Chapter Fifty-Two Joshua / Aurora
Chapter Fifty-Two
Joshua / Aurora
Joshua
I was just cutting across campus when I saw her, legs swinging off the bleacher, notebook beside her, hair moving with the wind. She looked small but alive, kicking her feet as if she were counting the seconds until someone noticed her.
Someone like me.
So I walked up, pretending it was casual. “Hey.”
She turned, those soft brown eyes finding me, and suddenly the air didn’t feel so cold anymore.
Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she smiled. “Are you busy this Friday?”
I blinked. “Friday?”
She nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Um… are you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Never busy for you.”
Her brows lifted slightly, cheeks tinting pink. I realised what I’d just said and cleared my throat, trying to play it off.
She hesitated, fumbling with the corner of her sleeve. “Do you… have a girl?”
That threw me off. “A girl?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Friday’s…Valentine’s Day. I didn’t want to—I mean, I don’t want to take you away from someone if you already—”
I couldn’t help it, a small laugh escaped me, half disbelief, half something softer. “No,” I said. “No girl.”
“Oh.” Her voice was small, almost as if she didn’t believe me.
“Why?” I asked, watching her carefully.
She shifted, eyes flicking up to mine before darting away. “I just thought… maybe we could hang out. With Honey. If that’s okay.”
Honey.
Of course.
Always the kitten. Always something safe for her to hide behind. Still, I smiled genuinely this time. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’d like that.”
She looked up again, and there it was: that spark. That tiny flicker in her eyes made me feel like I’d done something right.
“Friday then,” I added, turning slightly so she wouldn’t see how much I was smiling.
“Friday,” she repeated, nodding softly, fingers tapping against her thigh as if she were trying to calm herself down.
I turned away, that little, stupid warmth in my chest still lingering, that feeling she always managed to leave me with. But the second I started walking off, it died fast.
Because there they were.
Aly and Jennie, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
And Layla, who didn’t even bother looking at me. Her eyes went straight past me…to her.
Aurora.
The way they all moved—protective, immediate—told me everything.
Aly took a step forward first. “You need to quit it, Lockhart.”
Jennie joined in, her tone biting. “You’ve done enough damage. Emotionally, physically—” she gestured at me like I was something foul, “and you still have the nerve to stay near her?”
I swallowed the urge to defend myself; to tell them they didn’t know the whole story. Because what could I say? That I was trying to make it right? That I’d changed?
People don’t believe in apologies from the monster that caused the scar.
Aly stepped closer. “You broke her. Do you get that? You broke her. And now you think hanging around her fixes anything?”
Her voice was shaking with anger.
Mine was quiet. “I’m not trying to—”
“No,” Jennie cut in, hard. “You are. You don’t even see it. You being there means she has to remember everything. You can’t fix what you destroyed, Joshua. So stop trying to make yourself feel better by staying close.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling the words hit one by one, all deserved, all painful.
Aly crossed her arms tighter, her voice lowering but no less vicious. “No matter what life you get, or how many chances, you’ll never deserve her. So do her a favour and give her peace. Let her be happy for once. Let her stop worrying about getting hurt again.”
Silence.
Long, suffocating silence.
I just stood there, taking every word.
Jennie glared for a second longer before turning away. Aly followed, heels clicking, fury echoing behind her.
Layla didn’t leave right away.
She just stood there for a second, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her cardigan, the winter wind pushing her hair slightly across her face.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, not like Aly’s fury or Jennie’s bite; it was calm, like she was talking to someone who needed to hear the truth, not punishment.
“Aurora trusts too easily,” she said quietly. “Because she has a heart of gold.”
I looked down at her. She wasn’t glaring. She wasn’t judging. She was just… being honest. And somehow, that made it worse.
Layla’s eyes lifted to meet mine. “If you really care about her, Joshua, then don’t give up. Keep trying to be better. Keep proving that she didn’t make a mistake letting you in again.”
Her voice wavered slightly, barely audible over the wind. “But if you know deep down you can’t change, if you’ll only end up hurting her again, then please… do her a favour and walk away before it’s too late.”
She didn’t wait for me to answer. She just gave a small nod and turned, walking after her friends.
And I stood there, frozen in the middle of the pathway, Layla’s words sinking into every quiet, ugly part of me that still doubted I could ever be someone worth staying for.
If I could truly change. If I deserved the second chance she gave me when she didn’t have to. If Aurora—soft, forgiving, heart-of-gold Aurora—was only setting herself up to be broken again.
I ran my hand through my hair and let out a breath that trembled.
Layla was right. Every word.
But what if this new version of me was just temporary? What if I slipped back? What if trying wasn’t enough?
I looked toward her, and she was smiling up at the girls, really smiling up at them as they were sitting down next to her on the bleachers. Being something to her I could never be.
If you can’t change… please, walk away.
Could I change?
Could I really be different from the boy who broke her?
I wanted to believe I could. God, I wanted to.
But when I looked at my hands—the same hands that had hurt her, the same ones that once trembled in guilt and rage—all I could think was, what if I fail again?
What if the only thing I’m good at is ruining good things?
I turned away from the field, from the echo of her laughter that used to fill it. My chest ached, a dull heaviness pressing against my ribs as I started walking away.
Play it safe, Lockhart.
That’s what I told myself.
If I couldn’t promise to stay steady, to stay kind, then maybe the safest thing I could do for her… was to stay away. Because she deserved steady. She deserved safe. She deserved peace, not a man still haunted by what he broke.
So I kept walking.
Didn’t look back.
Maybe this was what change really looked like: not chasing, not clinging, just… letting go before I destroyed her all over again.
Even if it meant being the one left standing in the dark.
—
Aurora
He was right there.
Across the hallway, tall, quiet, familiar. The way he always looked before I called out to him, before he’d turn just slightly, that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth whenever he noticed me first.
Except this time…
He didn’t.
“Hey,” I called softly.
He stopped, turned his head, not fully, just enough for his eyes to flicker toward me.
For a heartbeat, it was like before.
The way he always looked at me, that still, unreadable expression that somehow felt like something. But then it changed.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. His voice was low, careful, clipped, as if he’d rehearsed it. “I’m late for class. We’ll talk later, yeah?”
And before I could nod, before I could even say anything back, he was already walking past.
Past me.
Like I wasn’t there.
Like I was air.
I turned slightly, watching the back of his head disappear into the crowd, and my stomach twisted in a way I couldn’t name.
He didn’t look back. Not once.
I tried to tell myself it was fine; he was just busy, he said later. But something in his voice… that final, practised calm, it didn’t sound like later.
It sounded like goodbye.
I forced a smile. Just small enough to hide the sting sitting somewhere under my ribs.
He was probably just late, truly. He always walked fast when he had somewhere to be, and I didn’t want to be that person who overthought every glance, every pause in his tone.
Besides… we were hanging out this Friday, anyway.
He said yes. He promised.
So, it’s fine. It’s fine.
I turned away, pulling my books tighter against my chest as I walked to my own class, letting my shoes echo softly against the floor. The air outside was chilly, the kind that bit at your cheeks but still felt fresh enough to make you breathe deeper.
Friday wasn’t far. Just three more days.
Three more days until it was the two of us again, maybe with Honey sleeping between us like always, maybe just quiet and easy like before.
I told myself not to worry. That people have bad days. That sometimes things feel colder before they feel warm again.
So I sat down in my seat, pulled out my notebook, and waited for class to start, my mind already skipping forward to Friday, to soft light, to laughter, to him.
Because surely, by then, he’d look at me again the way he always did.