Written in the Stars

Episode9

Josh point of View

Josh sat on the cold hard floor beside the sliding glass door, his back pressed flat against the wall. The afternoon sun poured through the pane, pooling across his stretched-out legs, warming the denim over his thighs while the floor beneath him stayed stubbornly icy.

He lifted the beer bottle to his lips—the third one, the label half-peeled from his idle picking—and took a slow, measured swallow.

The glass rim was slick with condensation against his mouth. He let the bitter wheat taste sit on his tongue a moment before swallowing, then lowered the bottle to rest against his knee.

Marible was supposed to be here by now.

He glanced at his phone on the floor beside him, the screen dark.

She'd texted him back forty minutes ago—something about her sister's birthday party, how she'd try to slip away, how she'd text when she was leaving.

But nothing had come back since. No follow-up. No explanation. Just silence and the slow creep of the sun across the hardwood.

Josh took another sip of his beer and stared out at the backyard. The grass needed mowing. A neighbor's dog barked somewhere down the block, the sound distant and muffled through the glass. The sliding door was cracked open just a sliver, enough for a thin blade of warm air to push inside and mix with the cool of the floor against his palms.

He let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The beer was going warm in his grip, the condensation dripping down the neck of the bottle and pooling in the webbing of his fingers. He should've put it down. Should've gotten up and grabbed a cold one from the fridge. But the floor held him like a magnet, and the sun on his face felt too good to abandon.

The quiet pressed in around him.

No TV.

No music.

Just the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the occasional creak of the house settling into itself. In that kind of silence, the mind did what it wanted—it wandered, it dug, it pulled up things you thought you'd buried years ago.

And for Josh, it always pulled up the same thing.

Joelien.

The name surfaced like a stone rising through still water, and with it came the memory he'd been running from for over a decade.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, but he wasn't seeing the water-stained plaster anymore. He was seeing her room—her parents' old farmhouse, the one out past the county line with the wraparound porch and the rusted windmill in the back field.

They were seventeen.

He could still smell that room. Lavender and dust and the faint mustiness of an old quilt her grandmother had made, the one she kept folded at the foot of her bed.

The walls were covered in posters—bands she liked, movie stubs she'd taped up like artifacts, a string of fairy lights that gave everything a soft amber glow even though it was barely nine o'clock at night.

They'd been drinking her father's whiskey. The good stuff—the bottle he kept in the cabinet above the fridge that he thought nobody knew about.

Joelien had climbed onto the kitchen counter to reach it, her bare feet leaving prints on the granite, while Josh stood below her with his heart hammering like he was committing a federal crime. She'd poured them each two fingers into coffee mugs because there were no clean glasses, and they'd carried them back to her room like trophies. Her parents were out of town and their where alone that night.

The whiskey had burned going down—rough and smoky and way too strong for either of them to handle.

But they'd sipped at it anyway, making faces after every swallow, and somewhere between the second and third mug refill, the burn had faded into a warm looseness that made everything funnier than it actually was.

They'd been sitting on her bed, the laptop propped on a pillow between them, watching stupid videos on YouTube.

The ones with the cats falling off counters. The ones with the bad lip readings of political speeches. They'd howled with laughter, Josh's shoulder pressed against hers, the bed narrow enough that there was nowhere else to go. A bag of Doritos sat between them, orange dust on their fingers, and Joelien kept pausing the videos to replay the best parts, her whole body shaking with laughter, her hair falling across her face in dark waves.

Josh had been watching the screen, but at some point, he'd started watching her instead.

The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The way she'd toss her head to get the hair out of her face and then immediately forget and let it fall back again. The way her lips—bare, no gloss, just her—stretched into this wide, unguarded grin that made something in his chest pull tight.

He'd noticed it then. A small crumb at the corner of her mouth. Orange from the Doritos, clinging to the soft skin where her lips met.

"Hey," he'd said. "You've got something—"

She'd turned to him, her eyebrows raised, and he'd reached out without thinking. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, and the crumb came away, but his finger lingered a second too long against the warm curve of her lower lip.

Her laughter died.

The video kept playing, the tinny sound of it suddenly very far away.

He was close. So close he could see the faint freckles across the bridge of her nose, the way her pupils had blown wide in the low light, the way her lips had parted just slightly around the breath she was holding. His hand was still hovering near her jaw, his thumb still damp from the brief contact with her mouth.

He leaned in.

It wasn't a decision.

It was gravity.

It was the way the earth pulls the moon, the way water runs downhill—inevitable, thoughtless, and so natural it felt like the only thing he could've possibly done.

His lips found hers, and she made a small sound against his mouth, something between a gasp and a sigh, and then she was kissing him back. Her fingers found the front of his shirt and curled into the fabric, pulling him closer, and the laptop slid off the pillow and landed somewhere on the bed with a muffled thump that neither of them acknowledged.

