henry wasn’t just the guy with an easy laugh anymore. He was starting to show sides of himself that she hadn’t expected. Like that day they’d spent talking about loneliness. They had been sitting at a table in the library, the afternoon sun beginning to sink into the horizon. It was just the two of them. Eile had been quiet, watching the people around them. Henry, out of nowhere, had said, “You ever feel like you’re surrounded by people but still feel completely alone?” Eile had turned to him, surprised. That came out of nowhere. “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt alone  exactly,” she said slowly, unsure of where this was going. “But sometimes, it’s like I’m on the outside looking in. Like I don’t belong. I’m just… kind of floating.” Henry had nodded, his gaze distant as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I get that. Even with a full group of friends, it can feel like no one really sees the real you. Everyone’s got their own thing, their own circles. And sometimes, you’re just… left out in the cold.” Eile’s heart tightened. She understood that feeling all too well. She had always been a little disconnected from people, never fully able to crack into a group the way others seemed to do effortlessly. And here was Henry, saying the same thing. Without thinking, she placed a hand on his arm, a simple gesture of understanding. “I get it,” she said softly. “I really do. But, hey, I’m here. If you ever need to talk. I’ll listen.” Henry looked at her then, his expression softening. “Thanks, Eile. It means more than you know.” The next week, as the days blended into one another, Eile found herself texting Henry more often, just small things—questions about class, comments about the weather. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep a conversation going, to bridge that gap that had once felt so insurmountable. Then came the invitation. “Hey,” Henry had texted one evening. “I’m heading out to the beach to film a short video for class. We can spend time at the beach after filming. Want to come?” Eile smiled. She had never been to a beach. Her body was buzzing in excitement at the thought of finally heading to the beach. Since moving, it’s been on her list of things to experience. “Sure! Sounds like fun. Should I text the girls and ask if they want to come, too?” Henry looks at her for a second before averting his gaze to look out the window. He scratches the back of his head before saying, “Sure. We can make it a group thing.” Eile giggles to herself. That would be so much fun. It’d be better to go with a group. It’d probably be awkward if it were just the two of them. She quickly mentioned it to the girls, thinking they’d all be in. They’d had so many spontaneous hangouts before, why wouldn’t they join? But to her surprise, they all had other plans, leaving her standing there with just Henry’s invitation to go solo.  She shrugged it off. It made her a little nervous to be going on a trip with him alone, but she didn’t want to back out now that she agreed. Henry watched as Eile was texting the girls. Her face turned anxious. “Hey, if you’re not comfortable going with just us, you don’t have to. We can all go together another time.” Eile looked up at him, quickly surprised to see his eyes already on her. She felt bad. She didn’t want to make it seem that he was the one to make her feel bad, plus she had already agreed to go with him. She avoided eye contact with him. “No, I’ll go. I don’t mind.” Lie. He smiled at her. “Great.” … When they met up the next morning, the energy between them was easy. There was no tension, no awkwardness—just two friends, heading off on an adventure. The drive out of town was filled with lighthearted conversation, music, and the occasional laugh. Eile felt her usual unease slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of calm. They spent the day filming along the beach, laughing at their attempts to capture the perfect shots and sharing stories of their childhoods. It was fun, and for the first time in a long time, Eile felt like she could just be —no masks, no pretending, just two people enjoying each other’s company. Henry would occasionally talk to other people on the beach. Socializing with other people seemed as easy as breathing. Eile would hang back and watch him. It was interesting to watch.  