Chapter 35
Aeron
I’d survived jungles, storms, and even animal attacks, but this harmless grey box in my hands terrified me more than all of them combined.
I slid open the box. There in the middle, buried under five years' worth of untouched memories, was a photo of a girl—head thrown back, holding on the railings, yellow dress fluttering to the breeze, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Exactly as she is now, exactly how my heart never forgot to skip a beat, even five years later, on that haunted road.
One glance at her picture, and I was right back there: five years ago.
The passing scenery, the rhythmic rumble of the train, they anchored me, offered me a temporary escape. But pain isn't something you leave behind easily, not when you're the one who caused it.
It had been six months since Dad died. Mom was slowly adjusting to life without him.
My older sister seemed to have forget he existed the moment the funeral ended.
My other sister remembered him only when she wanted to blame me for his death.
They've all moved forward, but I'm still exactly where he left me.
My train of thought snapped at a burst of laughter—loud, and more hyena than human.
Curious, I leaned forward slightly, my gaze catching movement on the footboard of the compartment ahead: first, the flutter of a yellow dress, then hair dancing in the wind, and finally, a head thrown back in laughter.
Her hair whipped across her face like a curtain, but between those restless strands I saw her eyes—bright, sparkling like sunlight on water and heard that carefree laugh, as if the world had stopped existing just for her.
I couldn't look away, couldn't even blink, afraid I'd miss even a second of it. Almost without thinking, I grabbed my camera and pressed the shutter, capturing her mid-laugh, hair whipping everywhere, that yellow dress fluttering in the wind.
“...le... me... have my T_tanic mome—” her voice came in bursts, broken by the wind.
I couldn’t catch every word clearly, but I caught the drift.
Titanic moment?
Without realizing it, I found myself smiling, a smile I’d almost forgotten I still had in me.
She leaned out even farther, recklessly arching her back. She was being so careless, I felt a sudden spike of anxiety at how easily she might lose her balance and fall.
“I…ll haunt you inst..d….”
“...what—you’ll personally toss me…”
The scattered words from her conversation reached me, enough to realize she was responding to someone inside. A hand appeared, gently pulling her back into the compartment, but not before her eyes flicked toward me, curious as if she sensed my gaze.
Instinctively, I pulled back.
I stared down at my camera screen, at the image of her laughing, alive, and completely unguarded.
I'd captured hundreds of faces, countless sunsets, wildlife, but none had felt as intensely personal as this.
Something stirred inside me, a possessiveness I didn't recognize.
I didn't want anyone else to see this laugh, this moment.
It was foolish, but I wanted it to belong only to me.
A fierce knock came at the compartment door. I ignored it. Seconds later, another knock followed louder, and more insistent. I opened it, already knowing who I'd see. Sure enough, a tall figure stood in the doorway in navy blue uniform, nostrils flared in irritation.
“Aeron Ashborne,” Simon called. “How many times do I have to remind you? Passengers aren't allowed in the guard’s compartment. You Ashbournes might own half the town, not this train. Out.”
“That's my family, not me. I'm just here for the view.” I said distractedly, gaze sliding past him through the half-open doorway to catch another glimpse of that yellow dress, her hands animatedly gesturing above the bench.
“You’ll leave before the tunnel, or I’m banning you permanently from the train,” he warned.
I’d lost count of how many times he had caught me in the guard’s compartment, and how many times we'd repeated this exact exchange.
“Yes,” I answered as always.
He was already turning away. “Simon, lend me your pen.”
He frowned suspiciously but handed it over anyway.
“Thanks. I’ll vanish before your tunnel does.”
I rolled the pen between my fingers and pulled the ticket from my pocket, staring at the blank space on the back. My mind hesitated, but my hand moved anyway, scribbling words before I could second-guess myself: Careful, Rose. Titanic had lifeboats. This train doesn’t.
Darkness swallowed the train whole as we entered the tunnel.
A sudden impulse I didn't fight pulled me toward the compartment door, a stubborn gravity guiding me exactly nine seats away—yes, I'd counted—to her.
As I passed, I slipped the ticket onto her seat, feeling a bit like a spy, or perhaps just an idiot.
Secret admirer wasn't exactly my style, yet here I was, leaving cryptic notes in the dark.
All I'd intended was for her to read my message, pause, and maybe smile, curious about who'd been secretly watching her. But I certainly hadn't expected a reply, scrawled across the window panel in what looked suspiciously like chocolate.
Are you perhaps a secret agent? If I wake up in another country, I’ll assume that it was you. And by the way, Rose survives, but she still lets go of Jack.
I shook my head. Another smile escaping.
Crazy girl.
Day two.
The next day, I placed a box of chocolates on the same seat, along with a note, confident she'd return.
