Episode 7
1153 Words
WHAT HEARTS REMEMBER
By the time October rolled in, the air had shifted—cooler, sharper, full of promise. The trees on campus blushed in gold and crimson, much like Eden’s cheeks whenever Aiden brushed her fingers in the hallway.
Their relationship had become an open secret. Not declared, but not denied.
Some people stared. Others muttered. But no one dared confront her directly anymore—not after the way she’d snapped at Jade during chem lab, fire in her voice, a protective blaze she didn’t know she had.
Still, not all storms are loud. Some brew slowly, in silence.
And Eden could sense it coming.
They met in the library during study hall, as they often did. Aiden leaned across the desk, his pencil tapping to a rhythm only he heard. His sketchpad was open, filled with unfinished ideas—guitars, lyrics, pieces of Eden’s eyes.
“Let’s skip Friday,” he said.
Eden blinked. “Homecoming?”
He nodded. “Too many eyes. Too much attention.”
“But... I was kind of looking forward to it.” She looked down. “You know, slow dancing and the whole cliché.”
Aiden leaned in. “I don’t want to ruin this for you. And people will talk.”
“They already are.” Her voice was small. “But I still want to go—with you.”
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay. But we go our way. Our time. Not theirs.”
“Deal,” she whispered.
Eden had always been quiet. Not shy—just careful.
She grew up in a house where words were weighed like precious stones, where affection came in quiet gestures: her mother folding her laundry with lavender sachets tucked inside, her father leaving post-it reminders on her mirror before exams.
They weren’t strict, but they were proud—and sometimes pride is heavier than control.
From a young age, Eden was the “good girl.” Polite. Smart. Predictable.
But under the surface, she always wanted more. More color. More noise. More life.
And Aiden was all of that.
The boy with shadows behind his smile. The storm with music in his bones.
That week, Aiden opened up more than he ever had.
They sat on the bleachers after school, sharing fries and secrets.
“My dad used to be a music teacher,” he said. “He taught me guitar when I was eight.”
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“He got sick. Then he got mean. Then he left.”
Eden didn’t ask more.
Sometimes silence is the only safe place for pain.
Aiden looked at her, his eyes tired but soft. “That’s why I stopped performing. Felt like I was chasing his ghost.”
“You’re not him,” Eden said. “You’re better.”
He smiled. “Because I met you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be cheesy.”
But her heart was full.
They didn’t walk in together.
Eden entered with Zoey, a wink and a nod exchanged.
Aiden arrived fifteen minutes later, blending in with the shadows near the back.
When their eyes met across the dance floor, everything else blurred.
He didn’t care who watched.
He crossed the room, took her hand, and pulled her close.
The DJ switched songs—a soft, slow beat.
Aiden’s hands rested on her waist. Eden’s arms wrapped around his neck.
They swayed.
They didn’t talk.
They didn’t need to.
Because in that moment, the world got quiet. And only they remained.
She should’ve seen it coming.
On Monday, Mr. Dalton—the vice principal—called her into the office.
He slid a manila folder across the desk. Inside were printed screenshots.
Photos of her and Aiden at Homecoming. At the café. In the school parking lot.
“This relationship,” he said, “raises concerns.”
Eden’s pulse quickened. “He’s not a teacher. He’s a student—graduated last year.”
“He’s an adult. You’re still a minor. It looks bad.”
“He’s nineteen. I’m seventeen.”
“Legally, that’s a boundary we take seriously.”
Eden straightened. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”
Dalton sighed. “I’m not accusing you. But I need you to understand: If this continues on school grounds, there will be consequences.”
She left the office with her fists clenched and eyes stinging.
That night, she told Aiden everything.
And for the first time, he looked afraid.
It happened in his car, parked outside her house.
“I told you this would happen,” he said.
“You didn’t have to be right,” she snapped.
“We’re getting too close.”
“I thought that was the point!”
“I mean too visible. Too dangerous.”
She pulled back. “So what? You want to end it?”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
She opened the car door. “Forget it.”
He reached for her wrist. “Eden—”
She shook her head. “No. If you can’t stand beside me when it’s hard, don’t stand beside me at all.”
And she left.
Her heart didn’t break.
It shattered.
Zoey didn’t ask questions.
She just showed up with strawberry milkshakes, a fuzzy blanket, and reruns of Gilmore Girls.
“I hate him,” Eden said between sips.
“No, you don’t.”
“I want to.”
Zoey nodded. “That’s fair.”
Eden leaned on her shoulder. “Why does love feel like losing?”
“Because the good stuff always comes with risk,” Zoey said. “But maybe it’s not over.”
“I told him to leave.”
“Then if he loves you, he’ll fight to stay.”
It came the next afternoon.
A folded sheet in her locker, no name, no envelope. Just her name scribbled across the front in messy, familiar handwriting.
Inside:
> I got scared. Not of you. Of losing you.
I don’t know how to be someone’s future. I’m still haunted by my past.
But I’m trying.
I’ll be waiting at the park. 7PM. Our tree.
If you don’t come, I’ll understand.
— A
She stared at it for five minutes.
Then she ran.
He was there.
Sitting cross-legged, hoodie pulled up, eyes on the ground.
When she stepped onto the grass, he looked up.
Stood.
“Eden,” he whispered.
She didn’t stop walking until she was in front of him.
“You’re an i***t,” she said.
“I know.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“But I still love you.”
His eyes widened. “You... what?”
“I said it. And I’m not taking it back.”
Aiden reached for her, tentative.
“May I?”
She nodded.
His hands cupped her face.
And then they kissed—desperate, aching, true.
Not perfect.
Not painless.
But real.
- Writer
