The morning light crawled slowly across my wall, warm and golden. For the first time in days,I didn't wake up with severe aches and heavy heart. The house was quiet, not the heavy kind of quiet that pressed on the chest. I couldn't hear any music from Tee's room or any commotion from the kitchen downstairs.
It was a soft kind of silence.
So I laid back down and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the night before. How I had written my whole heart out, how the air felt alive. How it felt like my words had settled somewhere beyond the paper.
I smiled. Maybe that was how mom felt when she wrote to orabelle too. It made me feel less alone.
Downstairs, aunt Fiona was already dressed for work. The smell of burnt egg and black coffee filled the kitchen, her usual.
"Someone is up early" she said surprised.
" well, that someone wouldn't want to be late to school " I stated back.
She laughed, oddly that felt good.
She glanced at me with that same gentleness she has been using since the funeral. the one that said I want to ask how you are , but I don't know how.
I quickly gave her a small smile and I meant it.
She slid a plate to me, "breakfast was almost ruined. " she chuckled.
" you should eat" she said and sat across from me.
I gave her another smile, " you always say that" then I beat into the sandwich.
" Do you need a ride? Or you will go with the bus?" I am about to leave for work. She stood dragging her gown down a bit.
" I guess " I drank up the Remaning of my chocolate drink. Picked up my bag and followed her out.
At school, life had moved on.
Friends were laughing again, planning weekend trips, complaining about essays and homeworks. I floated through it all, smiling when I was supposed to, nodding when needed.
In English class, I opened my notebook, my pen hovering over a blank page. My mind wasn't in the lesson. It was with my Diary and my mother's journal safely tucked in my backpack.
During lunch, I slipped away to the library my quiet refuge.
I pulled the journal out, tracing the loops of my mother's writing . There was something about it , I couldn't let go. The way my mother had written as if orabelle was real. As if she was writing to a friend who had always listened.
I turned to another page on my diary and wrote
Letter 3…. To Orabelle
Dear orabelle,
I think I understand now. Writing to you feels like writing to the part of me that's still brave, the part Mom must've seen when she wrote your name.
I don't know if these letters are prayers, confessions, or something in between. But they help.
Aunt Fiona is trying, Tee's quiet. And I'm… here. Just existing.
Maybe that's enough for now.
Love,
Aria
When the bell rang, I closed my Diary carefully, presssing my palm against it like I was sealing a secret.
I stood to leave, my backpack slipped from the chair. The diary tumbling out , landing open on the library floor.
A voice from behind me said softly
" Hey , you dropped something"
It was Landon, the quiet hot boy from my
class . He reached down to hand it back , but his eyes caught a glimpse of the page you write .
My breath caught.
" you write a letters
?" He asked curious ,not teasing .
" just something for myself " I said quickly, collecting it from his hands and putting it away in my backpack.
"Your words are beautiful " he said, offering a small smile before walking away.
My cheeks burned. I pressed my bag close to my chest.
For the rest of the day, my mind wouldn't stop spinning.
For the first time , someone else had seen my words. They weren't meant for anyone not even grace.
Though the silence that followed after was familiar, it didn't feel the same.
It Felt like the World was leaning in
Listening.
The walk back to class felt slower than usual . I could still feel the echo of that moment from the library. The way Landon's finger brushed through the paper like it held a pulse.
He read my words.
Not skimmed , not laughed.
Actual read them.
It was a strange kind of nakedness. And yet instead of shame, there was a pull in my chest.
Something like being found.
I sat on my chair, the sun slanting the glass and catching the dust motes midair.
Everything around me looked the same. The chatters, laughters, footsteps but it felt different like the world was leaning closely.
Maybe it was just my heart running wild or maybe for the first time , my words had escaped the confines of my diary. Like they found air and refused to come back.
But why Landon ?
"Aria!"
Grace slid into the seat beside me, dropping her back pack with a soft thud and pushing a strand of her auburn hair behind her hair. Her bracelet jingles.
" I was literally calling you from the hallway" she said, squinting at me.
"You okay? You look like you saw a ghost"
I smiled. " just thinking"
" About what or who" she wiggled her brows at me.
My smile deepened but didn't reach my eyes
" Neither, maybe both"
She gave me this knowing look, the kind that says I won't push but I am watching you . She has been that kind of friend since middle school.
When class began, the teacher's voice became a blur, like the distant hum of a radio in another room. I tapped my pen against my notebook absently. I have always loved words. How could they feel like air one moment and knife the next.
Everytime I thought of Landon , his quiet eyes, the unreadable look on his face, my stomach flipped.
He had read my letter, or at least part of it.
My gaze drifted and there he was . Two rows ahead, elbows on his desk. Pen in his mouth. Head tilted in thoughts.
He wasn't looking at me but when he turned , just for a second. Our eyes met.
It wasn't long
It didn't need to be
My pulse quickened , I looked away first pretending to look at the board. Grace of course noticed. Nothing ever slips her eyes.
" since when does Landon make you fluster" she whispered under her breath, leaning close.
" I am not…" my voice came out too fast. I lowered it. " I am not flustered "
She grinned . " you are something . I mean, I get it. The boy is basically a quiet storm amd he is hot but…."
I sighed, doodling a star in my notebook's corner . I didn't know how to explain it. It wasn't about him, not really . It was about what he represented.
My words were there floating in someone else's world.
As the bell rang, Grace packed her bag while talking about an art project.
As we walked out, I caught another glimpse of Landon by the door. He didn't say anything , but there was a flicker of something , curiosity , recognition or maybe even respect.
I looked away , clutching my books tighter.
Even though I couldn't explain it, I felt it deep down, that this was the beginning of something I couldn't take back.
Later that day, after I had got home and alone in my space . I pulled out my diary and wrote….
Dear orabelle,
I think someone read my words today.
It sounds small when I write it like that. like I just dropped a note and someone picked it up, but it didn't feel small.
It felt like the air itself stopped to listen.
For a second, I didn't know if I wanted to run or cry or ask for them back.
It's weird how you can spend so long invincible , then panic the moment someone actually looks.
The thing is, when he looked at me Landon , it wasn't pity or curiosity. It was something else. Like he'd recognized a sound he'd heard before but couldn't name.
Maybe we all carry quiet things inside us, waiting for someone who can hear them.
Grace kept talking about this new song she loves. She said it feels like being seventeen and free, even though she's sixteen and stuck in Maths. I laughed because that's exactly how it feels to be alive some days.halfway between what you've lost and what you haven't found yet.
I keep thinking about how everyone walks around carrying invisible stories.
Mary the girl who always eats alone at the back table.
Jordan the boy who jokes too loudly.
Maybe we all write our pain differently some on paper, some on their faces, some in silence.
Sometimes I wonder what mom would say if she could see me now.
Would she tell me to stop hiding?
Or that hiding is just a way of healing until we're ready to be found?
Either way… today felt different.
Not lighter, exactly, but less lonely.
Like the world isn't just passing me by, it's listening.
So, if you're real or even if you're not, thank you for hearing me.
For being the quiet space where my words can live until I'm brave enough to say them out loud.
Love,
Aria
The candle on my desk flickered, I closed the book, the one now filled with my own voice .
Outside the wind moved the trees like soft applause.
For the first time, I didn't feel haunted by the silence.
I felt accompanied with it.
The world seemed like it was still leaning in…