As the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, Henry suggested they stop by a quiet spot by the water to film the sunset. The colors in the sky were breathtaking, streaks of orange and pink reflecting on the water’s surface. They stood side by side, cameras in hand, as the world around them seemed to slow. Then, without a word, Henry gently put his arms around her, holding her against the rails near the water. Eile froze for a moment, heart racing in her chest, unsure of how to react. But then, something within her shifted. The familiar feeling of emptiness that had been with her for so long seemed to quiet in the presence of his touch. There was something comforting about it—something safe. For a brief moment, she let herself lean into him, her head resting against his chest as they both stared out at the endless horizon. It felt right. It felt safe . His chin rested on top of her head. They stayed there, just watching the sunset, the silence between them speaking louder than words ever could. When the last rays of sunlight faded, Henry started to pack up his camera. “I’m glad we did this. It’s been nice. Do you wanna grab dinner on the way back?” Eile smiled back, feeling a warmth she hadn’t realized she’d been searching for. “Yeah, sounds good.”  Later, they had dinner at a small seaside diner, where the conversation was light and easy—like everything else had been that day. By the time they drove back, Eile was no longer floating in the same empty space she had been before. There was a weight to her chest now, but it wasn’t one of heaviness. It was the kind of weight that felt right  like she was grounded again. When he dropped her off at her apartment, he lingered by the car, looking at her with a mix of hesitation and uncertainty. “Thanks for today, Eile,” he said softly. “We should do this again sometime.” She smiled, her heart doing an unexpected flip. “Anytime.” As she walked inside, the door closing softly behind her, Eile stood there for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts she hadn’t expected to have. Could there be something there? Between them? Something more than just friendship? As she got ready for bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The warmth of his arm around her, the quiet connection they had shared. Maybe this was the beginning of something—something she hadn’t seen coming, but now, she wasn’t sure she could ignore. What would it mean for them? What could it become? And as sleep pulled her into its embrace, those questions lingered, unanswered but waiting for the next step. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 10 - A Flicker of Something Else Eile had come a long way since her first days at university. The isolation that once wrapped around her like fog had begun to lift, replaced by something warmer—a quiet belonging. Her circle of friends understood her silences. They didn’t ask her to be more than she was. And though the feeling of being out of place never fully disappeared, she no longer felt like a stranger in her own story. Yet, despite everything, there was still a flicker of something missing—an unspoken longing for something more. It wasn’t until Valentine’s Day that she was reminded of the feeling. It was a quiet kind of day, one she had never particularly celebrated but often found herself scrolling through messages, sending out “Happy Valentine’s Day”  texts to her friends—a small gesture to keep up with the world. She was starting to branch out a bit, learning to text people first, something that had once felt intimidating but was now becoming a habit. One text, though, was different. “Happy Valentine’s Day! Appreciate the text. I actually looked up the history of today—it’s kind of wild. Every holiday has its origin, but these days it just feels like marketing, right? But hey, that’s coming from someone who’s been single for three years, hahaha.” It was from Henry, a guy from her classes. He had first caught her attention shortly after she met the girls. He was loud and had a confident presence, which stood in sharp contrast to her quiet demeanor. When she first saw him and heard him speak, she had been reminded of the jocks from high school—outspoken, smart, into sports, and always the center of attention. He was the kind of guy who seemed ready to put himself out there without a second thought. Eile laughed to herself. Yeah, she understood what it felt like to be single—maybe a little too well. She saw the three dots on the screen before he replied again. “You’re right. Life is just getting fun, lol. So can you explain more to me about what you were saying in class the other day? I would love to hear more about it. Maybe see some of your designs.” Eile tilted her head, eyes lingering on the screen. It felt strange—disorienting even—that someone had actually listened. Not just heard her voice in the air, but remembered it. Wanted more of it. That kind of attention wasn’t something she was used to. She texted him back. “Yeah, I’m into graphic design. My stuff isn’t any good, though.” She wasn’t originally into graphic design, but she didn’t want to tell anyone that she was into writing and had once dreamed of being a copywriter. She was afraid that she really wouldn’t be taken seriously—that people would say she didn’t belong. