Chapter Forty-Five Aurora / Joshua
Chapter Forty-Five
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
Morning crept in quietly, the pale winter sun painting soft stripes across my floor. And there they were: three little boxes, and a package stacked neatly against my door. Because the gifts from the girls came at the same time.
I went to pick them up last night and fell asleep before I could open them.
I pulled each box up to my bed and decided to open them one by one, starting with the biggest box, Layla.
When I opened it, I laughed under my breath.
It was a cream oversized cardigan, thick, soft, and beautiful. The kind of cream that looked like the one she always wore, the one she said made her ‘feel like home.’
There was a note attached, written in her loopy handwriting:
NYC misses you. You'd better wear this when I visit, or I’m stealing it back.
- Love Layla
I pressed the sleeve to my cheek, breathing in faint traces of her perfume that somehow clung to the wool.
The second box, Jennie.
She didn’t just send a book.
She sent six. A whole romance series, tied together with a silver ribbon and a sticky note on the top that said:
You can’t read one chapter and quit. Read them all. Then tell me who your book boyfriend is! Save one for me, too, cutie. Happy Nineteen!
I smiled.
Book boyfriend.
Jennie always teased me about that. Said I lived in stories too much. But this? This was love in pages.
And the last one… Aly.
Of course she went overboard.
A small Cartier box.
I froze just holding it, too scared to even open it. I wasn’t familiar with brand-name stuff, but I heard Cartier was expensive. I didn’t know how much, but expensive.
When I finally opened it, there was a gold ring inside. Elegant, with a tiny diamond in the centre.
It was gorgeous.
Aly had the same one—Silver—on her middle finger.
Her note was the shortest of them all:
“Wanted to match with my favourite girl, wear it!”
My vision blurred a little.
I sat down on the floor surrounded by gifts, rings, books, soft wool, and messy ribbons.
I didn’t realise how much I needed this. How much I needed to feel chosen, even when I didn’t ask to be.
And as I slipped the ring onto my finger, I caught myself whispering, “Maybe it’ll all get better.”
Then I glanced at my phone, at the time.
Joshua.
Dinner.
Fireworks.
Tonight.
Maybe it already was better.
—
The time came. I went into the elevator a few minutes before seven and arrived at the door at exactly seven.
Not on purpose, of course, just a girl who’s good with time.
I knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately, and there he was.
Joshua Lockhart, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, hoodie on, Honey tucked into the hood like a spoilt baby koala. Cute, though. And the faintest curl of steam drifted from the kitchen behind him.
“Come in,” he said quietly, stepping aside.
The second I did, I froze.
Because the smell came first: garlic, lemon, butter, roasted asparagus. Salmon. And not like the cheap dorm-cafeteria kind. The kind that looked like it belonged in a restaurant window.
The table was already set.
Two plates. Two glasses. Even candles.
Candles, oh wow.
I looked at him, confused, and he just shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Figured since it’s New Year’s… might as well cook properly.”
He turned back to the counter, plating the food with a quiet focus that didn’t fit the Joshua everyone else knew. No tension in his jaw, no storm in his eyes. Just… stillness.
Honey peeked out from the back of his hoodie, blinking at me with big amber eyes, tail flicking against his shoulder as if it was saying look, look what he did for you.
My throat tightened a little.
Because what even was this?
He slid the plates onto the table, setting one in front of me before sitting across from me.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Just him.
Me.
A kitten sitting like a warm orange crown on his back.
He glanced up finally, catching me staring, and deadpanned, “Don’t laugh. Honey refuses to get off.”
I bit my lip to hold back a smile. “I—I’m not.”
Well, I tried to say it. It came out small and broken, but he understood.
He always seemed to lately. He always understood that I was trying. Even before I was able to speak, he never forced it out. When I stuttered, trying to get used to speaking again… he doesn’t mention it. Just treated me like I was normal. Like my speech impediment wasn’t odd to him.
Like hearing my voice was enough.
He picked up his fork and nodded at my plate. “Eat before it gets cold.”
And I did.
