Splash Of Fate

Chapter 5 - Haunted Past

The morning broke gray and heavy, the kind of sky that pressed low as if it carried secrets of its own. Spark stirred restlessly in her bed, staring at the ceiling as raindrops tapped faintly against her window. She hadn’t slept. Not really. Sleep had come in scraps, in fleeting fragments before shadows clawed her awake again. And in every dream, in every restless turn of her mind, there were those eyes—blue, sharp, impossible to forget.

She groaned softly, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead. She should have been thinking about her future—about finishing her master’s, about getting a stable job, about proving to herself and to the world that she was more than the girl fate had broken. Instead, her thoughts tangled themselves around a boy she barely knew.

No, not barely. She knew something about him. Not with her mind, but with her bones. Like some unspoken recognition that frightened her.

And she hated it.

She sat up, swung her legs to the side of the bed, and let her toes touch the cold floor. A shiver ran through her. Maybe coffee would ground her, remind her that she lived in a world where bills had to be paid, where jobs were scarce, where one couldn’t afford to get lost in someone else’s gaze.

Her phone buzzed. Tyson.

Morning, Spark. Don’t forget, practice today? Thought we could walk together.

A small smile curved her lips. Tyson was her anchor, steady and familiar, always reminding her of the parts of life that were safe. She typed back quickly. Sure. See you in an hour.

By the time she left her house, the rain had softened into a drizzle. The streets smelled of wet earth, the air cool against her cheeks. Tyson was waiting by the corner, leaning on the fence with that easy grin that always reminded her of sunlight.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” he said the moment he saw her.

Spark rolled her eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

He nudged her shoulder as they fell into step together. “Seriously, Spark. You’ve been carrying something. And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I know that look—you get it when you’re overthinking.”

“I always overthink.”

“True,” Tyson admitted with a laugh. “But this is different. What is it?”

Her lips parted, words almost spilling, but she bit them back. How could she explain? How could she tell Tyson about the stranger with the stormy gaze, about the way her heart betrayed her every time he appeared? Tyson, who had been her rock, who had loved her in quiet ways for years, would never understand why she couldn’t shake someone else’s presence.

So she forced a smile. “Just… deadlines. Life. You know.”

Tyson studied her for a moment longer, but finally nodded, though she saw the flicker of worry he tried to hide.

As they walked, Spark’s thoughts drifted again. To her parents. To the blurred memories of that night, the flashing lights, the hospital walls, the cold finality of loss. She was young, too young, but the ache had followed her into adulthood like a ghost she could never exorcise. She had spent years wondering about the accident. The unanswered questions gnawed at her, and every time she thought she had finally moved on, the wound reopened.

She tightened her grip on her bag. Some days it felt like the universe had stolen too much from her.

And yet, she didn’t know that someone else carried the same night in his chest like a curse.

Blue Eyes stood at the edge of the street, hidden beneath the shade of a tree, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His gaze followed Spark and Tyson as they walked side by side, laughter and familiarity between them. Something twisted in his chest—a pain that was both envy and regret.

He should turn away. He told himself this every time. Walk away. Leave her to her peace. Don’t touch what you’ll only ruin.

But he couldn’t. His feet stayed rooted, his eyes locked on her. He didn’t deserve to watch her, but he couldn’t deny the pull.

When Spark’s laugh carried faintly to him, something inside him cracked. He remembered another laugh, from years ago, echoing in the aftermath of a basketball game. Her smile then, just as bright. He remembered the moment his father’s trembling hands had gripped the steering wheel too late, the screech of tires, the world spinning into screams.

His jaw clenched.

If she ever knew… If Spark ever discovered that the blood on his family’s hands was her parents’, she would never forgive him. She would hate him, and she would be right to.

He pressed his back against the rough bark of the tree, closing his eyes briefly. The secret burned inside him, louder with every heartbeat. He had sworn never to tell her, never to taint her with his truth. Better to let her hate him for being a stranger, for being strange, than to let her hate him for what truly mattered.

But even as he thought this, he found himself moving again, trailing them at a distance.

Spark didn’t notice. She was lost in her own memories, Tyson’s voice a soft hum beside her.

Later that night, when Spark sat alone at her desk, flipping through books she wasn’t really reading, the past clawed at her again. She pulled open the small wooden box she kept hidden in the corner of her drawer. Inside lay a folded newspaper clipping, yellowed with age.

TRAGIC ACCIDENT CLAIMS LIVES OF LOCAL COUPLE.

Her throat tightened as she traced the faded ink with her fingertips. She never showed this to anyone, not even Tyson. It was the only physical piece of that night she still had.

“I’ll find out,” she whispered into the quiet of her room. “One day, I’ll know who was responsible.”

The storm outside rumbled faintly, as though mocking her vow.

And across the city, in the hollow silence of his apartment, Blue Eyes sat in darkness, staring at his own hands. He remembered the broken windshield, the smell of blood, the echo of his mother’s voice screaming.

He bowed his head.

“Forgive me,” he whispered into the empty room. “Even if you never know… forgive me.”

But forgiveness was a luxury he would never deserve.

And fate, cruel as always, was far from done with either of them..