Ink, Secrets, and Almost-Love
2292 Words
Arielle had never felt this nervous about anything school-related before. She stood in front of the bulletin board outside the Writer’s Club office, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh as she read the requirements for joining the club again—1000 words, five chapters, a complete short story. It sounded easy when she first heard it, but now that she was standing here, actually seeing the expectations pinned boldly on the board, her stomach twisted.
This was what every new member had done—Noah had even asked around to confirm. Maxwell said it was standard procedure, nothing special. But to Arielle, it felt like the biggest challenge she had ever faced.
“You’ve been staring at that same line for five minutes,” Noah said as he came up beside her, holding a sketchbook under his arm. “It’s not going to change.”
Arielle sighed, leaning her head lightly on his shoulder. “It’s too much, Noah. I don’t even know where to begin. Five chapters? A thousand words? What do I even write about?”
“You’ll be fine,” he said calmly. “And if you’re not, I’ll help. Maxwell too.”
Arielle smiled a little, comforted. She didn’t tell Bryson all these details; she just said she needed to write something small for the club, and he shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe that’s why she didn’t bring it up again—she didn’t want him teasing her or brushing it off.
Later that evening, after dinner, Noah came to her room carrying his sketchbook. He tapped her door twice. “Still dying?”
“More like already dead,” she groaned, tossing her notebook aside. “I don’t even have an idea!”
He sat on the edge of her bed and opened his sketchbook. “Look,” he said softly. “Whenever I don’t know what to paint, I draw random things—little pieces that make me feel something. So maybe… we do that for you. What makes you feel something?”
Arielle frowned, thinking hard. “I mean… I like stories. Books. I like people who overcome things.”
“Then write about someone overcoming something.” He nudged her knee. “What if your story is about a girl who finds courage?”
Arielle blinked slowly. “That’s actually good.”
“Or,” Noah continued, warming up, “what if she has a secret? Something she’s scared of. And the chapters are little moments of her facing them?”
“That’s even better…” Arielle whispered, sitting up straighter.
Noah grinned. “See? You’re getting ideas already.”
“I swear,” she said suddenly, smiling at him.
She leaned forward. “So what should happen at the end of the story? The girl finally faces her fears?”
“Maybe,” Noah said gently, “she realizes she had the strength all along.”
Arielle wrote the idea down, her excitement suddenly bubbling. “Noah, thank you. Honestly.”
“And hey,” he added, closing his sketchbook, “when you get into the club… I have something to confess to you.”
She paused. “Confess? Did you break something? Or steal my snacks again?”
He chuckled awkwardly. “Just get in first. Then I’ll tell you.”
The next two days were torture for her. She barely slept finishing the five tiny chapters, rewriting them over and over with Noah and Maxwell giving suggestions. Bryson had no idea what was happening—Arielle rushed through explanations, saying she was busy with schoolwork.
Then the morning came when the Writer’s Club posted the accepted names.
Arielle squeezed through the crowd of students, scanning the list desperately, heart pounding—
And then she saw it.
Arielle Thompson — ACCEPTED.
Her breath hitched, a burst of joy exploding inside her. She didn’t wait for anyone. Didn’t look around. She grabbed her bag and ran all the way home.
“Noah!” she yelled the moment she reached the compound.
He came out from the kitchen, wiping his hands. “What happened? Why—”
Arielle threw her arms around him tightly.
“I got in!” she cried.
Noah froze for a moment, then melted into a relieved smile. “You did?”
“Yes! I did! I’m officially part of the Writer’s Club!”
He laughed, holding her shoulders. “Arielle, that’s amazing!”
She stepped back slightly, still grinning. “Okay, now—” she poked his chest “—you said you had something to confess.”
Noah’s smile faltered. His throat tightened.
This was the moment. He had thought about it all morning—how he would tell her he liked her, that he had liked her for a long time. He had even practiced in the mirror.
But then she looked up at him with those bright, trusting eyes and said—
“Before you say anything… thank you.”
He blinked.
“If not for you and Maxwell,” she said softly, “I wouldn’t have written anything. You believed in me, Noah. You pushed me. You made me feel like I could do it. I’m so grateful.”
His heart clenched painfully.
“And Noah…” she continued, voice warm, familiar, comforting, “…I know we’re not blood related, but to me, you’re the brother I never had. A real one. You’ve taken care of me since we were little. You’ve always protected me like a sister.”
Noah stared at her.
Every single word was a knife.
She smiled shyly. “So… brother for life?”
She asked it with so much sincerity—so much love he could never have.
Noah looked down, hiding the heartbreak in his eyes. When he finally answered, his voice was barely steady.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Of course.
She beamed.
“So,” she said cheerfully, “what was the thing you wanted to confess?”
He forced a smile.
“…I ate the cupcake your mom left for you yesterday.”
Arielle gasped dramatically and hit his arm. “Noah!”
He laughed weakly. “I’m sorry! I was hungry!”
Arielle kept hitting him playfully, and each hit made him feel like crying. But he stayed smiling, because that’s what a brother would do. That’s what she needed.
That evening Maxwell invited them to his house to celebrate. Arielle walked in smiling, Noah following behind her trying to hide how exhausted he felt inside. Maxwell had decorated the small living room with colored papers and a banner that read Welcome to the Club, Arielle!
Not long after, Bryson arrived.
The moment he saw the decorations he frowned. “What’s this about?”
Arielle turned nervously, fiddling with her fingers. “Oh… they’re just celebrating me getting into the Writer’s Club.”
Bryson’s face dropped. “Wait—you got in?”
