The Truth Between Us
929 Words
I didn’t sleep after hearing his voice through the window.
She can’t find out yet.
The words looped in my head like a broken record, louder every time I tried to push them away. What couldn’t I find out? Why did he sound desperate?
By morning, my chest was tight with suspicion and something heavier — fear, maybe, though I hated admitting it.
I spent the day pretending to be fine. Mom went to work, leaving me alone with half-unpacked boxes and my restless thoughts. I tried editing photos on my laptop, but every picture blurred into the same face. Ethan’s face.
When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I pulled out my old photo albums.
The first one was from last spring, a series of shots I’d taken around town for a school project. Crowded coffee shops, a park bench with kids climbing the jungle gym, blurred street fairs full of neon lights.
I flipped through slowly.
And froze.
In the corner of one photo — a coffee shop shot — a boy leaned against the wall, head bent over a notebook.
Messy dark hair. Familiar posture.
No.
I turned the page, heart hammering.
Another photo. This time, the park. Parents on swings, kids running through the grass. And behind them, on the far edge of the frame — him. A guitar case slung over his shoulder.
My hands trembled as I flipped faster. Photo after photo, place after place.
He was there. Always in the background. Sometimes clear, sometimes blurred, but always unmistakably him. Ethan Carter.
Before I’d ever moved here. Before we’d officially met.
The Polaroids hadn’t been accidents. He’d been there all along. Watching. Waiting.
By evening, the storm inside me was too strong to contain. I shoved the photo album into my bag, stormed out the door, and crossed the grass between our houses.
I didn’t bother knocking.
He looked up when I stepped onto his porch. He was sitting on the railing, guitar balanced across his lap, strumming softly. His eyes met mine, sharp and unreadable.
“Maya.” His voice was careful, like he already knew what was coming.
I dropped the photo album at his feet. The pictures spilt out, glossy pages open to every frame that held him. “You want to explain this?”
He stared at the photos. His jaw tightened. “You went through your albums.”
“Don’t twist this on me,” I snapped. “Why are you in them, Ethan? Why are you everywhere I’ve been before I even knew you?”
He set the guitar aside slowly, deliberately. “Because I saw you before you ever saw me.”
My pulse roared in my ears. “That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, it is.” His gaze burned into mine. “The first time I saw you — months ago — you were in the park, lying on the grass with your camera pointed at the sky. You were laughing at something your friend said. I couldn’t stop looking. And then, after that, it was like you were everywhere. Coffee shops, street fairs. I wasn’t following you, Maya. You were just… there. Like the universe kept putting you in my path.”
My throat went dry. “And you just… what? Collected pictures of me?”
His expression flickered. “I didn’t take those photos. You did.”
“That’s worse,” I hissed. “You kept them.”
“I noticed you,” he said, voice low. “And I couldn’t un-notice you. I tried. But every time I saw you, something in me—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “I knew you’d end up here. Before you even moved in, I knew.”
The words should’ve been romantic. They should’ve made my heart race. But instead, anger flooded me.
“You knew? And you didn’t say anything? You just… let me think I was imagining all this?”
His jaw clenched. “Would you have believed me if I told you? Would you have stayed?”
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
“You don’t get it,” I whispered. “I don’t know if this is fate or if it’s obsession.”
His eyes softened. For the first time, he looked vulnerable. “What if it’s both?”
The weight of his words pressed down on me, heavy and confusing. I couldn’t breathe under it.
I shook my head, stepping back. “I can’t do this, Ethan. I can’t be with someone who hides things from me. Who keeps secrets like this?”
He flinched as if I’d struck him. “Maya—”
“No.” My voice cracked. “I need space.”
The storm outside broke just as I turned away.
Rain pounded the ground in heavy sheets, soaking me within seconds. Thunder rolled overhead, drowning out his voice as he called after me.
I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.
By the time I reached my porch, tears blurred with raindrops, and my chest ached like I’d left something vital behind.
I collapsed onto the swing, shivering, heart racing, the sound of thunder echoing the storm inside me.
The boy next door wasn’t just a boy anymore. He was a mystery I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve.
Later that night, when I finally forced myself to glance through my rain-streaked window, Ethan’s porch was empty.
His guitar leaned against the railing, abandoned. His room was dark.
And for the first time since moving here, I realised
Ethan Carter was gone.
- Writer