If I were really a secret agent, you'd already be halfway across the world by now. But since you're still here, what’s it take to see your laugh again? Chocolates enough?
She left a small pocket notebook, a pink unicorn one with her reply.
I had to sneak the chocolates into my bag before my friend caught sight of them and demanded her share. I don't usually get secret gifts, so thank you. The chocolates definitely worked. But who exactly am I smiling for?
Day three.
For someone who never thought he’d be writing in a pink unicorn notebook, here I am, leaving cryptic notes for a girl with the most distracting smile I’ve ever seen and handwriting that resembles chicken scratch.
Still not a secret agent. But I’ll keep the code name.
Now that we're trading secrets… What's your name?
I smiled reading her message.
Chicken scratch? Excuse me! You try writing with honey or melted sugar sometime, then we’ll talk about whose handwriting looks like a crime scene.
But since you said my smile is beautiful I'm not declaring a war. You know, my friend won’t stop grilling me about why I've started taking this train ride every single day. I said I found a pen pal. She didn’t buy it.
She said only lonely librarians, and convicts have pen pals.
As for my name, I'll let you guess. Here’s your clue.
She tucked a tiny star pendant between the pages
Day four
I placed a miniature jar of honey bottle the next day.
Challenge accepted. Now put your chicken-scratch skills to the test. Convict or lonely librarian? I’m honestly offended that she left out secret agent. Tell your friend pen pals aren’t half bad. At least mine has good taste in chocolate.
I have thought about your names.
Twinkle.
Starfish.
Starlight.
Asteroid.
Does any one of them match your name?
I can’t believe its day four already with her. Reading her messages are like a breath of fresh air.
Your naming skills are atrocious. Starfish? Really? I'd dive headfirst into the ocean if I had to live with that. Though Asteroid is a little closer.
As for the chocolates, they’re torturing me nightly.
I stare, they stare back; it’s becoming a problem.
Eating a gift feels wrong, but resisting chocolate feels even worse.
They’re probably going to give me anxiety.
Tomorrow is our last ride. My last day in Orange Falls.
It’s funny how I started this for fun, but now I’m hoping it's more than that. Tell me I’m not alone in this.
Can I... meet you?
Day five
Meet me here next year, Asteroid, on the same day we first met. I'll be right here, waiting for you. Next time, I'll make it right—no notes, no hiding. Just you, me, and the date we should’ve had. And maybe those chocolates. We'll eat them together if they haven't expired by then.
Just say yes.
A year later.
I realized I was the only one who'd been counting days. I could still see her perfectly on that day, the anger in her eyes as she stood outside, unaware I was watching her from afar.
Asking her to wait a full year must've hurt, but back then, it was the only choice that made sense. I had too much baggage, too many shadows I didn’t want anywhere near her brightness. Because I knew, deep down, that the moment I saw her face-to-face, I’d never let go.
“Aeron!” Simon’s voice cut through my thoughts. “How’ve you been? It's been way too long.”
Exactly one year since I'd last stood here, yet everything still reminded me of her, fresh and vivid as ever.
“Simon,” I skipped past the small talk. “Did you happen to notice a girl waiting around here today? Someone who looked like she was meeting someone?” It was probably pointless, but I wasn't leaving any stone unturned.
“I don't think so.” Simon shook his head. “I haven't noticed anyone waiting around today. Were you expecting someone?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Yet, I still held onto a faint hope that she'd come.
Hours dragged by. Afternoon turned into evening. Passengers came and went, the station emptied, but I stayed there, waiting.
“I don’t know who you’re waiting for,” Simon said. “If she intended to come, she'd already be here. Don’t waste your night.”
“There’s still time,” I insisted, refusing to budge. She could still come. And I wasn't about to leave and give her any reason to think I hadn't waited.
The next summer, I came. She didn’t. Another summer passed, and then another, but she never came back.
She’d probably forgotten about me years ago, yet I still showed up, year after year.
Maybe it was just habit by now—or maybe I was afraid that the one summer I finally stopped coming would be the summer she'd choose to remember.
And five years later, there she was, standing at Hitchhiker's Bend, waving her arms and shouting curses at me.
I had no intention of stopping—she was just another stranger looking for a ride I wasn't planning to give. But one quick glance in the rear-view mirror, and my foot hit the brakes.
Hard.
Call it a miracle, call it fate, I felt everything at once: happiness at seeing her again, anger because she'd never shown up all those times I'd waited, and relief that somehow, after all this time, I still existed in her world.
But reality hit harder. She wasn’t here for me.
She’d given me one summer to fall in love.
Five summers I’ve waited, hoping she’d return.
Now she’s finally back, and this time, I’m never letting her go.