Chapter 1
Chapter one
‘Five minutes, darling. Are you ready?’
‘Almost!’ I call back.
Standing in front of the mirror propped against an empty bookshelf, I adjust my sleek, blonde bob, for the third time in fifteen minutes.
The fluorescent lighting is unforgiving, washing me out and making the red lipstick a little too sharp.
Blue contacts conceal my brown eyes; oversized, clear-framed glasses, enlarging them to an owlish size, making me look not like my usual self—exactly the point.
My hands tremble as I smooth the lapel of my blazer: a structured, deep forest green. Nothing like the oversized jumpers I’ve been living in since Winter entered the chat.
‘It’s just the excitement,’ I whisper. Or maybe it is the fact, that out there, a line of readers is forming for a woman who—technically—doesn’t exist.
Lola Reid, the romance author.
Before I go out there, I inhale deeply and exhale slowly, practising my best smile: not too big, just warm enough. I give myself one last look in the mirror. ‘You’re not Lilah tonight,’ I murmur. ‘You’re Lola, you’ve got this.’
I’m not sure when pretending turns into performing, or when performing starts to feel like disappearing but, tonight, disappearing is the only way I can be seen.
Grabbing my journal, I turn toward the noise: just in case inspiration hits mid-chaos. I open the door and nearly barrel into my two best friends.
Tess is all sharp lines under a neat, navy blazer, her dark hair tied back with two pens in a messy bun; with eyes that clock every detail in a second.
Marley is sunshine in wide-leg jeans and scuffed white sneakers, strawberry blonde curls escaping her claw clip, and her lip gloss already smudged from what appears to be a muffin. Marley pulls me into a hug, and I melt into it.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
‘You’ve got this, Lilah! Or should I say, Lola?’ Tess smirks. ‘Tonight is going to be amazing.’
‘Babe, it’s wild out there,’ Marley adds, practically bouncing. ‘It’s going to be one epic debut.’
Tess holds up her phone. ‘Yeah, you’re already trending on TikTok.’
Carol appears beside them with her camera. ‘Let’s get one quick photo before your whole life changes.’
I notice something about her seems off. The colour in her cheeks is gone, leaving her skin pale, almost translucent in this light. Her sweater hanging looser than normal.
She snaps a photo of the four of us.
But it’s something I can’t quite place. Maybe it’s the way she moves—slower, more deliberate. Like she is thinking through each motion before she makes it. None of it screams wrong, but together it feels like the air has shifted and she is fading at the edges, pretending not to notice.
Maybe I’m imagining it, and she’s just tired.
But the thought doesn’t sit right. Not when she has that calm look on her face—steady and peaceful... resigned.
The applause washes over me like a wave the second I step into the main room.
Marley gives my hand a quick squeeze, leaning in with a grin. ‘Smile, babe. You’re a rockstar tonight.’
‘Go get ’em, Lola,’ Tess adds behind her.
‘Deep breath,’ I remind myself, stepping up to the front.
Just breathe. I look up and freeze. The crowd stands between shelves strung with fairy lights, a sea of soft faces brimming with anticipation.
Some clutching copies of The Year Before You—my book—like it means something.
Like my book matters. The thought flutters through me, too big and tender to hold. It still doesn’t feel entirely real.
Hoping the fairy lights, and lack of ones’ overhead, are doing their best to conceal the real me, I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat. My voice no longer shaky, I begin.
‘Hi, everyone. I’m Lola Reid,’ a few excited whoops come from the back, ‘which still feels surreal to say out loud, so thank you for making it a little less terrifying.’ A soft ripple of laughter moves through the crowd.
‘I’m so grateful you’re here, for supporting this story, my story.
For finding pieces of yourselves in its pages, and for making space for me as someone who never really planned to write a book, let alone stand in front of a room talking about it. ’
Someone in the front row smiles and calls out, ‘You’re amazing.’
I smile back. ‘We’ll see how amazing I feel after your reviews come in.’
I glance down at The Year Before You, resting on the lectern; the spine cracking slightly as I open to the marked page.
‘This part, this was hard to write, but it was harder to live through.’ I take another slow breath in and then exhale.
‘You don’t always know it’s the last time they will make you coffee.
The last time they will say your name like they still mean it.
You just wake up one day and realise you’ve been loving someone, who only knows how to hold the version of you they invented. ’
Silence.
I close the book gently. ‘But there’s freedom in the goodbye you give yourself, and that’s where the story starts.’
The room erupts and I instantly feel the tension melt off my shoulders. They are clapping for Lola. For the woman in the bold, red lipstick, and the story she built from broken pieces; and I’m standing there, somewhere underneath it all, wondering if they'd still clap if they saw the cracks.
‘Maybe people will love the book as much as I do,’ I whisper to myself.
Tess steps up to let everyone know we are moving into the book signing portion of the event.
I can finally breathe again.
As the applause fades, I scan the room to see faces glowing with warmth and admiration.
He isn’t among them.