He blinked at her, his expression falling into something torn between confusion and hurt. “You got in… and nobody told me?”
Arielle swallowed, stepping toward him. “Bryson, I thought you knew I was trying to join a club. I mentioned it that day—”
“You didn’t tell me it was this serious!” he snapped, not loudly, but sharply enough that the room tensed.
Arielle sighed quietly, guilt tightening her chest. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hide anything. It’s just… Noah and Max were there when I needed ideas, and I—”
“Oh, so Noah and Max helped you out,” Bryson muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Amazing. Everyone else knew except me.”
Maxwell walked in right then holding a bowl of snacks. “Bryson,” he said calmly, “relax. We’re here to celebrate Arielle, not argue.”
Bryson exhaled, long and frustrated. He looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t angry at Arielle—he was angry at the idea of being the last to know. He’d always been part of her world, part of everything she did. He wasn’t used to being left out.
Arielle walked closer and touched his arm gently. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… didn’t know how to explain everything. I was stressed, and things happened fast.”
For a moment he didn’t look at her. Then his shoulders loosened, and he nodded stiffly. “Fine. Just… next time, tell me stuff, okay?”
She smiled softly. “I will.”
Maxwell clapped his hands once. “Good. Now that that’s settled—let’s celebrate!”
And the atmosphere slowly brightened again.
Music played softly from Max’s speaker. They ate snacks, danced, joked around, and laughed. Arielle’s joy returned, filling the room with her bright energy as she spun around barefoot, her hair bouncing freely. Noah sat in the corner of the couch, pretending to scroll through his phone while secretly watching her with a bittersweet smile. Maxwell leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes following her every movement with a softness he tried hard to hide.
Bryson eventually loosened up, joining her in a goofy dance that made her laugh loudly. She twirled and bumped into the boys one by one—Noah, Maxwell, then Bryson—each of them catching her, steadying her, and feeling something entirely different in their hearts.
Noah’s heart ached—still raw from earlier.
Bryson’s chest warmed—happy to be included again.
Maxwell’s eyes lingered—quiet, controlled, but undeniably full.
Arielle had no idea.
Later that night, after dancing until her cheeks flushed pink, she slipped outside to breathe in some cool air.
Someone joined her.
Maxwell.
He didn’t say anything at first—just stood beside her, looking up at the faint stars glowing above the Carter’s backyard.
“You really worked hard for this,” he said quietly.
Arielle smiled, looking down. “Thank you… for helping me. Both you and Noah.”
“You did most of it yourself,” Maxwell replied, nudging her shoulder slightly. “Don’t forget that.”
She chuckled. “Still… I feel proud. Like I finally found something I want to do.”
He looked at her then—a soft, calm look. “You’ll be great. I know it.”
Arielle’s cheeks warmed, and she didn’t know why.
Inside, Bryson was pacing, waiting for her to come back. Noah was seated on the couch, silent, thinking too much. All three boys were waiting—but for different reasons.
When Arielle returned inside, her smile lit the whole room again.
Maxwell walked behind her, still quietly admiring.
Noah looked up at her, swallowing hard and hiding his sadness behind a gentle grin.
Bryson’s shoulders relaxed instantly. “Finally! I thought you disappeared.”
Arielle laughed and took his wrist playfully. “Relax. I only went outside for a moment.”
Max rolled his eyes slightly. “Stop overthinking, Bryson.”
“I’m not overthinking—” Bryson started, but Arielle tugged him forward toward the cake Maxwell brought out earlier.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s cut this cake. It’s for all of us.”
They all gathered around the small table. Maxwell dimmed the lights a little as Noah lit the single candle placed in the center of the cake.
Arielle closed her eyes briefly, making a small wish.
What did she wish for?
Happiness?
A future?
Her friendships to stay strong forever?
Whatever it was, she never said.
The candle flickered gently and melted a tiny trail of wax down its side.
“Make it a good one,” Maxwell murmured.
Arielle opened her eyes and smiled warmly before blowing the candle out.
They all cheered.
The celebration continued for another hour—music, laughter, dancing, teasing, and small moments shared between the four of them. To Arielle, it was perfect. To the boys… it was a night they would think about for a very long time.
When it was finally time to go home, Maxwell walked them out. Noah stood beside Arielle on her right. Bryson stayed on her left, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Arielle stopped near the gate and turned back to look at the softly lit house—Maxwell’s house—the place where she had just celebrated a new beginning.
A place where she felt safe.
A place where three boys—each in their own way—cared deeply for her.
She smiled.
“Thank you, Max,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “Anytime.”
Bryson nudged her lightly. “Let’s go. Tomorrow is school.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she laughed.
Noah walked silently beside her, their arms brushing occasionally, each touch reminding him of how close he had been to confessing… and how he had chosen not to.
Behind them, Maxwell stood at the door, watching their silhouettes fade into the path leading home.
The night was calm… peaceful… unsuspecting.
Yet inside that same house, inside that same warm room where they danced and laughed—
Three boys carried three different thoughts.
Bryson wondered why he felt so afraid of being left out again.
Maxwell wondered why every time she smiled, his chest tightened.
Noah wondered why fate pushed him to love someone who saw him as a brother.
And somewhere deep within those shadows…
One of them would—years later—stand over the same girl’s lifeless body beside a pool.
Which one?
Who among these three hearts beating for her now…
…would one day stop hers?
The celebration ended with laughter—
but the future waited with a question.
A dangerous one.
A heartbreaking one.
A deadly one.
Who will love her enough to kill?
- Writer
