Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Santos
The silence after the call is suffocating. Seeing Halsey again—it hits me harder than I expected. It’s like a wound I thought had long since healed but never really did. One glance, and the ache resurfaces, sharper and deeper than before.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shove it all away, trying to block the flood of emotions threatening to drown me. But instead, I’m dragged back. Back to Blissful Meadows. Back to the beginning, where it all started. Where we started.
I was seven, and it was one of those perfect summer nights where the air smelled like freshly cut grass, and the world felt wide open.
Halsey and I lay on sleeping bags in her backyard, staring up at the stars.
The sky stretched above us, endless and full of possibilities, like it held all the answers we didn’t even know we were searching for yet.
She was beside me, close enough that the warmth of her arm brushed against mine. The crickets chirped softly around us, the wind whispered through the trees, and for a moment, everything felt right—the kind of perfect that only exists when you’re young and untouched by the world’s harsh edges.
“Do you think the stars are people?” she asked, her voice soft, like she was sharing a secret with the night.
I blinked, turning my head to look at her. “People?”
She nodded, her eyes wide, glowing with that curiosity she always had, as if every question held the key to a mystery. “Yeah, like people who were here before. Grandpas and uncles. Aunts and . . . people who loved us but died. Maybe they’re looking down at us, watching what we do.”
I frowned, trying to wrap my head around that idea. “But how would they get up there?”
She laughed, that soft, tinkling sound that was pure Halsey, and nudged my arm playfully.
“It’s not about how, silly. It’s just something I heard in a movie.
Like when people die, they turn into stars and watch over the people they love.
It sounds better than them being masses of gas, don’t you think? ”
I looked back up at the sky, the stars twinkling brightly against the inky black. “I don’t think I’d want to be a star. I’d miss being here too much. I would miss you. I never want to be without you.”
Halsey shifted beside me, and when I glanced over, she was watching me with this look—like she’d seen more of the world than I had, like she understood something that was just out of my reach.
“But what if one day you had to leave?” she asked, her voice quieter now, a sadness creeping in.
“Wouldn’t you want to know you could still watch over the people you love? ”
I didn’t answer right away. The question felt too big, too complicated for my seven-year-old brain to process. But before I could come up with anything, she nudged me again, a grin spreading across her face. “Never mind. You wouldn’t be a star anyway. You’d be . . . the moon.”
“The moon?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, the moon,” she confirmed. “It’s strong, bright, and always watching. It keeps the stars company. That’s you, San.”
“That’s dumb,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “If I’m the moon and you become a star, we’d never be together. I’d miss you too much.”
She sat up, glaring at me, her curls bouncing as she moved. “You’re the perfect moon, though. The moon’s important. It keeps everything in balance. You have to be it.”
I shrugged, lying back down and folding my arms behind my head. “Fine. I’ll be the moon, then.”
She flopped back onto her sleeping bag, staring up at the sky again. We lay there in silence for a while, just the two of us beneath the vastness of the universe, feeling both small and infinite at the same time.
“Promise me something?” Halsey asked, her voice small, almost fragile.
“What?” I turned my head to look at her.
“If we ever have to leave each other, we’ll always find our way back.”
I swallowed, staring at her illuminated face under the soft glow of the moon, her expression so earnest that it made my heart ache.
But I couldn’t think of leaving her. Not back then, not ever.
“But when we leave Blissful Meadows, we’ll do it together,” I reminded her, like that was an unbreakable promise.
“That’s the plan,” she said, her voice steady. “But remember what Dad says: ‘Plans are dreams. We have to work hard to make them happen.’ We also have to have a plan b, c, d and . . . be prepared.”
“Promise,” I said, not fully grasping what it meant but knowing it was important. All I knew was that I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but with her, under that sky.
She smiled then, and it felt like the stars themselves shone a little brighter, like the universe was watching and agreeing with us.
With Halsey, I always felt like we were invincible, like the world couldn’t touch us. Two kids lying beneath the stars, dreaming big dreams, with nothing but time ahead of us to make them come true.
I open my eyes, the memory fading like a ghost, leaving a dull ache in its place. I’m back in the hospital room, but the warmth of that summer night still lingers in my chest. It’s strange how time can fold in on itself, how a moment from so long ago can still feel so vivid, so real.
I stare at the ceiling, the stars from that night burning in my mind. We were kids, but that promise—that need to always find our way back—it’s still there. Even if I’m not sure how to get back now.
Halsey’s face flashes in my mind, and I realize how far we’ve drifted—how much time and silence have stretched between us. Maybe this is the start of finding our way back. Or maybe it’s just the beginning of another heartache I’m not sure I can handle.
I let out a breath, the heaviness of it sitting with me. Life’s always about choices—the ones we embrace, the ones we run from, and the ones that never really leave us.
Right now, I can’t tell which one this is.
Is this the decision that will bring me back to the only two people I’ve ever truly loved?
Or is it the mistake that’ll break me all over again?
Will she even agree to what I’ve asked? I’m not sure what I was looking for when I saw her face, when I asked her to help me—or maybe I was asking for something more.
I just hope I get to see her again.
I just hope she hasn’t moved on completely.
I just hope this time, I won’t lose her all over again.
I just hope . . . well, hope is all I have left.