Chapter Thirty Aurora
Chapter Thirty
Aurora
The air felt heavier the second I stepped through the gates.
Every voice, every stare—it was like the whole world knew.
My cast itched already, stiff and white and loud. It made me feel seen in the worst way. The scholarship girl with a broken arm. The fragile one. The reminder that I didn’t belong here.
I just wanted to get to class. Blend in. Pretend nothing happened. But the second I turned the corner, I saw them.
Layla, Aly, and Jennie all froze mid-step before running straight toward me. Aly’s face fell first, eyes wide with that protective look behind them, and Layla covered her mouth as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Jennie still had that same worried look from yesterday.
And then they were all around me.
Layla reached out first, her hands shaking as she hovered near my arm but didn’t touch. “Why didn’t you answer?” she asked, voice trembling. “We were all worried sick when Jennie told us, Aurora.”
My throat burned. I didn’t know what to say. How could I explain something I didn’t even understand myself?
I looked down, blinking fast, willing the sting in my eyes to disappear. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here.
But my chest still ached.
Because standing there, seeing their faces, seeing how much they cared, hurt more than the cast pressing into my skin.
Jennie’s hand landed gently on my back, guiding me closer. “Hey, breathe, it’s okay,” she whispered. Her tone was soft, like she was talking to a scared kid.
I wasn’t scared. I was humiliated.
They shouldn’t have to see me like this, weak, broken, a walking reminder of what happens when people get too close to me.
So I tried to step back, to leave. To run.
But Aly caught my good wrist before I could. “Don’t,” she said firmly. Her grip wasn’t harsh; it was grounding. “Don’t you dare walk away.”
I looked up at her, startled.
“You don’t get to run when people love you,” Aly said quietly. “Not anymore.”
That did it.
I broke, silently, completely as Jennie’s arms wrapped around me from one side and Layla’s from the other, careful not to touch the cast.
I stood there, shaking, trapped in warmth I didn’t know what to do with.
It felt too much. Too kind. Too good for me.
I wanted to tell them it’s okay, that I deserved it, that it was my fault. But all I could do was stand there, breathing unevenly as their voices blurred into soft promises that they wouldn’t leave.
And I believed them.
The girls walked me all the way to my class, one on each side like bodyguards.
I could feel people staring, the cast, their worried faces, it was all too obvious.
“Wait here,” Jennie said, pointing at the door. “Don’t move. Text me if you need anything, okay?”
Layla added, “Don’t disappear again.”
And Aly—of course—crossed her arms and gave me that look. “We mean it, Campbell.”
I gave them a tiny nod. That was enough for them to finally relax.
Jennie waved before they left, Layla blowing a small kiss in the air, and I stood there for a moment… just breathing.
I could still hear their voices fading down the hall, still feel the ghost of their hands on my shoulder.
It was nice. Safe. But overwhelming.
When I finally walked inside, heads turned for half a second before everyone went back to their notes. Thank God.
I quietly made my way to the same seat I always took—the far corner, second row—and sat down.
The class started the same way it always did, and I almost forgot about the cast until someone slid into the seat next to mine. A classmate I had talked to a few times, Suliaman.
“Hey, uh—are you okay?”
I gave a small nod. He glanced at my arm, eyebrows furrowing, but didn’t push.
“Right, um…” He scratched his neck awkwardly before looking down at his notes. “About that help you promised me last week? For my swimming psych project?”
I blinked, staring at him for a second before I remembered.
I did promise him.
Last Friday, before everything. He needed help applying mental focus and behavioural strategies to his training schedule, and I said I’d look over his data after class today.
The cast shouldn’t change that.
I couldn’t keep backing out of things. Not when I already felt like such a burden. So I nodded again and wrote on the corner of my notebook with my left hand, messy but readable.
After class? By the pool.
He grinned, grateful. “Perfect. You’re the best, seriously. Thanks, Aurora.”
I tried to smile back, small and polite, before turning to my notes.
