Episode 9
1020 Words
RULES WERE MEANT TO BE REWRITTEN
Eden hadn’t slept. The night she found Aiden at the garage ended with them parked in his car under a sky half-hidden by clouds, whispering dreams like promises.
But reality didn’t disappear with the sunrise.
The school had officially barred Aiden from stepping near campus. Her parents were on high alert. Her phone buzzed with friends asking questions she didn’t want to answer.
Still, Eden felt something fierce settle inside her.
She was no longer afraid of what loving Aiden meant. What she feared now was losing the one person who truly saw her.
On Sunday, Aiden came to the diner where Eden worked weekend shifts. He didn’t come inside—he waited out back, leaning against his motorcycle like a scene out of a music video.
When Eden came out with trash bags, she gasped, then laughed.
“You can’t be here,” she said.
“You’re here,” he replied with a grin. “I’ll take the risk.”
They sat on the loading dock, hidden from street view.
“I’ve been thinking,” Aiden said. “Maybe we’re not the ones who need to change.”
Eden looked at him, unsure.
He continued, “What if we don’t hide? What if we show them we’re not scared?”
“They’ll never accept it.”
“Then we stop asking for permission.”
She swallowed. “We could lie. Pretend we ended things.”
“And still see each other?”
“Secretly.”
Aiden shook his head. “I don’t want to pretend. Not about you.”
“So what do we do?”
“We keep living. We keep loving. And we stop apologizing for it.”
It sounded bold.
It sounded dangerous.
It sounded exactly like them.
Monday morning, Eden returned to school like nothing had happened. She wore her uniform, tied her hair back, and met Zoey at the gates.
But whispers clung to her like perfume.
Jade and her minions leaned against lockers, eyes sharp.
“She thinks she’s a main character now,” one muttered.
“She is the story,” Jade replied. “The tragic kind.”
Eden passed them without blinking.
Zoey grinned. “You’re a badass.”
“No,” Eden said. “I’m just done pretending to be smaller than I am.”
After class, Eden was called to the counselor’s office again.
Mrs. Burney gave her a cup of tea this time. “Just wanted to check in. Not as an authority figure. As someone who cares.”
Eden nodded slowly. “I appreciate that.”
“People are talking,” Mrs. Burney said gently. “And while we can’t control gossip, we can control how we let it affect us.”
Eden stared at the steam rising from the cup.
“Is it love?” the counselor asked.
Eden blinked. “I... I think so.”
“That’s enough, Eden. You don’t owe anyone more than that.”
For the first time that week, Eden exhaled fully.
> October 25th
Love is a battlefield, sure. But no one warned me that the real war is with yourself.
Do you shrink to stay safe? Or do you rise and risk being wounded?
I’m choosing to rise.
If that makes me foolish—
Then let me be beautifully foolish.
Later that week, Eden received an envelope in her locker. No name. Just one line:
> “If the world won't make space for your love, carve out your own.”
It was signed with a tiny drawing of a star.
Zoey saw her reading it. “Secret admirer?”
Eden shook her head, smiling. “A secret supporter.”
Turns out, not everyone wanted to see her fall.
Some people—even in silence—believed in her.
Eden and Aiden couldn’t meet on campus or near her house. So they invented rituals.
Tuesday evenings at the used bookstore near the train tracks. Thursdays at the laundromat where Aiden pretended to “run errands.”
They shared coffee in paper cups, sat on washing machines, and talked about everything—dreams, movies, childhood fears.
“I wanted to be a pilot when I was six,” Aiden said once.
Eden grinned. “Let me guess—you liked the uniform.”
“No,” he smirked. “I liked the idea of flying away.”
Eden’s smile faded. “Are you still trying to fly away?”
He leaned forward. “Only if you’re flying with me.”
When Eden was nine, her parents almost divorced.
She remembered screaming matches, slammed doors, the cold silence that followed.
She remembered thinking, If love can turn into this, I never want it.
But now she understood.
Love didn’t break people.
Fear did.
And Eden was done being afraid.
Her father had gone quieter these days.
Less shouting. More silence.
Her mother tiptoed between them, trying to make peace.
One night, as Eden came home late, her dad stopped her.
“I still don’t approve,” he said. “But I’m tired of fighting you.”
Eden looked up.
“I want to believe you’re smart enough to survive this,” he added.
“I’m not trying to survive,” Eden said. “I’m trying to live.”
He nodded once.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
But it was something.
That Friday, the school held its annual fall art show. Eden’s photography had been selected for display.
She arrived wearing a navy dress, camera slung across her shoulder, nerves on edge.
To her surprise, Aiden was there—outside, behind the crowd, watching from across the courtyard.
He couldn’t come inside.
But he was still present.
He nodded when their eyes met.
Eden’s heart soared.
She didn’t need applause.
She had him.
Her photo series was titled “Hidden in the Open.”
Photos of hands barely touching. Glances across tables. Sunlight behind curtains.
Everyone saw them.
Only some understood.
When her name was announced, she walked forward proud, tall, and unashamed.
Because love, when honest, doesn’t need approval to exist.
It just needs room to breathe.
- Writer