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Seriously. Forget what anyone else thinks. Your opinion’s the one that matters—the rest is just feedback and growth. How about you send me some stuff? I would love to see it.” She smiled slightly. She went to her gallery and looked through her recent work. After a moment of hesitation, she sent a few pieces over. Her heart stuttered as the three dots blinked, disappeared, then returned—like he was unsure how to phrase whatever was coming next. “Are you kidding me?!?! These are awesome! I love the color coordination.” Her smile stretched wider. Relief flooded through her like sunlight through a crack. “Thank you.” “If you wanted, I would love to meet somewhere today! Just talk and hang.” She found herself intrigued. This would be the first time they actually spent time together—her first time spending time with a guy one-on-one at all. That thought alone sent a ripple of nerves through her. But she wasn’t put off by the idea. It wasn’t like she had plans anyway. She stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered. This wasn’t like her. But something in his message—something warm and easy—made her want to say yes. “Sure, I’d love to.” “Let me ask, what are you in the mood for? Fancy, chill, fast food?” She thought for a moment. “Let’s do something chill. You can choose the food. I don’t have a preference right now.” “Okay, how’s this? I can pick you up at your place. We can walk around outside after.” “Sure.” “I’ll be there soon.” She took a breath, nerves dancing in her chest, and stood to get ready. … Henry arrived about thirty minutes later. He greeted her with a smile that was warm and easy. “So, have any idea where we’re going?” Eile asked, raising a brow at him. His smile turned mischievous. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll just come across something.” Eile squinted at him, unimpressed. “That’s not an answer.” Henry chuckled softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. His gaze drifted down briefly. She wore jeans and a flowy top, her hair tied into two loose braids. They soon arrived downtown. As they wandered through the streets, passing cozy shops and restaurants, Eile paused in front of a small bistro, drawn in by the vibrant flowers blooming in pots beneath the windows. Henry noticed. Without a word, he gently guided her inside. The scent of fresh herbs and baking bread greeted them as they stepped in, soft music spilling from hidden speakers. Eile looked up at him in slight confusion. “Hi, can we get a table for two?” Henry asked the host. “Sure. Inside or outside?” she asked, grabbing two menus. “Outside, please,” he replied. The host smiled and led them to a small table on the patio. The bistro was a cozy yet slightly upscale spot, the perfect blend of casual and formal. Henry pulled out her chair before settling across from her. The morning started with small talk and casual conversation—how their weeks were going, why they chose their majors, their dreams for the future. It was easy. Uncomplicated. And when they laughed, it wasn’t polite—it was real. Eile laughed loud and unfiltered, the kind that tugged at the corners of her eyes and surprised her with its freedom. For the first time in a long while, she laughed until tears welled. Her smile stretched wide, and so did his. She wondered if she was smiling too much, or talking too little. But every time she looked up, he was still smiling—steady, unrushed, like he wasn’t expecting her to be anyone else. “I’m glad we did this,” Henry said as they sipped their drinks, the quiet hum of the bistro wrapping around them like a blanket. A chill in the wind made Eile tug her jacket closer. She looked down for a second, then back up. “Yeah, I’m glad we did this too.” Later, they continued walking around before stopping at a nearby coffee shop. The warmth of the drinks contrasted against the cool, crisp air. Around them, couples laughed and talked, but Eile felt oddly untouched by it all—content in the moment. “So,” Eile said, lifting a brow with a teasing grin, “even though this is just a super casual, no-pressure, definitely-not-a-date hangout… still not a fan of Valentine’s Day?” Henry smirked, leaning back slightly. “Oh, ‘I guess today wasn’t so bad,’ ” he said with an exaggerated sigh, mimicking himself like he was quoting a tragic poem. Eile laughed, eyes crinkling. “Hahaha, sure.” He bumped her shoulder gently. She nudged him back without thinking. “Okay, okay,” he said, rising to his feet and brushing his hands together. “We should get some work done before we lose all motivation. C’mon. Library time.” He grabbed her wrist and led her toward the car. Eile laughed and followed. Work felt like the last thing on her mind, but beside him, even that felt easier. They spent the afternoon at the library, working side by side. Eile was surprised at how natural it felt—not having to fill every silence, not needing to be impressive. It was just… peaceful. By the time the sun dipped low, they were eating sushi at a place Henry swore by. They sat across from each other, talking about everything and nothing, letting the day wind down around them. When it was over, Henry drove her home. He didn’t rush the goodbye. “I had a good time today,” he said, smile soft. “Thank you for making my Valentine’s Day special.” “Me too,” she replied, just as softly, her heart a little heavier than usual—as if something inside her had quietly shifted. As she walked inside, Eile considered texting him. Good night.   