Chapter Forty-Nine Aurora / Joshua
Chapter Forty-Nine
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
January twentieth. Winter break was over.
The moment I stepped through Silverwood’s front gate, I barely had time to adjust the strap on my bag before a chorus of voices screamed my name.
“AURORA!”
I looked up; Layla, Jennie, and Aly were running. Full speed, arms waving, hair flying in every direction. I didn’t even have time to react before Jennie practically crashed into me, wrapping me up in a hug that squeezed all the air out of my lungs.
“Wha—wait!” I laughed—actually laughed—and my voice cracked halfway through the word.
Three sets of eyes froze on me.
Layla’s jaw dropped. Aly’s hands flew to her mouth. Jennie’s grip tightened.
“Say that again,” Layla whispered, eyes wide.
I blinked, cheeks warm. “I—I said, wait,” I stuttered, soft but clear enough for them to hear.
Jennie squealed. “OH MY GOD, YOU SPOKE!”
Aly gasped. “You spoke! Like—whole sentences!”
I couldn’t stop smiling. It felt strange, like my face had forgotten how to do it for real, but the warmth in my chest was too much to hide. “I d-didn’t mean to,” I admitted, voice trembling but steady enough to hold. “It just…happened.”
And it had, slowly, quietly, over the weeks with Joshua. Talking to Honey, whispering words under my breath, answering him when he’d tease or ask small things. It wasn’t easy, but it got easier.
Jennie chuckled, ruffling my hair with that soft smile she always had with me. “I’m so proud of you, oh my God.”
Aly tugged me in for another hug. “See? You can do it. We told you—you just needed time.”
Their voices melted into one another, all laughter and warmth, and I felt the edges of my heart stretch just a little wider.
I was Aurora Mae Campbell, speaking, laughing, living. And it felt good. Really good.
Thanks to… him.
—
Classroom chatter buzzed around me, soft and familiar, like background noise I hadn’t realised I missed until now. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly above, and Professor Smith stood at the front with a stack of graded reports in her hands.
My heart thudded when she called my name.
I stood up, walked to her desk, and she handed me the stapled packet with a small, approving smile.
“Excellent work, Aurora,” she said. “Truly. You didn’t just write about performance psychology—you understood it.”
My eyes flicked down to the front page.
A perfect, bold A.
She smiled wider. “You captured the athlete’s mindset perfectly. The mental load, the emotional isolation, and even the resilience were sharp, empathetic, and detailed. You should show it to Joshua; he’d be proud you understood him that well.”
My breath caught for a second. Joshua.
I nodded quickly, hiding the tiny tremor in my fingers as I took the paper.
“Th-thank you,” I managed, voice small but clear enough.
She gave my arm a gentle pat. “You’ve got a gift, Aurora. Don’t forget that.”
I walked back to my seat, the sound of my shoes echoing faintly against the floor.
When I sat down, I looked at the bold red grade again.
Sport Psychology.
Top of the class.
My throat tightened.
I did it.
I actually did it.
Even with everything, the stress, the cast, the bruises, the noise in my head, I managed to pull through.
Mrs Smith’s words replayed softly: He’d be proud.
Maybe he would… because I was really proud of myself for pushing through. I did it.
—
Joshua
The lecture was dragging.
The professor was still talking about shareholder value, some endless lecture on legacy and investment, and I was fighting the urge to zone out completely when my phone buzzed against the desk.
I glanced down, thinking it was the stupid group chat I had unmuted. I didn’t know why I did, but I unmuted a lot of things on my phone, learning to chill a bit.
But no.
It was her.
My princess
My chest tightened before I even opened it.
A photo popped up: her Sports Psychology report, the big red A scrawled across the top. And right under it, the caption:
Top of the class.
For a second, I just stared at the screen.
Not breathing. Not blinking.
Oh. She did it.
After everything, after the bruises, the late nights, the cast, the crying, the endless self-doubt, she’d actually fucking done it.
And the fact that she texted me first? That she still wanted me to see it? My chest burned in the best and worst way. The corner of my mouth tugged upward, completely involuntarily.
I typed back, fingers moving before I could think—
Me: I’m proud of you.
Then paused, watching the message sit there for a second before adding—
Me: Knew you’d crush it.
When the three dots popped up on the screen, I leaned back in my chair, trying to play it cool.
But my heart wouldn’t slow down.
Because that photo…
that text…
It wasn’t just a grade.
It was her proof that she was still fighting. Still standing. Still here. And if there was one thing I was certain of, it was this: I’d never been more proud of anyone in my life.
I didn’t even realise I was smiling until Alex’s elbow slammed into my arm.
“The hell was that?” he muttered, leaning over his notebook.
I blinked, still staring down at my phone where her message sat, bright and perfect against the screen. “What?”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “That. That. You just smiled.”
I frowned, trying to brush it off, but the corner of my mouth wouldn’t go back down. “No, I didn’t.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you did. Joshua fucking Maxine Lockhart—smiling. In broad daylight. During class. Christ, I should take a picture for the archives.”
I shoved his elbow back. “Shut up.”
He smirked. “You gonna tell me who made you grin like that, or am I supposed to guess?”
My jaw clenched. I leaned back in my chair, pretending to take notes as my thumb hovered over the screen again. The picture she sent. The little message. The A in red.
Alex was still watching me, that stupid, amused look on his face. “Bro, you’re actually smiling,” he whispered again. “What the fuck.”
I ignored him, but the truth was he wasn’t wrong. Because even as I forced my face back into neutral, I could still feel it. That small, traitorous smile tugging at my mouth.
The kind you don’t plan. The kind you don’t fake.
Aurora did that.
One photo. One text.
Alex leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable.”
Yeah. It was.