Chapter 5
Stella
I haven’t been able to wipe the smile off my face since I walked out of Isabella’s coffee shop. I’m giddy with hope.
I can get my magic—my life—back.
Isabella’s older brother, Adrian, told me that other people here have lost their powers, and it feels reassuring to know I’m not alone.
I grew up as a prodigy, viewed as one of a kind. A gift. Losing my magic made it that much harder. I wonder how different my life would have been if I’d grown up in a place like Westwood Spring, where magic was normal. No pressure, no expectations.
As I walk through the peaceful streets, a familiar chuckle echoes. Adrian.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, it feels like time stretches. He grins, and my heart thuds, then settles.
What is it about him? His laugh, his presence . . . it calms me. God, I don’t even know him and I feel safe. How can he have that effect on people?
I break eye contact, turn around and walk away.
My mind drifts back to my dad’s message, and a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
I still remember the first tournament I won. It changed everything for me, and I made sure it changed my parents’ lives too. They’d never have to worry about work and money again.
I love you, sweetheart. You’ve taken care of us for so long. Take care of yourself now.
I miss him so much already.
Desperate to shake the weight of those emotions, I step into the next shop I see. That’s pretty much what I’ve done the whole day—explore the town, walking into shops and meeting new people.
A kind man smiles at me, and I realize I’ve wandered into a restaurant.
This place is pure coziness. Everything here, from the tables to the walls to the decorations, is a warm shade of brown.
Candles are lit everywhere, casting the place in an orange glow.
I feel like I’ve stepped into a fireplace.
“Welcome,” the man’s voice snaps me back to the present.
“Hi,” I reply, still in a daze. This town is pure magic, and this restaurant is like a warm blanket.
“Is there a table for one?” I ask, wondering if I need a reservation.
You’re still a mess. You’re Stella Brookstone, since when are you spontaneous?
The young man smiles at me. “We always have room for everyone.”
I smile back as he leads me to a table.
I grab the menu and read through it, my skin prickling.
I haven’t done this in so long. I’m usually the annoying one that has to know the menu before going to the restaurant.
Choosing something on the spot is something I haven’t done since I was a teenager.
I’d even go so far as to say I haven’t done it since I was a literal child.
Minutes tick by, and I’m still staring at the menu when the waiter comes over. He has a warm smile and curly brown hair, much like mine. His name tag reads Julian Griffin.
“Hello. You’re new, right?” His voice is all amusement and lightheartedness.
I laugh. “Yeah. Everyone keeps saying that.”
His grin widens. “We all know each other. Pretty easy to spot someone you don’t know.”
I grin back. “I see that now.”
He extends his hand. “I’m Julian.”
I shake it. “Stella.”
After he takes my order, he comes back to my table and starts chatting with me until my phone screen lights up with social media notifications.
From the discussions I had with other people today, they do have internet here, which is why I have reception.
However, none of them use it. It’s mostly for tourists visiting.
I try to ignore the notifications, but Julian smiles at me. “If you’re here to take a break from your career,” he starts, remembering what I had said just a few minutes ago, “then why don’t you turn off your social media? Do some reflection without everyone else’s opinions in the mix.
“I . . . I honestly don’t know. Didn’t think of it,” I admit and then glance at the notifications. Of course, it’s about my departure. Articles, speculation, rumors. And everyone’s wondering what I’ll do next—especially with the tournament coming up.
Now that he mentioned it, a break from social media, from the pressure, the fucking ticking bomb I seem to hear all the time, the weight of people’s expectations . . . A break from it all sounds fantastic.
But what if I miss something important? What if I fall out of the loop?
I want my life back. So. Badly.
Was it really only a few months ago that it all fell apart? It feels like years since I last heard the cheers, saw the posts about how I inspired others. The pride I felt when I was the last one standing in that temple . . .
I’ve always loved being in the spotlight. Maybe I like attention. Or maybe it’s just because I like to feel like I matter. Whatever the reason, it’s always been my favorite part of competing.
“Well.” Julian’s voice brings me back to the conversation. “I hope you’ll be able to figure things out. With, or without, taking a break from social media.”
I smile, but his name tag catches my eye, and I remember he’s supposed to be working, not chatting with me. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
He chuckles. “I own the place now. I can afford a break.”
That word catches my attention— own. Now.