Let’s do this again.  Something simple. But she didn’t. The day had been unexpectedly warm. Even wonderful. There was a glow in her chest that lingered—but also a quiet uncertainty. Something had shifted. It wasn’t just about him. It was about being seen—really seen—for the first time in a long time. And that scared her more than she wanted to admit. It was too early to call it anything—too soon for labels or meaning—but she could feel the current pulling her forward. Quiet, steady, undeniable. A direction she hadn’t chosen, but one she couldn’t seem to resist. Maybe it was the way Henry saw her—the way he believed in her work without needing an explanation. Or maybe it was just the quiet safety of being beside someone who didn’t expect her to be louder, bolder, more. Whatever it was, it was more than a flicker. And it scared her, because she could feel it catching. It was something more. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready for. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 9 - The Presentation By now, the girls had become stitched into the rhythm of Eile’s week—an expected warmth, like sunlight on tile floors in the morning. Maya sent her TikToks between lectures. Jane had a habit of braiding little pieces of Eile’s hair when she was zoning out in the common room. Bailey had given her a nickname she refused to explain. It was strange, in a good way. Having people. Being one of the girls . Classes weren’t awful anymore. Some even felt manageable. But today wasn’t one of those days. Today was the presentation. Eile had woken up with her stomach in knots and the urge to fake an illness so strong she actually typed out a draft email to her professor— Hi, I have a rare and sudden case of please-don’t-make-me-speak-in-front-of-people. She didn’t send it. Instead, she showed up. The classroom was already half full when she walked in, clutching her USB like it held the nuclear codes. Inside: her PowerPoint. Nine slides. Clean. Minimal. Each one was carefully put together, each choice of font or color agonized over for days. “Today’s the day,” Maya said as Eile sat beside her. “Don’t remind me.” “You’ll be fine,” Angela added from the next row up, glancing back. “Just imagine everyone naked or whatever that tip is.” “I’d rather imagine myself unconscious. I swear that I will crawl in a hole and die.” Bailey snorted. “Mood.” “No, it would be better if the earth opened up now and swallowed me whole,” Eile said as she nervously tapped her fingers on the desk.  The professor called for attention. The first presenter walked up, and the lights dimmed. Eile tried to focus on their slides, but her thoughts were a blur of what if I forget my words, what if the slides don’t load, what if I trip walking up there, what if they hate it, what if I look stupid. When her name was called, her heart knocked hard against her ribs. She stood. Walked up slowly. Slid her USB into the port as if it might burn her. The file loaded. Her first slide appeared on the projector: her name, the title of her project, and a soft gradient in the background. Her aesthetic. Her design. Her. She clicked the remote to slide two and started to speak. Nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. Her voice cracked. Too soft, too shaky. Her hand rose instinctively, shielding part of her face as she spoke. Slide by slide, she clicked forward. Describing her process, her inspiration, and the iterations she went through. The way her project reflected her belief in quietness as a strength, in subtle details holding the loudest meaning. It was all in there—in the muted colors, the clean spacing, the deliberate use of white space. Her voice never got loud. Her eyes never lifted from the ground. She hated how small she felt. How vulnerable. When she finished, the last slide glowing behind her with a thank-you message in a soft serif font, she closed the presentation and sat back down so quickly she barely heard the polite claps. She pressed her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking. But Maya leaned over, whispering, “You did a good job. The way you explained your design—I really loved it.” Jane gave her a look that said you survived  and offered a quiet fist bump. Angela mouthed, “Proud,” and Bailey grinned wide enough to split her face. Eile didn’t know what to say. Her face burned in embarrassment. Her stomach churned with everything she should  have said differently. Her presentation wasn’t the best—maybe it was the worst. The slides were… okay. Clean, but not remarkable. She’d frozen. She’d read too fast. Her voice barely made it out of her mouth. But at least it was over. She sank into her seat and let herself disappear into the back-and-forth drone of the next speaker. Let the shame settle into her spine like weight. No one laughed. No one tore her apart. Still, she hated how small she felt. She tried to focus on Maya’s whisper, the kindness in it. She tried to hold onto Angela’s nod and Bailey’s grin. But in her chest, all she could think was: Next time, I’ll do better. And for now… that had to be enough. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 8 - A Surprising Good Time The little sandwich shop off campus was nothing special. Faded umbrellas, squeaky chairs, and a menu board that had definitely seen better days. But the girls made it feel like a hidden gem, a secret world tucked between lecture halls and deadlines. Eile hadn’t expected to enjoy herself—hadn’t even expected to say yes  to lunch—but now she was sitting between Bailey and Jane, laughing so hard her cheeks ached. “Okay, but —” Bailey was in the middle of a story, gesturing wildly with her sandwich in hand, “he actually asked me if Photoshop had a save  button. Like. A save  button.” Maya almost choked on her drink. “Noooo. You’re lying.” “I swear!” Bailey threw her hands up. “He said, ‘So how do you keep it from going away?’ Like it was magic. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.” Even Angela was red-faced from laughing, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “That’s tragic. That’s actually tragic.” Eile giggled behind her hand. She didn’t say much, but she didn’t have to. The group’s energy was loud enough to carry her along, like a current she didn’t mind drifting in. Every now and then, someone looped her into the conversation—Jane nudging her to comment on something, Maya asking if she liked her food, Angela grinning and saying, “You’re quiet, but your face says everything .” She shrugged, smiling. “I mean, that story kind of broke my soul a little.” More laughter. It was… fun. Genuinely fun. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Eile wasn’t thinking about who she should be or if she was doing this friendship  thing right. She just was. She just existed  with them. They lingered long after they finished eating, talking about music, their classes, professors they loved or hated, shows they were obsessed with. Maya and Jane bonded over a reality TV binge. Angela pulled up a meme that made Bailey snort. Eile even offered a show recommendation— just one —and was met with nods of approval and a “Yo, I’ve been meaning to watch that.” Somehow, the air felt easier to breathe here. Like she wasn’t walking on eggshells. Like maybe, this didn’t have to be so complicated. Later, as they stood outside the café, reluctant to split up, Bailey stretched and sighed. “Dude, we should do this again.” “Seriously,” Jane agreed. “Next time, we hit that ramen spot across from the library. I’ve been craving it for days.” Eile nodded. “I’d be down.” The words came easily. She meant them. The girls started walking in different directions, peeling off toward classes or errands. Angela gave her a dramatic wave. “Don’t be a stranger, Eile!” “Yeah,” Maya added, flashing a grin. “You’re stuck with us now.” Eile laughed, the sound light and unforced. “I guess I can live with that.” As she walked back to her dorm, alone but not lonely , there was no overthinking. No fear pressing in behind her ribs. Just a strange sort of contentment humming quietly under her skin. It wasn’t what she expected. It was better. xoxo,@auroxisia_

Chapter 7 - The Quiet Struggle The lecture ended, and she exhaled, relieved to escape another hour of sitting through a long lecture. As Eile reached for her bag, Angela leaned over with a bright smile. “Hey, let me introduce you to some more people.” Before she could protest, Angela was already waving over a small group of girls packing up their things. “This is Bailey, Maya, and Jane.” Eile recognized them from a previous class but had never spoken to them. They’d seemed more intimidating, distant—but now, up close, they were much friendlier than she had expected. Jane’s kinky hair framed her face in soft, springy coils, with some strands escaping from the loose puff she’d tied up absentmindedly. Eile remembered her, her warm, approachable smile. Jane was the first to speak, grinning. “It’s nice to meet you.” Eile hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Bailey chimed in, her voice casual. “I think I remember you. We had the last class together, right?” Bailey seemed like one of those art kids. Eile wasn’t sure why, but something about her screamed: “Barely into adulthood.” Bailey’s clothes were a mess of frayed hems and patched-up holes, like someone who had worn the same pants for far too long. Her hair was wild, blue strands cut haphazardly, giving off the vibe of someone who didn’t care but did at the same time.  