unspoken Promises
1988 Words
Chapter Eight: Unspoken Promises
The days that followed Aiden’s return were like learning to breathe again.
Everything felt lighter. Brighter. Elena smiled more. Drew more. Her steps had a rhythm again, a subtle bounce that hadn’t been there for months. She didn’t realize how much of herself she’d buried until he unearthed it simply by being near.
They fell back into old patterns with ease—passing notes, quiet library afternoons, shared meals beneath the elm trees. But there were new things too. New habits. New touches. Now Aiden reached for her hand without hesitation. Now Elena didn’t flinch when people looked at them.
They were no longer hiding.
One morning, while sitting under a canopy of soft pink blossoms, Aiden pulled out his phone and opened an app.
"I’ve been practicing," he said. "Watch this."
He lifted his hands and signed: You are my favorite chapter.
Elena’s eyes widened.
She clapped, grinning, then signed back: Still needs work. But... you’re getting better.
"Better than Marcus," Aiden said proudly. "He tried to learn and gave up after five minutes."
Elena laughed, soundless but radiant.
Aiden leaned closer. "I want to be fluent someday. So I can talk to you even when you're not looking."
Her smile faltered for a moment. Then she touched her fingers to her lips and to his cheek. A silent thank you.
---
But not every day was perfect.
Sometimes, the silence still hurt. Sometimes, Elena felt the weight of words she could never say aloud. Sometimes, Aiden grew quiet, staring off into space, fighting battles she couldn’t see.
One evening, she found him sitting alone on the rooftop. His hands were clenched, his jaw tight.
She approached slowly and sat beside him.
He didn’t look at her. "My dad called today. Said I’m wasting my future. That I threw everything away for a girl who can’t even talk."
The words cut deep. Deeper than she expected.
Her heart clenched.
Aiden shook his head. "I told him to go to hell. But it still stings, you know? How he sees you. How he sees me."
Elena took a deep breath. She reached for her journal and wrote:
"You didn’t throw anything away. You chose something real. Something most people never find."
He read it. Then looked at her. "Sometimes I wonder if we’ll make it. If this—us—is strong enough."
She signed slowly: We’re already making it. One day at a time.
He leaned in, forehead resting against hers.
"Promise me something," he whispered.
What?
"Promise me you’ll keep choosing me. Even when it gets hard. Even if I screw up again."
She nodded, then wrote beneath his hand:
"Only if you promise the same."
He smiled. "Deal."
---
Final exams came and went. Spring melted into early summer. The campus emptied slowly, students heading home or off to internships. But Elena stayed.
So did Aiden.
They took part-time jobs at a local bookstore. They explored the sleepy town in the early hours of the morning, hand in hand, sipping iced tea, drawing in cafes.
One day, they visited the art museum in the next city. Elena moved through the gallery like she was gliding, eyes drinking in every brushstroke. Aiden followed, watching her instead of the paintings.
In front of a piece called The Silent Muse, she paused.
A woman in profile. Eyes closed. Mouth parted slightly, as if caught between breath and confession. The colors were muted, almost ghostly.
Elena stood still for a long time.
Aiden finally asked, "What do you see?"
She wrote:
"I see someone who is both lost and found. Like she’s waiting for someone to hear what she’s never said."
He looked at the painting again.
"I hear you, El," he said quietly.
She reached for his hand.
And he held it like he never intended to let go.
---
By the end of summer, their bond was unshakable.
Elena had started a personal project—an illustrated journal called Loving You in Silence. Aiden was the first to read it. Page after page told their story: their first note, their rooftop nights, their long-distance pain, his return.
She left space for future pages. Pages yet to be lived.
When he reached the last page, it said only:
"We may not be perfect. But we are real. And real is enough."
He looked at her, eyes glassy.
"I want to be in every page you write from now on."
She didn’t write a reply.
She just pulled him close and kissed him until the stars came out.
Their love was quiet.
But it spoke louder than words ever could.The sky was bleeding orange when Elena first saw him again.
She was walking home from the art studio, sketchbook tucked under her arm, her earbuds in, a soft instrumental melody keeping her company. She wasn’t expecting him. Not here. Not now. Not ever again in the middle of a Wednesday.
But there he was.
Aiden.
Standing on the other side of the street like a ghost from a better dream. His hair was longer. He looked a little leaner, a little older. And he was watching her like he was trying to memorize her face all over again.
She froze.
He smiled.
It wasn’t big. It wasn’t confident. It was small and hopeful and just a little broken.
She didn’t move.
He crossed the street slowly, backpack slung over his shoulder, like he’d been walking for miles. When he was a step away, he stopped. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t speak yet. He just looked at her.
"Hi," he said softly.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. She shook her head, wiped at them, frustrated.
"I know," he said. "I should’ve called. But I wanted to surprise you. And… I didn’t think I could wait anymore."
She opened her sketchbook and wrote, her hand trembling:
"Why now?"
