Chapter Twenty-Seven Aurora / Joshua
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
It had been two weeks and a few days.
Wednesday. December eleventh.
Colder, busier, Silverwood always felt heavier when the holidays crept close. Lights were being hung between the trees outside the library; students were rushing across the courtyard with coffee cups and deadlines, scarves pulled high enough to hide from the wind.
I tugged my coat tighter, the fabric stiff from the cold, and kept walking. The air smelled like frost and roasted chestnuts from the vendor near the art building. It almost felt peaceful, if it weren’t for the ache in my head.
My fingers were stiff as I flipped through the notes I’d taken these past few weeks of shadowing Joshua Lockhart.
The pages rustled, full of bullet points and observations, written in my neat, obsessive handwriting.
Nov 26 — drills in the rain, team morale good. Coach left early, Joshua stayed behind to check equipment.
Dec 2 — minor argument with team over new formation. Resolved calmly.
Dec 6 — silent practice, no incidents.
I stopped walking, scanning the words again.
He was… normal.
Not cruel. Not kind.
Not the Joshua I met in August last year, but not a new one either.
Just… still.
Still in a way that made me feel weirdly empty.
I should be relieved that the comments stopped, that he didn’t humiliate me anymore. But somehow the quiet felt worse. It was too clean. Too measured.
Like he’d decided to erase me without saying it.
The way he passed me during practice now, no words, no look, just a nod toward the bench as if I were part of the air. I couldn’t even tell if he was being professional or if he was pretending I didn’t exist.
And maybe that was better. Maybe this was how it should be.
I turned the page.
My handwriting wavered, a tiny smear where the ink had dragged.
Dec 11 — no interaction. Normal.
Normal. Whatever that means anymore.
The wind picked up, catching my hair and flipping a page backwards. I held it down and stared at the curve of his name written over and over, unintentionally, at the top of every page.
It looked strange, written so many times. Too familiar. Too close.
I sighed, closing the notebook and hugging it to my chest.
Maybe this was better. Maybe the calm was safer. Maybe this was the part where we both pretended November never happened. The mud never happened. The ball near my head never happened. Nothing… happened.
I kept walking, past the frozen fountain, past the noise of campus, pretending that everything was okay. That I was happy everything turned out this way.
And then I saw him.
Miles.
Leaning against his car like it was made for him, smiling down at a girl I didn’t recognise. Her hand brushed his arm; he didn’t move it away.
He said something that made her laugh, head tilting back, his grin widening in return.
I stopped walking.
For a second, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore.
Just that tight, hollow ache in my chest, the kind that comes when reality nudges you too hard.
Oh. Of course.
I shouldn’t feel anything. I wasn’t supposed to. We were friends. He was kind, easy, warm, and he didn’t owe me anything. Still, that tiny, pathetic hope that had lived quietly in my chest for weeks flickered out, small and silent.
I was still staring when someone stepped into my view.
A shadow.
Tall, broad, blocking the light from the streetlamp.
“Don’t look at him,” a low voice said.
My head snapped up.
Joshua.
He was standing so close the winter air between us felt thinner, his eyes locked on mine, steady, unblinking.
“Look at me.”
His tone wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t even sharp. Just… steady. Firm. Like a command he didn’t need to raise his voice for.
And I did. I looked at him.
Because I didn’t know how not to.
His gaze was cold enough to make the wind feel warm. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking away once to where Miles was still talking to that girl and then back to me.
“Naive.”
One word.
Sharp.
Precise.
Like a knife meant for the softest part of me.
It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t cruel, not in tone. But the meaning? It sliced clean.
Because it was true. I was naive. Naive enough to believe Miles was different. Naive enough to think the smiles were special, that the attention was… real. I was stupid enough to fall for the same act he gave everyone else.
My throat tightened.
I looked down, notebook clutched to my chest like it could shield me. My hair fell forward, covering my face, and I stayed still, too embarrassed to move, too humiliated to breathe properly.
I could feel Joshua’s eyes still on me, heavy, unrelenting.
He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.
The silence said enough; I told you so, without saying it.
The air between us ached, bitter and cold.
And I wished, more than anything, that the ground would just open up and swallow me whole.
My boots scraped against the pavement, the sound too loud in the frozen air. I kept my head down as I walked away from the humiliation, from the stupid feelings that were all in my head. I didn’t look back.
Not at Miles.
Not at the girl with him.
Not at Joshua, still standing where I left him.
The wind hit my face and stung my eyes, and I told myself it was the cold.
Just the cold.
—
Joshua
I stood there long after she left.
Long after her little frame disappeared down the path, head bowed like she’d been scolded.
Because she had. By me.
My jaw clenched as I turned back toward the gate.
Miles was still there.
Different girl. New face. Same act.
He laughed at something she said, all charm, the easy grin he always used when he wanted something.
It’s pathetic.
He’s pathetic.
And yet she fell for it.
God, she’s so fucking stupid.
Why him? Why would she—out of everyone—look at someone like him and think that was safe, that was real? He’s fake. So fake it makes my skin crawl. Everything about him is polished, performed.
He flirts because he can.
Because people let him.
Because girls like her make it easy.
And she’s too naive to see it.
Dumb.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Just because I don’t smile? That’s it, right?
Because I don’t play pretend? Because I don’t make it easy?
I drag a hand down my face and let out a bitter laugh.
Of course. Who the hell would want the guy who doesn’t know how to make them laugh?
The guy who only knows how to push people away.
I turn, finally walking toward the parking lot, fists buried in my pockets, trying not to think about the look she gave him.
The way she looked at him was like he was the light, and I was just the shadow in the corner.
Stupid girl.
Stupid me…
The drive back was supposed to calm me down.
It didn’t.
The sky was getting darker, the streets half-empty, and I was still gripping the wheel too tightly. I wasn’t even thinking about where I was going until the red light caught me.
And there she was.
Aurora.
Walking home. Alone.
Her head was down, notebook hugged to her chest the same way she held it that first day she shadowed me. Her hair was falling forward, hiding her face.
But not enough.
I saw it.
The way she wiped at her cheek.
Once. Twice.
Fast, like she didn’t want anyone to see.
Something in my chest twisted, hard.
I shouldn’t care.
I shouldn’t fucking care.
But I did.
I loosened my grip on the steering wheel just to realise my fingers were shaking. For a second, I almost pulled over. Almost rolled the window down. Almost said something, anything.
But what? Sorry I called you naive? Sorry I keep breaking you because I don’t know how to stop?
Pathetic.
So I stayed still, headlights cutting through the dark, watching her walk past the crossing. The wind caught her hair, and for a moment, she looked even smaller.
And I hated myself for it.
For making her cry.
For still wanting to be the one who made her smile again.
The light turned green.
She kept walking.
And I drove on, pretending I didn’t care.
Maybe it wasn’t even me.
Yeah.
That had to be it.
She was probably crying over him. Over that pathetic asshole Miller and whatever girl he was kissing this week.
Because why the hell would she cry over me? I’ve said worse. Way worse. She never flinched. Never teared up. She’d just stare, quiet, blank, like I was nothing more than noise in the background.
So, no. It couldn’t be me.
It was him.
It was always him.
Still, the thought didn’t settle right. It pressed under my ribs, heavy and sharp, until my grip on the steering wheel turned white again.
If she wants to cry over him, fine.
If she wants to look at him like he hung the damn moon, fine.
Let her.
But God, seeing her like that, shoulders shaking, wiping her face like the world just ended… it did something to me I don’t even want to name.
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
Except I do.
And that’s the worst part.
Because if it wasn’t Miller, if she was crying because of me, then I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.