Chapter 4
There's a moment before you fall—when your heart knows it's already gone, but your mind is still catching up.
That's what it felt like with Aiden.
Like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't name.
One Friday afternoon, we were walking home. His house wasn't exactly on the way to mine, but somehow, he always ended up walking me part of the way. It had rained again, and the sky smelled like wet pavement and sun-warmed leaves.
"I used to think high school would feel... bigger," I said, kicking at a loose rock on the sidewalk.
Aiden looked at me. "It feels loud."
I laughed. "Yeah. Loud and small at the same time."
He didn't say anything for a while. Then:
"You make it quieter, though."
I stopped walking.
He didn't notice at first—he just kept going. When he turned around, I was staring at him like I'd never seen him before
He rubbed the back of his neck. "What?"
But I didn't answer. Because if I did, I might say too much.
Instead, I caught up, brushing his hand with mine. Just for a second. Just enough.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn't empty. It was that kind of quiet you only get with someone who makes the world feel less heavy.
That night, he sent me a song.
No caption. Just a Spotify link.
I played it on loop while lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
It was one of those songs that makes you ache without knowing why.
And I realized: maybe we weren't in love.
But we were almost.
And sometimes, that's the most dangerous part.