He took a deep breath.
"Because I realized that every good thing in my life started with you. And everything after felt like a countdown. I thought I could handle the distance. I thought ambition was more important. But nothing compares to this—being here, with you."
She stared at him, expression unreadable.
"I transferred back," he added. "Talked to the dean. Had to fight my dad. But I’m staying. For good."
Elena's breath caught. Her hands flew as she signed, quickly, passionately.
Are you serious?
He nodded.
You came back... for me?
"For you. For me. For us."
Her sketchbook dropped. Her arms flung around his neck, and he held her tighter than he ever had.
He whispered into her hair, "God, I missed you."
She pulled back and kissed him—fierce and fast and full of the pain of months apart.
---
Later, they sat on the rooftop again. The sky was turning navy, stars peeking through the dusk.
Aiden was holding her hand, fingers laced tightly. Her head rested on his shoulder.
"You never stopped drawing, did you?" he asked.
She shook her head. Then pulled her sketchbook into her lap.
She flipped through pages—his smile, his eyes, his silhouette walking away. And then, a page unlike the others.
It was blank.
"What’s this one?" he asked.
She signed slowly: This one was waiting.
He reached for her pencil.
"Then let’s draw something together."
She smiled, and they began to sketch side by side, two hands moving as one.
They didn’t need words.
They never did.Three months had passed since Aiden left.
Winter had melted into the early breath of spring, and Cresthill’s campus was beginning to blush with green. Students were shedding their heavy jackets, and the air was thick with anticipation—for finals, for summer, for change.
But for Elena, everything still felt frozen.
She had returned to her routine—the quiet corners of the library, her favorite seat near the west-facing window, the comfort of pencil on paper. But the world had lost its color. Even her drawings were duller now—shadows without depth, smiles without spark.
Aiden had called, at first. Sent messages. Emails. Videos of the beach. Of his new dorm. A bookstore he thought she’d love. But over time, the messages came less often. The calls grew shorter. She never blamed him—not truly. Distance wasn’t easy. But it hurt all the same.
Still, she never stopped writing to him.
Each day, she wrote a letter. She never mailed them, just folded each one and tucked it into a small wooden box she kept beneath her bed. It was almost a ritual. Each page held the words she couldn’t say aloud. Some were filled with longing. Others with anger. Some were just blank pages she pressed her fingertips to, as if he might feel her from wherever he was.
One letter read:
> “Dear Aiden,
Today, I passed the music room and heard someone singing a song I think you would’ve made fun of. I laughed. It scared me—how laughing without you feels like betrayal.
But I laughed anyway.”
Another said:
> “Dear Aiden,
I dreamt of the rooftop again. You were painting the sky with your hands. I was watching, holding the stars in a jar. When I woke up, my pillow was wet.”
And another:
> “Dear Aiden,
Are you forgetting me?”
---
One Sunday morning, Elena’s mother knocked gently on her door.
"There’s mail for you."
Elena tilted her head. She didn’t get mail. But when she saw the envelope, her heart skipped. Her name was scrawled in familiar handwriting.
Inside was a single page:
> “El,
Sorry I’ve been distant. Things have been crazy here. Classes are harder than I expected. My dad’s been breathing down my neck. I miss you.
I know that’s not enough. I don’t know how to say it better. I miss you in a way that hurts.
I’ll call soon. I promise.
—A”
She held the letter against her chest. It was small. It was late. But it was something.
That night, she didn’t write a letter.
She just stared at the ceiling, whispering his name to the quiet.The days that followed were painted in uncertainty.
Aiden didn’t sit at their table the next afternoon. Or the one after that. Elena waited, her sketchbook open, her pencil idle between her fingers. She told herself she wasn’t waiting, but every time the library door creaked open, her heart betrayed her.
It had been three days since he told her. Three days since the rain fell on both of them like judgment. She hadn’t told her mother, hadn’t even drawn much. Her world—once small, but full of warmth—suddenly felt colder than ever.
She didn’t know if he had made a decision. If the transfer was happening. If she would ever get to say goodbye properly.
But on the fourth day, he returned.
He walked in slowly, his steps hesitant, and his eyes found hers instantly. There were shadows beneath them, like he hadn’t slept. Like he’d been carrying the same weight she had.
She didn’t smile. Neither did he.
He sat across from her and pulled out a small stack of notes he hadn’t given her. One by one, he laid them on the table, each folded with the same neat care. She stared at them without reaching.
Finally, he wrote:
"I needed time. I didn’t want to come back and lie."
She wrote back:
"Are you going?"
He hesitated.
"They’re pushing for it. My dad already filed transfer papers. It’s a better school, better connections, better future."
Her fingers tightened around her pencil.
"But it’s not better for me."
He looked up. There was something raw in his expression now.
"I don’t want to leave you, Elena. That’s the truth. I don’t want to lose what we have."
She blinked, rapidly. Her hand moved.
- Writer