I know there’s more to dig. Call it too much curiosity, I don’t care. I’ve always had a good read on people. “Is this your family’s restaurant.”
He stiffens, and a flicker of something passes across his face. “Yes. Always has been.”
Oof. I can see I hit a nerve.
Still, I ask tentatively, “Was it hard to step up and ‘continue the legacy’?”
He smiles at me, a smile that has way more meaning than his previous ones. Relief, compassion, and a hint of gratefulness. “It was hard, but I sacrificed what I needed to in order to get it. What’s the use of being the golden child if you don’t get all the praise that comes with the title?”
His reply punches me, hard. Golden child. Merit. Title.
That pressure, that need to always be the best.
I sigh. “Being a golden child isn’t always easy, is it?”
He shakes his head. “Far from it.”
We sit in silence for a moment, both lost in thought.
Eventually, Julian heads back to work, but I’m left unsettled. I always thought I pushed myself to be the best. I’ve always been called ambitious, hardworking, and organized.
But what if, all along, I was pushing myself too hard to meet impossible expectations?
I’m snapped from my thoughts when Adrian and his sisters walk in. The other two of them came to welcome me after I left Isabella’s coffee shop, though I didn’t have the time to learn their names.
I shouldn’t be surprised that we cross paths—it’s clear this town doesn’t have many places to eat. Still, seeing them together stirs something in me.
My gaze lingers on them for longer than I admit, longing slowly making its way into my heart.
When I was younger, there was nothing I wanted more than a sibling. Someone I could tease, someone I could take care of—a best friend. But I never got one.
I used to push those feelings aside, but now, looking at Adrian and his sisters, they come rushing back.
If I’d had a sibling, would I have felt as affected as I was by my childhood? Would the secret I’d carried have felt as heavy?
I wake up to my bedroom bathed in the pale moonlight’s glow.
I glance at the empty glass on my nightstand. Ugh, I need water, now.
Grabbing it, I head downstairs to hydrate so I can go back to sleep. I’m still barely able to focus and keep my eyes open when I reach the stairs and–-
“We don’t have our electricity bills paid, William!”
I freeze. My mom’s voice is barely above a whisper, but since I’m just above the stairs, I can hear her with perfect clarity.
My heart races. What? It . . . It doesn’t make sense. My parents are the most hardworking people I know . . . how could . . . what—
“Elena, we’re going to fix this soon.”
I can feel my mother relax. Dad and his way with words always had that effect on us, but there’s still tension thick in the air.
I’ve always known we aren’t living the life my parents dreamed of—a bigger house, better cars, a quieter place away from the city. But I keep offering to help, and they always refuse. They never wanted me to work young. They didn’t want me to feel burdened.
I believed them. Now, I wish I hadn’t. I could have helped! I could have done something if I’d known earlier.
It’s not like there’s no job available for kids. I could have found something. I still can now.
“Let’s get some sleep now. We’ll find a solution tomorrow, when we’ve rested,” my dad says gently.
I run back to my room as I hear their footsteps coming closer, my empty glass forgotten.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I know, without a doubt, that I won’t let my parents struggle anymore. Not if I can help it.
Sometimes, I wish I’d kept my childlike innocence. That I hadn’t learned how much my parents were struggling at just nine. That I could have gone on with life peacefully.
But that’s not how my life turned out. I threw myself into my studies, always looking for ways to help. I earned money however I could. It makes me sad to think about those years. How much pressure I put on myself as a child.
A few months after I started helping out financially, I realized how much more I could do to help them with my magic. I started using it daily to restock the fridge, fix anything that was broken, and even to help build a small, comfortable house in a quieter area of the city when I was fifteen.
My mom hated how much I was tiring myself, using my powers to help, but I was stubborn.
I wouldn’t let them say no to my help. My dad decided to accept it.
He told my mom—when he didn’t think I’d hear—that he knew I was too stubborn to stop, so he wanted to get us into a financial situation where I didn’t have to step in to help.
My mom eventually agreed with his strategy.
My parents had to get jobs at a young age, which is why they were so firm that I wouldn’t start working until I finished studying.
They didn’t want me to have the life they’d lived.
They never wanted me to start competing, but when I told them I just wanted to “do it for fun,” they let me.
Neither of them had magical abilities and they wanted to be open-minded, to let me follow my dreams.
It’s heartbreaking how dreams can fade away the second you wake up and reality catches up to you.