Episode 10
996 Words
SECRETS ARE JUST STORIES WAITING TO BE TOLD
It had been raining all week. The kind of rain that whispered against windows, soft and persistent, as if the sky itself had secrets it needed to release slowly.
Eden sat by the library window, chin resting on her palm, eyes lost in the sheets of water running down the glass. Her fingers toyed with the corner of her notebook, flipping pages that had long ago been filled with lines of poetry and sketches of places she wanted to escape to.
Aiden hadn’t texted that morning. And though their secret meetings had become ritual, that silence felt louder than any thunderclap.
"Earth to Eden," Zoey said, plopping into the seat beside her with a pretzel stick hanging from her mouth.
Eden turned, startled. "Hey. Sorry. Spaced out."
Zoey raised a brow. "You okay?"
"Just tired."
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
Later that afternoon, in history class, Eden found a folded slip of paper tucked inside her notebook. Her heart skipped. For a second, she thought it might be from Aiden. But the handwriting wasn’t his.
> Stop looking so sad. You have more power than you think.
She scanned the room. No one looked suspicious. But the note left a warmth behind, a kind of quiet courage.
Someone was watching.
Someone was rooting for her.
That evening, the knock on her front door was sharp and unexpected. Her mom answered, and Eden heard the voice that made her stomach twist.
"Eden here? I wanted to return something."
It was Ryan.
Her ex. The one who started her hate-hate relationship with love.
Eden stepped into the hallway, folding her arms. "What do you want?"
He smiled, too innocent. "Just thought you might want this back."
He held up her old copy of The Bell Jar. The one he borrowed a year ago and never returned.
"You could've mailed it."
"But then I wouldn't get to see how you've changed."
Eden stared at him, unimpressed. "Still good at pretending you care, huh?"
Ryan's grin faltered. "You used to be nicer."
"You used to be less of a jerk."
He handed her the book and walked away without another word.
Aiden called later that night.
"Hey, sorry I didn’t message. Car trouble. Had to help my cousin. You okay?"
Eden hesitated. "Yeah. Just a ghost from the past showed up. But I’m fine now."
Aiden paused. "Want to talk about it?"
She smiled. "I’d rather talk about tomorrow. Meet me after school?"
"Always."
Mr. Calderon caught Eden passing notes to Zoey in chemistry. He didn’t even read the note, just raised a brow and pointed to the door.
In detention, Eden sat alone for five minutes before Jade walked in, of all people.
"Great," Eden muttered.
Jade smirked. "Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here for you."
They sat in silence for a long while. Then Jade said, without looking at her:
"You really like him, huh?"
Eden froze.
Jade glanced sideways. "Aiden. The mechanic."
Eden tried not to react. "What are you talking about?"
"Please. Everyone knows. People just don’t say it out loud because they want to see how long you two will last before it blows up."
Eden turned to her. "Why do you care?"
Jade shrugged. "I don’t. But I get it. Falling for someone you’re not supposed to. Been there."
That stunned Eden.
Before she could ask, the teacher walked in. Jade leaned back in her seat and said nothing more.
The next day, Aiden took Eden to a new spot. It wasn’t a park or a diner. It was an abandoned train car behind the railyard.
"I used to come here when things got too loud at home," he said, helping her climb in.
Inside, it smelled like dust and metal. But it was dry, quiet, and entirely theirs.
Eden curled up on the old seat, pulling her knees to her chest.
"Do you ever wish we met at a different time?" she asked.
Aiden sat across from her, thoughtful. "Sometimes. But then I think—maybe this time is exactly when we needed each other."
They stayed there until sunset, sharing secrets too heavy to say in daylight.
Rumors were growing. Eden could feel them tightening like vines. Teachers looked at her longer. Students whispered faster.
One morning, she found a note scrawled on her locker:
Zoey tore it down before Eden could.
"They don’t deserve your tears," Zoey snapped.
Eden wasn’t crying. She was burning.
On Sunday, as they sat by the lake, Aiden pulled out a folded paper.
"I want to show you something."
It was a letter.
To his late mother.
Eden read it silently. It talked about guilt, about growing up too fast, about feeling like he wasn’t enough.
When she looked up, Aiden's eyes were glassy.
"I don’t want to just be someone you run to when the world is hard," he whispered. "I want to be part of your world."
Eden leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.
"You already are."
Monday morning, the principal called Eden into the office.
Not her counselor.
The principal.
He closed the door, voice grave.
"Eden, it’s come to our attention that you've been involved in a relationship with someone older. Off-campus. Is this true?"
Eden's throat tightened. "Why?"
"Because if it is, there are rules. For your safety. For theirs."
Eden stared him down. "If it’s about safety, then why does it feel like I’m being punished for feeling something real?"
He didn’t answer. Just said they’d be calling her parents.
The war had officially begun.
That night, Eden sat on her bed, surrounded by journal pages and half-lit fairy lights.
She had a choice.
To hide. Or to fight.
She opened her notebook and began to write:
> To the ones who think love is linear and age defines heart
Let me tell you this:
We may bend rules, but we never broke the truth.
- Writer