She tasted like whiskey and Doritos and something underneath that was just her—warm and alive and real in a way that made his head spin faster than the alcohol ever could.

Josh sat on his floor, the warm beer forgotten in his hand, and felt his heart stutter in his chest.

The memory was so vivid he could almost taste her again, could almost feel the ghost of her fingers twisted in his shirt, the soft press of her mouth yielding under his. He swallowed hard and set the bottle down on the floor with a soft clink.

He could still feel it.

All these years later, that kiss sat somewhere in his body like a splinter too deep to dig out—aching every time the weather changed, every time the quiet pressed in close enough to let it throb.

His phone buzzed beside him. He looked down. A text from Marible: "Almost there"

He picked up the phone, typed back a quick

"cool," and let his head fall against the wall again.

The sun had shifted. The floor was still cold. And somewhere underneath the present moment he could still feel her under his skin . There was not way he is going to forget about her now not after what happen this morning in that living room.

He could still feel her how he enter her , that same feeling came over him what he felted back then when he was seventeen years old. And that is when knew he still loves her so deeply , she would always be his first and he would always have this love inside him what are undying in him.

Josh left out heavy sighed and lean take his warm beer and down the it . He was so screwed , it took on kiss and it lead to another with her and then he was back where he was at the beginning back then when he fall for her.

The knock on his door eco through his apartment making him to rise to his feet and mutter “ Finally “ . He approach the front door and felt relief that Marble are there now .

Mathew point of view

Mathew awoke to the sky ablaze with the descending sun, hues of orange and crimson painting the horizon. He marveled at how deeply sleep had claimed him, a profound weariness settling in his bones. Shifting upright, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a tired yawn escaping his lips.

His gaze fell upon the bedside clock, its numbers glowing: 3 o'clock. Shock rippled through him at the hours he'd lost to slumber.

He reached for his phone, its cool glass a familiar weight in his hand, and saw a message from Driven. He'd completely forgotten to inform his friend of his arrival. Unlocking the device, he opened the message. A smile spread across his face as he read. Crowdies, their old haunt from college and high school, sprang to mind. A wave of nostalgia washed over him; he'd missed that place terribly.

Quickly, he typed a reply:

"Hi Driven, I'm back in South Africa! Just landed this morning, was a bit tired so I'm just waking up now, but I'll definitely see you at our old place. I'll be there around five. Just need to shower and get ready, then I'll head over."

He hit send, then rose swiftly, grabbing his suitcase. He was grateful he'd packed casual clothes for moments like this. Pulling on a fresh shirt, jeans, and underwear, he headed for the shower, the promise of hot water a welcome thought.

After a steamy, refreshing shower, he slipped on his socks and sneakers, a spritz of cologne adding a final touch. Wallet and phone in hand, he headed out.

It was a relief that it was only Saturday, with the project not starting until Monday, affording him time to rest and settle in.

Mathew decided to take a taxi. As the car pulled up to the familiar, rustic wooden building, crowned with its iconic big black cow sign, an involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

Some things, he mused, truly never changed. Climbing out of the taxi, he gazed up at the building, a flood of cherished memories returning.

He paid the driver, then approached the entrance.

The lively thrum of music already spilled out, mingling with the ebb and flow of people entering and exiting the bar.

Mathew enter the building and was met with dust, live music from the band playing in the corner, and people busy having a good time. The sweet smell of sugar filled his nose as he stepped inside. A smile curled on his lips as the familiar scent brought back old memories.

His eyes scanned across the room until he spotted Driven sitting at a table near the window. Driven noticed him almost instantly, and a grin spread across his face. “Mathew! Over here!” he called out.

His old friend.

Damn… it really was him. Had Driven gotten older in just a year? Then again, they were both thirty-four now. Not young anymore. Mathew smiled and walked toward the table.

“Driven, buddy,” Mathew said warmly as he opened his arms and pulled his friend into a tight hug. He still couldn’t believe how much time had passed. The last time he had seen Driven was when he was still married to Joelien, shortly after they had lost their daughter, Mia.

Mathew pulled back slightly and gave Driven a playful tap on the shoulder.

“Would you look at you, man,” Mathew teased. “Have you been working out?”

He noticed the extra muscle on Driven’s frame, but he also noticed how the years had touched him. There were a few strands of gray hidden among his blond hair, and something older behind his eyes.

Driven chuckled softly. “I think it’s all the work, man. You know… scientist life,” he replied with a smile. “Come, sit down. I already got us some beer.”

Mathew glanced at the table and immediately grinned. He had missed this beer.

Where he had been living, nothing ever tasted quite the same. He sat down, grabbed the glass, and took a long sip, savoring the rich flavor in his mouth before letting out a satisfied breath.

“Ah man… now that is some good stuff,” Mathew said with a smile before taking another sip. “This is what I’ve missed.”