Episode 8
1167 Words
LOVERS DON'T ALWAYS LIE
Their kiss under the tree had not solved everything.
But it stitched something broken.
Aiden pulled away just long enough to rest his forehead against hers. “I didn’t want to fall for you, Eden. But I did. Hard.”
Eden smiled faintly. “You think I had a choice?”
They stayed beneath the branches until the sky darkened. He held her hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Eventually, reality crept in—the kind that wore khakis and clipboards and sent warnings home in stiff, typed letters.
They couldn’t stay in this bubble forever.
But for one night, they let the world wait.
When Eden returned home at 9:13 PM, her mother was waiting in the kitchen.
“I called twice,” her mother said quietly.
“My phone died,” Eden replied.
Her father walked in next, arms folded.
“Where were you?”
Eden took a breath. “With Aiden.”
The room went silent.
Her mother blinked. “That boy you tutor?”
“He’s not just a boy. He’s... he’s someone I care about.”
Her father frowned. “He’s an adult.”
“Barely. He’s nineteen. And we’re not—It’s not like that.”
“Are you dating him?” her mother asked.
“Yes,” Eden whispered.
Her father looked like he’d been punched.
Her mother sank into a chair. “Eden, sweetheart. You’re smart. You know how this looks.”
Eden's voice was small. “I know. But he’s not using me. He respects me. He listens. He gets me.”
Her father’s jaw tightened. “This ends now. You’re grounded.”
“You can’t—!”
“I can. And I will.”
Eden stormed upstairs, slammed her door, and screamed into her pillow.
Later, her mother came in quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong to love him. I just want you to be careful.”
Eden turned her face away. “I am.”
Her mother sighed. “You’re seventeen. You’re still learning what love means.”
“I know what it means,” Eden snapped.
But the lump in her throat told her she wasn’t so sure.
That night, she texted Aiden:
> They know.
The typing dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
> Are you okay?
> Not really.
I’m grounded.
But I don’t regret anything.
> Me neither.
Do you want me to talk to them?
She stared at the screen. Then typed:
> Not yet. Let me figure things out first.
_
In middle school, Eden once liked a boy named Kyle.
He smelled like cologne and ate apples with a knife, like he was in a movie.
She never told him.
He never noticed her.
The difference with Aiden was that he did notice her. Every glance, every breath, every skipped heartbeat felt like a reply.
Sometimes the right person doesn’t feel like a fantasy.
They feel like home.
Back at school, the gossip had doubled.
She felt it in the weight of glances, the hush when she entered a room.
Jade smirked when they passed each other by the lockers.
“Careful, Eden. You wouldn’t want him to get arrested.”
Eden slammed her locker shut. “Don’t pretend to care.”
“I don’t. But I do enjoy watching perfect girls break the rules.”
Zoey stepped in then, arm linking through Eden’s. “She’s not breaking. She’s rising. Try it sometime.”
Jade rolled her eyes and walked away.
Zoey grinned. “Iconic. I deserve fries for that.”
That Thursday, Eden was called to the office again.
Her phone had been confiscated. One too many late arrivals. A forgotten homework assignment.
The counselor, Mrs. Burney, smiled gently. “Everything okay, Eden? You’ve seemed... distracted lately.”
“I’m fine,” Eden said.
Mrs. Burney handed her a slip. “Detention. Just today. No big deal.”
Eden went.
And found something unexpected waiting on the desk.
A single red rose and a note:
> For the girl who keeps surviving them all.
Aiden picked her up after school.
Not from the front.
From the alley near the gym.
They drove in silence until they reached the hilltop behind town.
The view was glittering—rooftops, stoplights, the river bending through trees.
Aiden turned off the engine. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m not sure about anything.”
He reached for her hand. “Except us?”
Eden met his eyes. “Even that scares me.”
Aiden’s voice was low. “Do you want to stop?”
She shook her head. “I want to be brave. Even if it’s hard.”
They kissed again—slow, thoughtful, like building something from pieces.
They didn’t say “forever.”
They said “now.”
And sometimes that’s enough.
> October 19th
I’m in love with a boy who looks at me like I’m art and chaos and all the answers he never got in school.
My parents don’t understand. My friends are divided. The world is watching.
But I’m not sorry.
Because I’ve never felt more alive than I do when he says my name like a secret only we understand.
The next Friday, her parents sat her down.
“We called the school,” her father said. “They’ve spoken with Aiden.”
“What?”
Her mother reached for her hand. “We had to, Eden. He’s been asked to stay away from campus.”
Eden pulled her hand back.
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Because you’re a child—”
“I’m almost eighteen!”
“Almost isn’t enough,” her father said.
Tears welled in her eyes. “You say you love me, but you’re not even trying to understand.”
Her father stood. “We are trying. That’s why this hurts.”
Eden ran upstairs, heart pounding. She texted Aiden.
No reply.
She called.
Straight to voicemail.
And her chest cracked open with fear.
She skipped school the next day.
Packed a backpack. Took a bus.
And found Aiden at the garage where he worked on weekends.
He looked up, surprised. “Eden—what are you—?”
“I need to see you,” she said, breathless.
Aiden wiped grease from his hands. “Your parents called me. Said I was putting you at risk.”
“You’re not.”
“They think I am.”
She stepped closer. “Do you think you are?”
His eyes were soft. “No.”
“Then don’t run.”
“I was giving you space.”
“I don’t want space. I want you. Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s messy.”
He cupped her face gently. “This could ruin things.”
“Or it could save us.”
He kissed her, soft and steady.
No fanfare.
Just two hearts choosing each other.
Over and over again.
- Writer