Eile pretended to think about it before giving a response. What was she supposed to say?  ‘Yeah, we had the last class together, but I didn’t talk to you because I thought you were gonna be weirdos?’ “Oh, yeah. We were. It’s—uh—nice to meet y’all. I’m Eile.” Maya stepped forward. “I am glad that the last class is over, though. It was fun, but the professor was definitely strict. I swear by the end of the month, I was already ready to sleep for a week.” Maya had that effortlessly cool street style, the kind that made it look like she’d thrown something together—but with an air of confidence that probably took years to perfect. Her hair was styled just messy enough to look natural but still polished—everything about her was on purpose, yet it felt like she’d just thrown it together. She had a vibe of knowing exactly who she was. The girls all laughed and agreed with her as they recounted their experiences from the last class. Their smiles were contagious, their energy warm, and for a moment, Eile started to feel like maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they weren’t the weirdos she’d expected them to be after all. Maya turned to Eile. “So, Eile, what month are you in? We’re in our eighth month already. Same cohort.” Eile nodded. It made sense. They all seemed pretty familiar with each other—going to the same classes with the same people must do that. “I’m in my eighth month too. I—uh—just did my first six months online. I moved to be on campus last month.” Jane smiled and said, “Oh! I did that, too. Well, I didn’t take six months online, but I did take the first couple of months online before coming to campus, too.” Eile smiled back, slightly relieved. Maybe they weren’t that different after all. “We should hang out together. All of us. Since we’re going to be in the same classes until we graduate,” Maya said, her voice filled with excitement, maybe more about graduating together than the hanging out part. Angela’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! That’s a great idea!” Angela’s eyes lit up as she eagerly made plans, her voice practically bubbling over. Eile couldn’t help but flinch at the relentless enthusiasm, wondering how long this overzealous friendship would last before it fizzled out like the others. This wasn’t what she’d imagined when she first walked into class. She was hoping not to have to interact much with anyone from school unless absolutely necessary. What if they think that she doesn’t belong here, just like the professor? What if they see her work and see it’s not as good as theirs, not as… polished? It’s better to just keep to herself and stay focused only on school. She was always more of a bookworm than the artsy type, and this school was the opposite of what she had her whole life.  Eile hesitated, glancing around the room, wondering if this was another one of those situations that would fizzle out. Though, she could be overthinking it. “Uh—yeah. Sounds fun,” she said, the words coming out before she thought of rejecting outright. It wouldn’t hurt to have one outing. The idea of spending time with them didn’t seem so bad. Besides, it’s not like she had anything better to do. She’d probably just spend another day holed up in her room with her books… or try to interact with people from this school—though the latter still felt like a big leap.  Angela was starting to remind her more of a school tour guide—peppy, friendly, and way too enthusiastic about Eile’s social life. Like a character from Mean Girls . Ha. Maybe this could be a real-life version of Mean Girls. Eile could almost picture Angela as a friendlier, blonder Regina George. She’d be annoyed by her if she wasn’t somewhat intrigued by what angle she was working. Was it curiosity, or was there something else she had planned? Maybe it was sympathy. A more cynical part of her thought it could be an elaborate plan to gain her trust for something else.  She remembered how these friendships always ended—like the ones that seemed promising back in high school, only for people to lose interest when the novelty wore off. She was waiting for the inevitable letdown, for the moment when she'd be discarded like the others. But maybe, just maybe, this could be different. This time, Bailey chimed in. “You guys hungry? There’s a ton of places around campus.” There was a unanimous agreement at the thought of grabbing a bite to eat. Eile gave a wry smile, half-amused, half-wary. ‘Oh, yes. This is the start of a wonderful friendship,’ she thought, though the only thing they shared might be their degree program. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was the start of something new—or she’d end up regretting it. She wasn’t sure which was worse: being alone or being surrounded by people who felt so different from her. The girls grabbed their things and started to leave the classroom. Only time would tell. xoxo, @auroxisia_