No tall frame leaning by the door. No familiar half-smile from the back row. Justin said he’d try to make it. He promised he would try to be here. What could possibly be more important than this?
Then again, he’d also said he isn’t into my “book stuff.”
The pit in my stomach twists tighter.
‘You crushed it,’ Marley whispers. Her eyes sparkle, unaware of the flicker behind my smile.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur, adjusting my sleeves.
It is fine. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
The room is full of people here for me; just not the one person who should be here.
I am supposed to feel proud and grateful, but all I can feel is the weight sitting heavily in my chest. My smile feels too tight, as if it might crack, and my body doesn’t even feel like mine.
I take my seat at the signing table. A towering stack of books sits beside me.
Tess’s nudge brings me back to the present as she hands over a black gel pen, whispering, ‘Nice and slow. You’re allowed to savour this.’
The first reader steps forward, a woman in her late twenties, holding her copy as if it held something sacred. ‘I just wanted to say thank you,’ she breathes. ‘The part where she leaves after the breakup even though she’s scared? That’s the chapter that got me to do the same.’
My heart stutters. ‘I’m proud of you.’ I mean every word. ‘That’s not an easy decision to make.’
The next reader is a teenage girl wearing a Romance Is Not Dead sweatshirt. She’s already crying when she reaches me. ‘My mum and I read it together. We never really talk, but your book opened something up between us.’
‘Thank you.’ I blink as I smile and sign the page.
More readers approach, some shy, some bubbly; some joking about needing an Eli of their own.
Next came a woman, her fingers trembling.
‘That breakup scene in chapter three?’ she whispers softly.
‘It feels like you wrote it just for me. I was in a very abusive relationship and I didn’t have the strength to leave, but when I read this chapter,’ she wipes a tear from her cheek, ‘I found it, I found my strength, my reason to live for myself and my future.
I can't thank you enough for what you have given me.’
I reach for her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. I can feel the tears welling in my own eyes. ‘Wow, thank you so much for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine the peace you must feel now,’ I tell her as I sign: ‘This story is yours now. Don’t stop chasing your own fairytale.’
She reads what I wrote, and I swear I can see the glow appear across her face as she smiles and walks away with a quiet “thank you.” This moment alone is worth everything to me.
Who knew my story would have this kind of impact on people.
I glance at Tess, as I feel her hand squeeze my knee. I am so glad she is sitting here with me, otherwise I might just fall apart.
The line moves steadily with flowers, t-shirts, and stories I hadn't expected but would never forget.
A woman with rose gold glasses steps up next, eyes wide. ‘I just,’ she exhales, ‘I need to know, is Eli based off someone? Because I fell in love with him, and I’m honestly kind of mad about it.’
I blink, caught off guard. Eli is everything I’d ever wanted someone to be, gentle and steady. The man who doesn’t leave when it gets hard. I wrote him to make myself believe in that kind of love again, since I couldn’t keep holding out for someone like Justin, to prove me wrong.
She laughs. ‘Seriously. His “slow burn or no burn” rule? Iconic. Where do I find an Eli Carter in real life?’
Someone behind her chimes in, ‘You don’t. That’s the problem, you write one and then suffer through reality.’
They laugh and I smile, but the tugging in my chest fails to relent. The room loves Lola; I couldn’t help but wonder if they would have loved Lilah, too.
Carol dimmed the overhead lights. The last book is signed, and the final selfie taken. Fairy lights cast a golden haze across half-empty champagne flutes. Not a single copy of my book is left behind.
I lean back, my hand cramping from hours of signing.
Tess is deep in conversation with the events coordinator.
Marley is crouched in the corner, editing footage and muttering, ‘Hashtag iconic.’
I finally pull out my phone to find one new message.
JUSTIN: Hope you had a good night.
Six words. That is all he gave me. As if I hadn't spent weeks picturing him in the back row, smiling proudly, like this night meant everything to him as well. Instead, there is no apology, no reason, not even an emoji. I stare at it, thumbs hovering. I’m at a loss for words, so I lock the screen without replying.
Marley looks over. ‘Was that Justin?’
I don’t answer right away. ‘He texted,’ I shrug. ‘But he obviously didn’t show.’
Marley makes a face. ‘Ugh. You know what? Forget about him. Tonight is about you and your book.’
I nod, but the sting lingers. I didn’t need him there. I just wanted him to be the type of man who showed up. Plot twist: he wasn’t.
While everyone is packing up, I wander to the front of the store and brush my fingers over my book’s cover. People had called it brave and raw. To me, it is a love letter to the version of myself I am still trying to become.
Journal Entry - Friday, 1st of August
Tonight, I was Lola Reid. People laughed, cried, and told me how much the story meant to them. They held my book like it meant something. Like I meant something.
Justin didn’t show, and I still checked the door every few minutes like an idiot.
Still, I signed every copy with a smile. I spoke to everyone who approached me. I showed up and maybe, just maybe, that’s the start of becoming her for real.
xx