Episode 5
1401 Words
THE THINGS WE DON'T SAY
Monday morning dawned quiet and gray, the sky hinting at rain. Eden watched it from her bedroom window, her fingers resting against the glass, lost in thought.
Her mom’s voice drifted from downstairs, something about forgetting to pick up dry cleaning, while her dad shuffled around the kitchen in his usual before-work stupor. The house always felt like it moved without her—like a movie she was watching from the sidelines.
Her phone buzzed.
Aiden: Library. Second table. Come keep me awake.
She stared at the message for a long time before typing back:
Eden: Didn’t peg you for a morning reader.
Aiden: I’m not. That’s why you’re invited.
Eden: You're ridiculous.
Aiden: You like it.
Her lips curved before she could stop it.
She did find him at the second table, head propped on his palm, eyes half-closed. A pile of textbooks sat untouched in front of him. He looked up as she approached.
“You came,” he said, smiling lazily.
“You begged,” she said, dropping her bag.
He smirked. “Mildly persuaded.”
They sat in silence for a while. She tried reading. He tried pretending to.
“You ever wonder,” he said, breaking the quiet, “what it would be like if we met outside of this place?”
Eden blinked. “You mean... not at school?”
“Yeah. Like a party. Or the city. Or some random bookstore.”
“I don’t go to parties.”
“I do,” he said. “Sometimes just to feel normal. Like everyone else.”
Eden considered that. “I read books to feel normal.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re weird.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
A beat passed. His fingers drummed the table.
“Would you go?” he asked suddenly.
“Go where?”
“To a party. With me.”
Her heart skipped.
She wanted to say yes. But her brain hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
He studied her. “That’s not a no.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He leaned back, satisfied. “That’s all I ask.”
And then, just like that, he closed his eyes again and dozed off.
Right there. In the middle of the library.
Eden stared at him, equal parts amused and terrified by how comfortable he was becoming in her presence.
And how dangerously natural it felt to let him.
Later that week, the school held its annual student showcase—a chaotic mix of art, science, music, and unfiltered teenage chaos. Eden and Zoey helped organize the exhibits for the Honors History class, arranging poster boards about the American Revolution.
“You okay?” Zoey asked, nudging her as they straightened the timeline display.
“Hm? Yeah. Fine.”
“You’ve been zoning out all day. Let me guess—starts with ‘A,’ ends with ‘iden.’”
Eden made a face. “It’s not like that.”
Zoey raised a brow. “Really? Because half the school thinks you two are in a secret romance.”
“We’re not.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Before Eden could reply, Aiden walked by—slowly, deliberately—and met her gaze across the room. He didn’t smile, didn’t wink, didn’t even nod. Just looked.
And it said everything.
Zoey whistled low. “Okay... that look? That was not platonic.”
Eden turned back to the posters. “We’re still figuring things out.”
Later that night, Eden’s curiosity got the better of her.
She typed his name into her browser—Aiden Cross—and sifted through the first few search results. Not much came up. A few basketball photos. An archived article about his junior varsity suspension the previous year. One brief note about his mother’s passing when he was thirteen.
She paused.
That part she hadn’t known.
The next morning, she found him on the bleachers behind the gym, headphones in, hoodie pulled up, watching the clouds like they might write the future for him.
“You didn’t show up to class,” she said.
He took out one earbud. “Didn’t feel like it.”
She sat beside him without asking.
“I read about your mom,” she said gently.
He went still. “Old news.”
“It’s still part of you.”
He didn’t answer for a while.
“She used to tell me I’d be the kind of person who helped people someday,” he said eventually. “Joke’s on her.”
Eden looked at him. “Maybe you still will.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because you let me see a side of you most people don’t.”
He turned his face away, jaw tight. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
She reached for his hand.
He let her take it.
The week blurred into the weekend, and the weather turned cooler. On Sunday afternoon, Eden was walking home from the grocery store when a car slowed beside her.
It was Aiden. Wearing a leather jacket. Grinning.
“Need a ride?”
She hesitated. “I’m five minutes from home.”
“Then make it three.”
Against her better judgment, she got in.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, the windows cracked just enough to let in the fall air.
“I like this,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“This. You. Me. No pretending.”
“You’re always pretending.”
“Not with you.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
She looked at him, seriously. “Then don’t pretend you don’t care.”
He blinked. “I never said I didn’t.”
“Then say what you do feel.”
He didn’t speak for a full minute.
Then, in a voice so low she almost missed it, he said, “I think about you more than I should.”
Eden’s breath caught.
She opened her mouth—but her driveway came into view. And the moment passed.
“See you tomorrow?” he asked, parking.
She nodded, heart thudding.
It started with a text.
Jade: He’s using you, Eden. Wake up.
She ignored it.
Then came another.
Jade: He only gets close when he’s bored. Ask anyone.
Eden’s fingers trembled as she typed back.
Eden: You don’t know him.
Jade: I know you’re not thinking straight. Since when do you skip practice for a guy?
Eden didn’t respond.
Later that night, she confronted Aiden behind the gym.
“People are talking,” she said.
“They always talk.”
“Some of it’s true, isn’t it?”
He stiffened. “What are you getting at?”
“You get close. Then you pull away. You flirt. Then you disappear. What is this to you?”
He looked hurt. “I didn’t ask for a label.”
“Maybe I need one.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Eden... I like you. But I’m not good at this. I don’t do serious.”
She swallowed hard. “Then why pull me in?”
“Because you made me feel like I could be someone better.”
She felt the cracks deepen.
“Then be better,” she whispered.
And walked away.
She didn’t speak to him the next day. Or the next.
He didn’t chase her.
By Thursday, the ache had dulled, but it hadn’t gone away. She buried herself in schoolwork, ignored the looks, the questions.
Zoey tried to coax the truth out of her. She didn’t budge.
Then, on Friday, it rained.
Eden stood outside the school, waiting for the bus, her umbrella flipping in the wind.
Aiden appeared out of nowhere, shoving his jacket over her head.
“Why are you here?” she asked, stunned.
“Because I’m an i***t,” he said, soaked. “And you deserve better than silence.”
She stared.
“I like you,” he said. “More than I’ve liked anyone. And it scares me. But I want to try. For real.”
Her throat tightened.
“You sure?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “Terrified. But sure.”
She let the umbrella fall and reached for his hand.
They stood in the rain, hearts open, walls dissolving.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a mistake.
It felt like the beginning.
- Writer
