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.
