I should be out there.
I should be leading them.
I should be calling her… Aurora, to tell her not to come, that I can’t do this today. But I can’t even move my thumb. So I just sat there, phone in my lap, shaking like the scared little boy I swore I’d never be again.
The rain kept falling.
And I didn’t let it touch me.
Then the screen lit up, knocking me out of my spiral, bright against the dark room.
My Princess: Is practice cancelled? Everyone’s waiting.
I stared at the message until it blurred. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, the sound of the rain filling every inch of silence. It hit the window like small fists, relentless.
I typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Then settled on the only thing I had energy for.
Me: Yeah.
No explanation. No captain talk. Just that.
That’s all my body was allowed to give.
I dropped the phone onto the floor beside me and leaned back until my head hit the edge of the mattress. The bass of the rain thudded through the glass, which made my stomach turn.
Headphones. I needed the noise to stop.
I grabbed them from the nightstand, slid them on, and pressed play. The music drowned everything else out, almost. I turned the volume up until the rain became a dull echo.
Eyes closed.
Breathe.
Imagine something else.
Imagine… the soft curve of her cheeks, the way her lashes trembled when she tried not to look at me. The sound of her humming that day was unguarded and still the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
I could picture her now, tucked under a library window somewhere, rain light flickering over her hair, notebook open, pen steady. Probably frowning at my one-word reply, thinking I was mad again.
I wasn’t. I just couldn’t breathe.
I let the music pulse through me, every beat pushing the memory of the accident further away. But when the song softened, she was still there, Aurora, quiet, bright, too soft for the world.
If I had to imagine something good, it would always be her.
The rain kept falling. I kept my eyes closed.
—
The music had turned into white noise hours ago. I didn’t remember when I stopped hearing it.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dim. The rain hadn’t let up. My phone sat beside me, screen dark until a soft chime cut through the air.
Someone’s at the door.
I blinked at it, throat dry. The clock on the wall glowed 4:23 p.m.
