CHAPTER TWO: Tangled Threads
900 Words
The morning light in Navesh didn’t shine. It crept—quiet and pale, like it didn’t want to wake anyone. Avelon stood in the kitchen holding a chipped mug, the same one her mother used every morning when she wasn’t too tired to get out of bed. Now, the tea sat untouched beside her.
She stared out the window at the dew clinging to the fence, trying to organize her thoughts like old boxes in an attic. Some were too heavy to lift. Others spilled over the moment she tried.
Behind her, footsteps padded softly. Emma’s voice broke the stillness.
“She asked for you.”
Avelon turned. “Is she in pain?”
“Not today.” Emma offered a kind smile. “She just wants to talk. Not about anything heavy. Just... you.”
Avelon nodded, suddenly feeling twelve again—awkward, unsure, trying not to cry.
She found her mother sitting up in bed, a knitted shawl over her shoulders and a faint smile that flickered like a candle in wind. Her eyes had lost some of their spark, but they still studied Avelon with the same intensity.
“You came,” her mother said softly.
“I did,” Avelon replied, moving to sit beside the bed. She reached for her mother’s hand and held it gently, surprised at how small and thin it felt.
“I kept your room the same,” her mother whispered. “Thought it might bring you back someday.”
“I wasn’t ready before.”
“I know.” Her mother sighed. “Life never waits until we’re ready, does it?”
They sat in silence for a while. Outside, birds chirped like they didn’t care that the world was full of pain.
“Emma tells me you’ve been living in the city,” her mother said finally.
“Yeah. Freelancing mostly. Editing. Trying to write.”
“Still hiding in stories?”
Avelon chuckled lightly. “Always.”
Her mother’s gaze softened. “There’s something honest about fiction. You get to say the things you’re too afraid to admit out loud.”
Avelon looked away. “Sometimes.”
She didn’t say what she was thinking. That sometimes stories were the only place people like her and Damian could be whole. In real life, there were too many sharp edges.
“Speaking of,” her mother added, eyes twinkling just enough to be dangerous, “guess who I saw last week?”
Avelon already knew.
“Damian,” her mother said. “He came by with flowers. Asked how I was doing. That boy always had a kind heart.”
“Did he?” Avelon asked quietly, pretending to be interested in smoothing the blanket over her mother’s lap.
“He looked different,” her mom continued. “Older. But that smile... still the same.”
Avelon didn’t answer. She was too busy pulling every emotion back behind her ribs where it couldn’t be seen.
Her mother reached for her hand. “What happened, Avelon?”
The words clung to the back of her throat.
“He left,” she said finally. “No warning. No goodbye. Just gone.”
Her mother looked at her a long time, like she was trying to see beyond the surface. “Maybe he thought you were the one who left.”
Avelon blinked.
“He didn’t stay either.”
Her mother squeezed her hand gently. “Everyone’s trying, Ave. We all just do it badly sometimes.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, she stood and kissed her mother’s forehead.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” she murmured.
Outside, the wind had picked up. The streets of Navesh looked the same as always—too quiet, too narrow, holding too much history. She wandered without direction, her feet carrying her to places her heart wasn’t ready for.
She ended up near the old bridge. The one where Damian used to meet her late at night, both of them barefoot and breathless from running, talking about dreams that felt so big back then.
And there he was.
As if summoned by memory.
Damian stood by the railing, back turned, hands gripping the wood like he needed something solid to hold onto. She almost turned away. Almost.
But he looked over his shoulder—and saw her.
Neither of them smiled. Not yet.
“You still walk here,” she said finally, voice even.
“Not often,” he replied, turning fully. “Just today.”
“Why today?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I remembered you used to.”
Silence stretched between them, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.
“I saw you yesterday,” he said, eyes scanning hers.
“I saw you too.”
He nodded once. “Didn’t want to startle you.”
“You didn’t.”
Another pause.
“Your mom...?” he asked gently.
“She’s holding on.”
He nodded again, like he understood more than he let on.
“I should go,” she said, unsure why she came in the first place.
“Okay,” he said. But his eyes said wait.
She turned. Then stopped.
“You left, Damian,” she said, not turning back.
“I know.”
And then she walked away—before the ache in her chest could spill out in words she wasn’t ready to speak.
- Writer
