Episode 6
1346 Words
THE FINE PRINT OF FALLING
The following Monday, Eden entered the cafeteria with a flutter in her stomach. It wasn’t just the smell of stale fries or the clatter of trays—it was the shift. The new, fragile something between her and Aiden that neither of them had quite figured out.
He was already seated at his usual table—surrounded by the effortlessly cool group of seniors: Logan, Brielle, Jayden, and a few others who always looked like they were headed to an indie film premiere. Aiden’s chair was angled away from them slightly, his focus on his phone.
When Eden passed by, his eyes lifted. And he smiled.
It wasn’t cocky or smug. It was quiet, soft. Real.
Eden’s stomach did a somersault.
Zoey, who had been trailing behind her, let out a low whistle. “Girl. That boy is in it.”
Eden shrugged, trying to appear casual. “We’re figuring things out.”
“Mm-hmm. And I’m the Queen of Spain.”
Eden laughed, but her mind was elsewhere.
Because figuring things out meant drawing lines.
And figuring out where, exactly, she belonged now.
It started as a joke between Zoey and Eden—The Confession Club. A place to admit all the silly, messy, secret things they were too afraid to say out loud.
But this time, it was Eden’s turn to go first.
They sat cross-legged on Eden’s bedroom floor, the overhead lights dimmed, wrapped in a cocoon of music and whispered truths.
Eden clutched a pillow to her chest.
“I think I’m falling for him,” she whispered.
Zoey’s eyes widened. “Whoa.”
“I know it’s insane. He’s older. He’s leaving next year. He’s... complicated.”
“Yeah. But so are you.”
Eden looked up. “That’s not a compliment.”
“It is,” Zoey said. “Complicated people make the best stories.”
Eden smiled faintly.
“And besides,” Zoey added, “you’re not falling alone. Anyone with eyes can see he’s falling too.”
She didn’t expect to end up in his room that Friday evening.
It started with an accidental run-in at the bookstore, a casual suggestion of grabbing coffee, and then—somehow—a visit to “grab his hoodie” turned into her sitting cross-legged on his floor while he played her half-finished songs on his guitar.
It was more intimate than kissing. More dangerous than flirting.
“I’ve never played this for anyone,” he said, strumming lightly. “It’s not finished.”
“Let me hear it anyway.”
He played a few haunting chords, then sang softly.
The lyrics were messy, some rhymed poorly, others not at all. But they were real.
About grief. About anger. About hope.
When he stopped, she was quiet for a long time.
“That was beautiful,” she said.
He gave her a look. “You’re not just saying that?”
“No. I swear. You’re... talented.”
He laughed softly, but his eyes were serious.
“You make me want to be better,” he said.
Eden’s heart cracked wide open.
It was bound to come up eventually.
They were parked outside her house, the engine idling.
“You’re seventeen,” he said, staring ahead.
“You’re nineteen.”
“That’s two years.”
“I can count, Aiden.”
He glanced at her. “But you’re still in high school.”
“And you’re still in this town. Still figuring things out. Just like me.”
“It’s not just about what we feel,” he said quietly. “It’s about what people see. What they’ll say.”
Eden looked at him, steady. “Let them talk. They always do.”
He studied her like he was searching for an answer in her face.
And then, just as gently, he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t heated.
It was a question. And a promise.
By Monday, it was everywhere.
Eden and Aiden. Seen leaving together. Laughing at his locker. Sharing coffee in his car.
Some whispered. Others stared.
Jade cornered her in the bathroom between classes.
“Just so you know,” she said, applying lip gloss in the mirror, “everyone thinks he’s using you.”
Eden raised a brow. “Everyone?”
“Well. Everyone who matters.”
Eden didn’t flinch. “I matter.”
And walked out.
Still, the words clung to her skin like smoke.
Later that day, in the library, Aiden reached across the table and gently touched her hand.
“Ignore them,” he murmured.
“I’m trying.”
“You don’t have to fight this alone.”
And somehow, that made it better.
She didn’t know how to tell her parents.
She tried—twice. Once at dinner, when her dad was ranting about budget cuts at work. Another time in the car, when her mom was discussing college applications.
But both times, the words stalled in her throat.
Until one night, after a quiet dinner, her mom knocked on her door.
“You’ve been smiling more lately,” she said, sitting on Eden’s bed.
Eden nodded, unsure where this was going.
“Is there a boy?”
A pause.
“There might be,” Eden admitted.
Her mom smiled gently. “Is he kind?”
“He’s... real. And complicated. And maybe a little bit lost.”
Her mom reached out, brushed her hair behind her ear.
“Just make sure you’re not the one who has to save him.”
It wasn’t some grand gesture.
Just two burgers. A rooftop parking lot. A few thrifted blankets in the back of Aiden’s car. And stars.
“This is our first official date,” he said, handing her a milkshake.
“I feel underdressed.”
“You look perfect.”
They lay on the roof of his car, hands barely touching.
“Do you ever wish things were simpler?” Eden asked.
“All the time,” he said. “But then I think... simple might not have brought me you.”
She smiled up at the sky.
“I used to be invisible,” she whispered. “I was fine with it.”
“And now?”
“I’m still figuring it out.”
He turned to her.
“Well, for the record, I see you.”
And then he kissed her again. Slowly. Fully.
And Eden knew this was real.
Not perfect. Not easy.
But hers.
But good things didn’t last long in small towns.
That weekend, Eden’s dad found a picture on her phone—her and Aiden at the cafe, mid-laugh, his hand on hers.
The explosion was immediate.
“He’s too old.”
“He’s a dropout.”
“He’s not right for you.”
Her mom tried to mediate. “She’s almost eighteen—”
“She’s still our daughter!”
Eden stood her ground.
“I love him,” she said. “I don’t know if it’ll last. But I want the chance to find out.”
Her dad’s silence was thunderous.
That night, Aiden waited outside her house in the rain.
When she stepped out, he read her face instantly.
“I ruined everything,” he whispered.
“No,” she said. “You didn’t.”
She reached for him. Pulled him close.
“We’ll just have to prove them wrong.”
For a while, things quieted.
They fell into a rhythm—texts between classes, shared playlists, late-night talks from their respective windows.
They didn’t need to define it anymore.
It simply was.
One afternoon, while curled up under a tree on the edge of campus, Aiden traced patterns on her wrist with his finger.
“You scare me,” he murmured.
She looked at him. “Why?”
“Because this feels like the beginning of everything. And I’m afraid I’ll mess it up.”
“You will,” she said. “So will I. That’s how it works.”
He smiled, kissed her temple.
“I hope we mess it up together.”
- Writer
