Autumn was chewing on the leaves along the sidewalks, leaving golden traces that fell before they could be stepped on. The streets around Elmsworth campus looked somber that day, even though the sun had briefly appeared—only to say an early goodbye.
Aerish walked slowly down the faculty hallway, her steps barely audible, like someone trying to be present without leaving a mark. Her fingers held a sheet of unwritten poetry—not a class assignment, not lecture notes, just a piece of verse she wanted to slip quietly between the pages of Kael's book… but as always, the intent faltered before the chance ever came.
Earlier in the library, she had seen Kael sitting alone. Light from the high window split his hair into two shades: shadow and gold. He looked like he was taking notes—perhaps for their essay on contemporary poetry. Aerish stood for a long while behind the shelves, watching from a pitiful distance.
One step forward—she could've spoken. One small sentence—and everything might've changed. But what came out was silence. And that step, like a chapter in her life, once again never arrived.
Upstairs in the second-floor reading room, Eliah Rowan was reorganizing the archives for the classical literature exhibit. Aerish approached—not to ask, but to greet with a presence that asked nothing in return.
Eliah gave her a small nod, then remarked,
—"You carry the scent of ink today, Aerish. Is your poetry growing?"
Aerish smiled faintly and opened her little notebook tied with a blue thread. She showed him a page without speaking.
The words read:
"Not every name needs to be spoken, for love to know it is remembered."
Eliah read it in silence, then gently closed the book.
—"Like someone you wait for… but don't want to know they're being waited on."
Aerish looked up at the ceiling, as if the answer might be there.
—"Sometimes I want to stop. But somehow… every morning, I still write about him."
—"Because writing isn't about possession," Eliah murmured, "but about allowing yourself to long for something… without condition."
Twilight had begun washing the colors out of the sky when Liora approached Aerish, who was sitting on a wooden bench beneath the old campus tree. Morning dew still clung to the seat's surface.
Liora brought two cups of warm cocoa from The Quill & Rain, placing one beside Aerish without a word. Their silences always had a language of their own.
Several minutes passed before Liora spoke, her voice soft as a falling leaf.
—"I know you saw Kael earlier."
Aerish didn't answer. She only brushed the steam off the rim of her cup, as if trying to hide the faint trembling in her fingers.
—"You know, sometimes I want to… shake you a little," Liora continued, gently, "take all your writings and pin them straight to his chest. Let him know everything."
Aerish lowered her gaze, then whispered,
—"But if he knew, all of this would end. This world. My place in it. I don't know… if I'm ready to lose the secret that shaped my life."
Liora stared at her friend for a long while, then took a deep breath.
—"A secret is not a home, Aerish. It's just a temporary shelter. You need more than walls of poetry to survive."
Aerish offered a thin smile, then replied,
—"But those walls… are the only ones that have never left me."
Night came with soft drizzle, like a trailing robe descending from the sky. Aerish returned to her room and lit a small candle by the window. Its dim flame danced gently, casting shadows on the wall—like memories refusing to leave.
She opened the back pages of her journal—the pages she'd never shown to anyone. There was no poetry there. Only a single line:
"If one day I no longer write, it means I've chosen to forget you. But today is not that day."
The next day, Liora caught up with Aerish outside the lecture hall, her steps hurried but not entirely angry—more like someone carrying too much worry in her chest. In her hand was a cream-colored envelope, slightly crumpled, as if it had been clenched and unfolded countless times since morning.
—"Aerish, wait. We need to talk."
Aerish turned slowly, and though her lips offered a faint smile, her complexion remained pale—like morning mist untouched by sun. They walked toward the stone bench near the old poet's statue, their usual place of quiet.
Liora didn't sit right away. She stood before Aerish, facing a friend who looked more fragile than ever.
—"I know you hate being talked about like this, but… I can't stay silent anymore."
Aerish furrowed her brow. —"What do you mean?"
Liora inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. —"Yesterday, you kept coughing during literature class. I sat right behind you. I saw your hands trembling when you were copying notes from the board. And this morning… Professor Halden said you nearly fainted after the seminar. Eliah even wanted to call the academy's medical staff, but you refused, didn't you?"
Aerish lowered her head. Her silence was the most honest confession.
Liora slowly sat beside her, then held out the envelope. —"This… is an appointment with Dr. Thalia Morwyn. She's not just any doctor. She understands trauma, loss, even things not everyone can explain with words."
Aerish shook her head softly. —"Liora… I appreciate your care. But I can't."
—"Why?" Liora's voice cracked. "Why do you keep denying it? Even your body is speaking, Aerish. Your body is tired—while your heart stays silent, as if refusing to be saved."
Aerish tried to smile, but what came out was a dim shadow that never reached her eyes.
—"Because if I go… I'm afraid they'll call this a disorder. I'm afraid that everything I've quietly held onto all this time… will be labeled an illness. That this love isn't love… but a delusion to be cured."
Liora held her breath. Her eyes glistened, but she didn't cry. She only clasped Aerish's hand tightly.
—"Even if it's a delusion, it's still part of you. And I… I won't let that part of you fade away. I don't want to lose my best friend, Aerish. Not because of Kael. Not because of memories. And not because of the silence you think protects you."
Aerish looked to the sky, as if searching for something among the pale clouds. But all she found was a reflection of herself—someone still walking through fog without direction, avoiding the light for fear of what it might reveal.
—"Give me time, Liora. Just a little more."
And for a moment, Liora said nothing. She only nodded, slowly.
But before they parted, she whispered:
—"I'll give you time, Aerish. But I won't give you silence. Because love may be silent… but life can't wait forever."
The words lingered in the air like the final leaf refusing to fall. Aerish bowed her head, eyes clouded. She didn't cry—not yet. But something inside her loosened, like a knot growing weary from holding everything in.
Liora stood first, stepping away gently without demanding a response. There was no pressure in her steps, only sorrow trying to offer space.
Aerish remained on the bench, alone now. The old poet's statue beside her seemed to fall silent too, becoming a mute witness to a wound that bore no name. From afar, the academy bells rang softly, marking the changing hour—reminding her that time moves on, even when the heart stays rooted in place.
The sky darkened gradually, heavy with clouds but no rain. Wind slipped between the folds of Aerish's scarf, carrying the scent of damp earth not yet dry.
She opened her bag. Her hand searched for the gray journal—filled with nameless poems, unsent words, and a love that only lived in shadow.
She opened to a blank page. The light of dusk filtered through the trees, sketching faint patterns across the paper. Aerish's fingers trembled, but still held the pen.
She sat there for a long time, letting the sentence emerge—not from her mind, but from the deepest part of her that had finally decided to speak.
"I love him in silence, but sometimes… silence doesn't know how to protect."
She wrote it down. Then closed the journal gently, as if afraid of making too much noise. Her eyes shut softly, and for the first time in months, her breath fell a little slower.
"I know the rain, my pen, and this love of mine are too quiet...
So quiet, they've wounded me for real."