JOANNE FATE

Episode 10

JOANNE FATE – EPISODE 10 (CONTINUED)

The Courtyard That Refused to Stay Ordinary

The next morning, the campus looked like a painting tilted slightly off its frame. Mist lingered over the walkways, curling around the lampposts like a question that would not be answered. Joanne walked slowly, as if moving faster might break the delicate tension she carried in her chest.

Her phone vibrated insistently in her bag. She ignored it. It could wait. Nothing could force her to confront what was already pressing too close to her soul.

Across the courtyard, the figure from her past appeared again, casually leaning against the fountain. Their posture was impossibly familiar, like a ghost she had once invited into her life, only now uninvited.

Joanne’s stomach turned. Her brain tried to make jokes, absurd little quips she could use to deflect. Maybe the fountain is haunted. Maybe the pigeons are conspiring against me. Maybe this is all a very dramatic dream and I’ll wake up eating cereal in my dorm.

The thoughts were ridiculous. She laughed anyway, a short, nervous bark. Mira, walking beside her, nudged her subtly.

“You’re going to trip over that fountain if you keep laughing like a lunatic,” Mira said, her voice quiet but teasing.

Joanne ignored her.

The figure finally noticed her, raising one eyebrow in silent acknowledgment. It was so mundane, so ordinary, and yet the weight of recognition fell on Joanne’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. Her feet felt rooted in place.

“Morning,” they said, voice calm, carrying that faint echo of familiarity that once felt comforting and now made her chest tighten.

“Morning,” Joanne replied, dryly, trying to sound composed. She almost added a joke about pigeons being secret agents. She didn’t.

The courtyard seemed to bend subtly around them. Leaves twirled in impossible patterns, almost performing a chaotic ballet. The lamppost shadows stretched toward her as if they were listening. Every instinct whispered that this was absurd, and yet every part of her mind screamed that it mattered.

She tried to move past them. She forced one foot forward, then another. Her bag slipped slightly on her shoulder, and she adjusted it with exaggerated precision, hoping to appear completely casual.

“Not running?” they asked lightly.

Joanne froze.

“I…” she began, but words failed. She wanted to explain everything, to apologize, to justify why she disappeared, to defend herself. Instead, a laugh escaped. Not a full laugh, not light. Hollow, absurd, nervously jagged.

The figure tilted their head, lips twitching at the corner in recognition of her panic.

“You always laugh at the wrong time,” they said.

Joanne’s heart jolted. She laughed again. “Yes. Always.”

It was true. She had always laughed when she was terrified, when she was embarrassed, when everything in her chest wanted to break. Comedy had been her shield. And now it was failing spectacularly.

The wind picked up. Leaves spiraled into patterns she could almost read. The fountain gurgled like it was whispering secrets. A squirrel dashed across her path, skidding into the fountain edge and causing a tiny splash.

Joanne stared, half annoyed, half relieved.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

“Welcome back to my life,” they said, smirk lightening the tension.

Her chest tightened again. Ridiculous, absurd, infuriating, comedic, fantasy-like. Her emotions refused to separate into neat boxes.

She stopped walking. Mira stayed just behind her, silent, supportive. Joanne realized suddenly that she could choose. She could retreat, hide, vanish. Or she could stand.

Her hands trembled slightly. Her throat was dry. Her mind raced, offering absurd alternatives. Maybe I jump into the fountain. Maybe I claim the squirrel as my lawyer. Maybe I yell the first thing that comes to mind and see if it sticks.

Instead, she inhaled slowly and said, voice low: “I don’t want to do this.”

The words landed like stones in a pond, rippling across the quiet courtyard.

They did not flinch. They smiled faintly, a small curve of understanding. “You don’t have to.”

Joanne blinked. She wanted to melt into the ground. She wanted to run. But something—her own stubbornness, her own growth—made her feet remain.

“I do,” she whispered finally, more to herself than to them. “I do have to. Not for you. Not for anyone else. For me.”

Fantasy surged suddenly, uninvited. The fountain water gleamed like liquid silver, curling upward and twisting into impossible shapes. Leaves floated midair for a moment before spiraling down. The world shifted slightly, as if the courtyard itself had bent to observe the confrontation.

Joanne laughed nervously. “Of course. Even the universe thinks this is dramatic.”

“It is,” they said softly. “Because it matters.”

The broken bond was no longer just a memory. It was alive, a weight pressing into the present. Not violent. Not accusatory. Just demanding recognition.

Joanne’s lips quivered. Her heart pounded. The absurdity of the pigeons, the squirrel, the fountain, the spinning leaves—all of it mingled with her fear and her courage. She realized she could face it without collapsing.

The moment stretched. They stood, watching each other. Joanne’s mind raced with every past conversation, every laugh, every fight, every goodbye left unsaid. She wanted to collapse into tears. She wanted to collapse into laughter. She wanted to run.

Instead, she exhaled and simply stood.

The comedic fantasy continued. A pigeon landed between them, staring directly at Joanne. She blinked. It c****d its head. Mira chuckled quietly from the side.

Joanne shook her head. “Yes. Yes, everything conspires against me,” she whispered, smiling faintly despite herself.

The figure laughed softly. “You always find the absurd in the dramatic.”

“And you always show up in the wrong place at the right time,” she said, voice firmer now.

By the time she turned to leave, her chest felt tight but lighter. She had faced the bond. She had acknowledged it. She had survived the absurd, the dramatic, and the fantastical without crumbling.

Mira fell into step beside her. “Feeling better?” she asked, teasingly.

“Surprisingly,” Joanne replied. “If the universe allows pigeons to be witnesses to life’s drama, I suppose I can survive anything.”

The broken bond remained unhealed. The fantasy remained lingering. The absurdity remained unavoidable.

But Joanne had discovered something important: she could confront the past, embrace the chaos, and still walk away standing.

And that was progress.