Carefully, slowly, pretending I wasn’t watching the way his shoulders finally relaxed when I took the first bite.
The salmon melted in my mouth.
Perfect. Delicate. Warm.
He really tried.
And with Honey blinking between us. That cute little girl, clearly obsessed with Joshua.
Fair. Really fair.
She got this version of him from the beginning; she never got to meet the one I got. Lucky girl.
—
The city looked alive.
From up here, it was all lights, gold against the midnight-blue sky. The hum of the crowd below drifted up in waves: laughter, music, countdowns, all tangled in the cold air.
Two minutes to midnight.
Joshua stood next to me, leaning against the glass railing, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other holding a glass of something he hadn’t touched in over twenty minutes.
Honey was asleep on the couch inside, safe and curled up, and for the first time, there was nothing between us. No noise, no anger.
Just us.
And the weight of every unsaid word sat between us like the space before a storm.
I exhaled slowly, watching the way my breath fogged in the air. “Y-you hurt me,” I said, the words quiet, trembling, but honest.
He turned to me instantly, sharp, alert, as if the words physically hit him, but I didn’t stop.
“A lot.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “Since the day I came. You—you made me feel small, like I didn’t belong anywhere. I believed you. Every word. I b-believed.”
He looked down, jaw tight, but still said nothing.
“I tried to hate you for it.” My throat burned. “I tried so hard. But then you—” I swallowed hard, blinking fast as my eyes stung. “You s-started changing. Making me feel weird here.” I tapped my chest, clutching the fabric of my shirt.
The first firework went off somewhere in the distance, soft, red, blooming across the sky like a wound that didn’t hurt anymore.
“And t-these past few days,” I continued, voice barely above a whisper, “you’ve been…comforting. You’ve been real. I didn’t think y-you could be… you are. And it feels like I’m safe again.”
Another firework.
Then another.
And soon the sky was filled with colour: white, gold, pink, everything bursting open all at once.
I turned away from him, feeling my heart pounding against my palm, which never left my chest.
“I don’t know w-what this is. I don’t know if I’m forgiving you or—or if I’m just tired of fighting the feeling, but—” I breathed out. “It’s okay. It’s okay now.”
I looked at the fireworks again, letting the glow wash over my face, because it was easier than looking at him.
“I feel okay… and you did that.”
—
Joshua
Her voice echoed in my head long after she stopped talking.
I feel okay… and you did that.
The words crawled under my skin and stayed there, burning, raw and tender at the same time.
She stood next to me, the fireworks lighting her face in bursts of colour: soft pinks, golds, blues. She looked unreal, like the kind of thing you only get to see once.
I couldn’t speak.
She was seeing me again, even after I spent months trying to make her look away.
The noise from the city below blurred out, replaced by the sound of my own pulse, heavy and uneven. My fingers twitched at my side, aching to reach out, to touch her, to say I’m sorry without using words, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Because she looked peaceful. And I didn’t want to ruin that. So I just stood there beside her, watching the reflection of fireworks dance in her eyes.
If she were peace, then maybe I was the storm that finally learnt how to stay quiet.
The glow from the fireworks washed over her face, soft and warm. Every few seconds, the light would shift, catching in her eyes until it looked like the whole damn city was burning inside them.
She turned to me. Slowly. Hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure if she should.
And for a heartbeat, I swore I forgot to breathe.
We just looked at each other.
No words. No apologies. No walls.
Just her eyes on mine, reflecting everything I didn’t know how to say.
Happy.
Sad.
Relieved.
Broken.
Whole.
All of it.
The fireworks roared again, louder this time, and the city below cheered, but it didn’t matter.
She was right here.
Her lips parted, barely moving; her voice quiet under the chaos. “Happy New Year.”
My throat tightened, and I nodded once. “Happy New Year… Aurora.”
Her name felt different in my mouth this time. Softer. Like saying it didn’t hurt anymore.
We just… stayed like that.
Fireworks above us, the city alive beneath us, and silence between us that didn’t feel heavy anymore.
Her eyes never left mine. And I didn’t want them to.
Please don’t let this end when the lights fade.