Chapter 6 - A Room Full of Strangers A new month meant a new class. This time, it wasn’t just another lecture or a different professor—it was the first time Eile would be in a class with every student from her program. A whole new building, new faces, and a fresh wave of uncertainty. She sat in her car, fingers gripping the steering wheel, heart hammering against her ribs. Her palms were damp with sweat, and she pressed them against her jeans in an attempt to steady herself. “You’ve done this before,” she muttered to herself, resting her forehead on the wheel. “It’s just another class. Just another room full of people. You’ll be fine.” She let out a long breath and forced herself to sit up. Grabbing her bag, she squared her shoulders, opened the car door, and stepped out. Head high. Act like you belong. The building was quieter than she expected, the lighting dimmer than the others on campus. The scent of old books and dry air-conditioning filled her nose—it smelled just like the last building she had classes in, though the atmosphere felt heavier. As she made her way down the hallway, the voices from behind a closed door grew louder, the chatter a steady hum. She stopped outside the room, glancing down at her phone, then back at the room number. This was it. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Here goes nothing. She pushed the door open and was met with a wall of sound—dozens of voices overlapping, laughter ringing through the space. Unlike her previous classes, everyone was standing in clusters, already familiar with one another. Eile’s stomach tightened. Near the entrance, a small table stood against the wall. A single pen and a sign-in sheet rested on top. She quickly stepped toward it, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. As she bent over to write her name, a shadow cast over her, blocking the light. She froze. A second passed before she finished scribbling her name and cautiously looked up. A girl with warm brown hair and striking green eyes was smiling down at her. “Hi, are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Eile straightened up, tightening her grip on the strap of her bag. “Uh—yeah. Um—I—uh—just came to campus last month. This is my first time here.” The girl’s smile widened. “I’m Angela. I know how it can be coming in for the first time. Let me introduce you to some people—you can sit with me.” Before Eile could decide whether or not she wanted that, her legs moved on their own, following Angela toward a lively group standing near the middle of the room. “Hey guys, this is a new student,” Angela announced. “John, Stiles—this is… oh, I didn’t get your name.” “Uh—It’s Eile.” Both men turned toward her. One was tall and lanky, with dirty blond hair that brushed past his ears. He reminded her of the skater boys who used to linger around her high school’s bus stop, though there was a shy awkwardness about him. The other was shorter, broader, with brown eyes and brown hair. He gave off the energy of a former football player—not the star, but definitely not a benchwarmer. He carried himself with a quiet confidence. The taller one scratched the back of his head. “Uh, hi. I’m Stiles. Nice to meet you.” His grin was crooked, awkward, yet oddly fitting. The other nodded. “John.” Eile nodded back, offering a small, hesitant smile. “Nice to meet y’all.” Angela and Stiles launched into an animated conversation about their first days in the program, laughing as they reminisced about how overwhelming it had felt. Their voices faded into the background as Eile focused on steadying her nerves. John stood slightly to the side, listening more than speaking. His presence was quieter, less demanding. Eile appreciated that. Before long, the professor entered, immediately commanding attention. “Welcome back, everyone! Nice to see you all again. You know the drill—let’s start by introducing our new students.” Eile’s stomach lurched. Oh no. Her hands clenched into fists beneath the desk. One by one, the new students stood, introducing themselves and their reasons for choosing the program. With each passing introduction, the number of people left dwindled. Then it was her turn. Every eye turned to her. The room felt unbearably small. Angela gave her an encouraging thumbs-up. Eile swallowed, gripping the back of her chair as she stood. “I—um—I—My name is Eile. I—uh—chose media communications because I—uh—I like media, and I’m not sure what direction I want to go in yet, but I was hoping that I’ll figure that out while I’m here.” Her voice wavered. Her hands trembled slightly. The professor nodded before moving on. It was over. As he launched into his lecture, Eile struggled to focus. The nerves still hummed through her veins. Angela leaned over and nudged her. “Good job.” Eile let out a shaky breath, managing a small, crooked smile. Not so bad, she thought. But still terrifying. xoxo, @auroxisia_