Chapter 19 — Unanswered Calls
Lyra's POV
The next few days in the province pass slowly — like time itself is afraid to move.
I fall into a quiet routine. Wake up, help Lola in the garden, run small errands with Mom, try to keep myself busy so my mind doesn't wander back to the things I'm trying to forget. Sometimes it works. Most of the time, it doesn't.
The air here is always warm. The kind that smells like rain even when the sun is shining. It should feel comforting, but instead, it feels heavy — like the weather knows something I don't want to admit.
Lola's house has a small balcony that overlooks the street. Every morning, I sit there with my sketchbook open, pencil in hand, and just draw lines. Not pictures — just lines, shapes, nothing real. My thoughts feel too loud for art to make sense anymore.
My phone buzzes constantly.
At first, I ignore it. Then I mute it.
It doesn't stop.
Group chat after group chat. Missed calls. Texts that start with "Please" and "Lyra, we need to talk."
From Soraya. From Saphira. From Aveline. From Evan.
Their words fill my notifications like static:
"Lyra, please just listen."
"We didn't mean for you to find out that way."
"It was stupid — we were stupid."
"You don't understand, it wasn't just a bet anymore."
Every time I read one, my chest tightens until I can't breathe. So I stop opening them. I leave everything on "seen." Sometimes I delete them before I can even finish reading.
Evan's messages are the hardest to ignore. He sends paragraphs — long ones, filled with words that sound like desperation and guilt.
"I swear, it wasn't like that for me, Sol. Please don't shut me out. I didn't know they—"
"I need you to believe me."
"You're everything to me, you know that, right?"
I turn my phone off after that.
Mom notices my quietness, I think. She doesn't say much, but I can tell she's watching me carefully — the way she hesitates before knocking on my door, or how she leaves snacks outside my room even when I say I'm not hungry.
One night, while we're having dinner, she looks at me and says softly, "You've been distant lately."
I swallow, forcing a small smile. "Just tired."
"From what?" she asks gently. "You haven't gone anywhere."
The lie slips out easily. "Just… school stuff."
She doesn't believe me, but she doesn't push either. She never does. I wish she would. Maybe if someone demanded the truth from me, it would stop echoing in my head so loud.
Later that night, I sit by the window again, tracing the star pendant around my neck. I remember the day Evan gave it to me — freshman year, his hands shaking as he clasped it around my neck. He said it reminded him of me. "You're my light, Sol," he'd said, smiling that shy, crooked smile that used to make my heart stutter.
But now, the memory feels tainted.
I keep wondering if he ever said those words to Elaine first.
Elaine.
It's strange how I never thought about her much before. Evan's ex. The one who left right before I came to Saint Valley. They never talked about her in detail — just said it was complicated. But now, sitting here in the soft yellow glow of my lamp, I can't stop thinking about her.
I pick up my phone — it's still on silent — and type her name into Facebook. Elaine Waverly.
Her profile appears almost instantly. She's gorgeous. Effortlessly so. Long auburn hair, soft brown eyes, the kind of smile that looks like sunlight. Her bio says she's studying photography in France. Every picture looks like it belongs in a magazine — warm, golden, perfect.
I scroll further, and my stomach twists when I see a picture from years ago: Evan and Elaine, laughing at Clover's Café. The same café where he once told me I was "home."
My hand trembles.
That's when it hits me — a memory I didn't realize I'd kept.
The first day I walked into Saint Valley High.
The sun was bright, the halls buzzing with new students. I remember clutching my bag too tightly, trying to blend in. I remember them — Aveline, Soraya, Saphira, Cassian, and Evan — standing by the gate, whispering and glancing at me.
At the time, I thought they were just curious.
Now, I can see it differently. The way Saphira elbowed Aveline, the way Cassian smirked.
Maybe that was the moment it started — the bet.
Maybe that was the day they decided I'd be the backup girl.
A replacement for someone they'd already lost.
The thought makes my chest burn. I press a hand against it, trying to steady my breathing, but it doesn't help. My vision blurs, and before I know it, tears spill down my cheeks.
I try to wipe them away quickly — I don't want to cry anymore. Crying feels like giving something back to them, and they've already taken enough.
I grab my phone again. There are six new messages from Evan. I don't open them. I don't want explanations. I don't want apologies that come too late.
Instead, I go to our chat and type a new message.
My fingers shake, but I don't stop.
Evan, don't text or call me anymore.
I don't want to hear another word about "it wasn't real" or "it meant something."
Because maybe it did, for you. But for me, it feels like every memory we had is broken.
I can't keep holding on to something that started as a lie.
So this is me letting go.
Goodbye.
I stare at the words for a long time before pressing send.
The moment I do, something inside me cracks — quietly, like a glass breaking underwater. Not loud. Just final.
The message sends. The typing bubble on his end appears, then disappears.
I don't wait for a reply. I block him, turn my phone face-down, and let out a shaky breath I didn't know I was holding.
Outside, the province hums softly — the sound of distant motorcycles, of neighbors talking, of a city still alive even when I feel like I'm not.
I look up at the night sky. The stars are faint here, barely visible past the streetlights. But I find one, small and dim, and trace it with my gaze.
It looks like the pendant on my neck.
Like the promise he made.
Like the light I thought I was.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time in days, I let the silence take me completely.