Maybe… maybe this would distract me.
Maybe I could just do what I’m good at for a bit, help people, think, analyse and not feel like everything inside me was cracking.
—
Lunch came faster than I wanted it to.
The cafeteria was loud, too loud, and I couldn’t tell if the noise made the ache in my arm worse or if it was just everything else catching up to me.
Jennie waved me over the second she saw me, all bright eyes and that sunshine smile that usually made people feel better.
It didn’t work today.
I sat down across from her, setting my tray down even though I had no appetite. The sandwich looked like cardboard, and the smell of fries made my stomach twist.
“Hey,” she said softly, searching my face. “You okay?”
I nodded automatically. It was a lie, but it was easier.
Jennie’s smile faded a little, but she didn’t push. She started talking about something light, Aly’s sarcastic rant in class, how Layla accidentally dropped her sketchbook in the fountain again, but her words felt distant, like they were happening behind glass.
I stared at my food.
The hand that wasn’t in the cast sat limp in my lap. My fingers twitched like they wanted to move, to type, to do something, but even holding a fork felt like a chore.
In class, I hadn’t got a single thing done. Couldn’t type with one hand. Couldn’t take proper notes. Couldn’t focus.
The longer I sat there, the heavier that realisation got.
Scholarship girl, falling behind.
Scholarship girl, breaking apart.
Scholarship girl who was supposed to make the school look good, now sitting there with a cast, a headache, and a brain that wouldn’t stop spinning.
Jennie reached across the table, touching my sleeve gently. “Aurora… you don’t have to pretend, you know?”
I blinked, snapping back to her.
She sighed softly and gave a small, sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to smile for me. Just eat something, okay? One bite.”
So I did. One small, forced bite that tasted like guilt.
She smiled a little more when I did, but my stomach stayed heavy, my chest tight.
Because the truth was—
I wasn’t just tired.
I was slipping.
…I wasn’t sure I could save it this time.
—
By the time the last class ended, the sky was already dimming into that dull winter grey.
It wasn’t even five yet, but the cold air bit harder than usual, sharp enough to sting my fingers through my sleeve.
The campus was quieter, too. Most people rushed to their dorms or cars, huddled in their coats.
But I had promised.
So, I made my way toward the pool building. The hum of the heating system mixed with the faint echo of water splashing as I walked in. The swimmers were packing up, their voices bouncing off the tiles.
Laughs, wet footsteps, lockers closing.
And then, there was him.
Suliaman was still by the edge of the pool, laptop open, papers spread beside him like a mini workstation. He looked up when he saw me and smiled. “Hey, you actually came. I thought with… y’know, everything, you’d cancel.”
I shook my head and walked over, setting my bag down as carefully as I could before sitting cross-legged beside him on the cold tile.
He nodded, glancing briefly at my cast. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t have to push yourself.”
I hummed softly, small but clear enough to say I’m fine.
Even if I wasn’t.
He took that as a yes and flipped his laptop around to show me a chart.
“So… this is the part I can’t get right.
My stats are fine, but my reflection section’s a mess.
I don’t know how to link the performance anxiety data with behavioural patterns without sounding like I’m just throwing random terms together. ”
I leaned closer, scanning the text with my good hand, tracing under the lines. My brain slowly clicked into the rhythm again, the comfort of research, patterns, structure. Something I could control.
He kept talking, rambling about times and stress levels, but his voice faded into the background. My thoughts drowned in the numbers, the calm repetition of what made sense.
Water lapped quietly nearby, the last of the swimmers leaving the locker room.
The sound echoed, almost peaceful.
For the first time all day, my chest loosened just a little.
I pointed at a line on the screen, the corner of my mouth twitching slightly. That’s where you went wrong.
Suliaman laughed under his breath. “Knew it. You really are my brain’s missing half, huh?”
I slightly smiled but didn’t look up.
It wasn’t much, but for a moment, sitting by the pool with research talk and quiet ripples around me, the world didn’t feel so heavy.