Stay with me

Stay With Me – Chapter Two

The summer sun poured through Aiden’s window, tracing soft gold lines across his desk. His sketchbook lay open, the portrait of Emma still unfinished — her eyes half-drawn, as if waiting for him to return and complete them. He stared at his phone again. Her message from last night still glowed on the screen: “It’s beautiful, Aiden. You shouldn’t have stopped drawing me.”

He had read it at least a dozen times, smiling like a fool each time. After weeks of silence, she’d reached out. Emma. The girl who made his world louder without ever raising her voice. He typed back quickly, “I didn’t stop. Just… lost the reason for a while.” He stared at the message, wondering if it sounded too honest. Before he could overthink, another bubble appeared. “Then maybe it’s time to find that reason again 😉”

And that’s how it began — the quiet rhythm of late-night messages, blurry time zones, and soft laughter through screens.

Paris was five hours behind. When Aiden was getting ready for bed, Emma was walking home from school. When he woke up, she was already in the middle of her day. Yet somehow, they found each other in the in-between hours — when the world was quiet and hearts spoke louder.

They talked about everything — art, music, movies, dreams, stupid jokes.

Emma: “I tried making coffee this morning and nearly burned the kitchen.”

Aiden: “You? The girl who once said she could make anything with love?”

Emma: “Turns out love doesn’t boil water properly.”

Aiden: “Guess you need me there to fix it.”

Emma: “Maybe I do.”

Aiden couldn’t help but grin at his screen. Each message from her felt like sunlight after rain — familiar, comforting, too good to be real. Sometimes they called — voices breaking through the static, laughter echoing across thousands of miles. She’d talk about how Paris smelled different after rain. He’d tell her about his art classes, how he missed their school courtyard, the fountain, that last sunset.

And every night, before ending the call, she’d whisper, “Goodnight, artist.”

And he’d reply, “Goodnight, muse.”

It became their thing.

One evening, while sketching, Aiden started writing something he hadn’t planned to — a letter. He didn’t know why, but his heart needed to speak louder than his messages could.

Dear Emma,

Do you ever think about that last day? About how everything stopped for a second when you smiled? I wanted to say a thousand things, but all I managed was a goodbye that didn’t sound like one.

Paris must be beautiful — but it’s strange how the sky looks the same here. Sometimes, I look up and wonder if you’re seeing the same moon.

I miss you. In ways I can’t explain in words.

– A

He didn’t send it. He folded it between the pages of his sketchbook, the words pressed like petals — quiet, waiting.

Weeks passed. Their calls grew longer. Emma sent him photos — coffee shops, rain-soaked streets, her messy desk, the Eiffel Tower at sunset. “Feels wrong seeing it without you,” she texted once. “Then take me there someday,” he replied. She sent back a selfie — her hair windswept, her smile soft. “Only if you promise to sketch me right there.”

“Deal.”

Every message was a small memory being built. They hadn’t said the words I love you, but they lived in everything they didn’t say. Sometimes, when she laughed too long at something he said, his heart would ache. Sometimes, when he went quiet for too long, she’d send, “Don’t disappear, Aiden.” And he never did. Not for her.

But love, even soft love, isn’t always simple.

One night, Aiden waited for her call. Eleven p.m. Then midnight. Then one. Nothing. He sent a message — no reply. The next day, nothing again. Three days. Four. Her social media had new photos — Paris streets, friends, lights. But no messages. The ache grew heavier, and the letter in his sketchbook felt louder than ever.

Finally, after a week, his phone buzzed. Her name lit the screen. “I’m sorry. Things have been crazy. Exams. Family. Everything.” He stared at it for a long time, then replied softly, “You don’t have to apologize. I just missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she wrote, followed by a small heart.

But something had changed — a hesitation in her words, a pause in her laughter. Still, he didn’t ask. He just held onto her voice like it was something fragile.

A month later, Emma’s birthday arrived. Aiden stayed up the whole night working on something — a digital painting of her, standing under Paris lights, her scarf fluttering in the wind, her smile painted in soft gold. He titled it: “Stay With Me.”

He sent it to her with a message: “For the girl who made distance feel like a lie.”

Hours later, she replied, “Aiden, this is… breathtaking. I can’t even describe it.”

“Happy birthday, Emma.”

“You remembered.”

“Always.”

There was a pause. Then she sent another message. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

“Sometimes, when I walk by the river here, I pretend you’re beside me. You’d hate how cold it gets, but you’d love how the city glows at night. And every time I see that glow… I wish you were here.”

He stared at the message for minutes before replying. “Someday, I will be.”

She sent a single word back. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Weeks passed again, but this time things felt right — until one call.

It was late evening. Aiden was sketching when his phone lit up — Emma calling. He smiled, picked it up. Her voice was soft, but something in it trembled.

“Aiden… I have to tell you something.”

His heart skipped. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, the line crackling faintly. “My dad’s been transferred again. This time—to New York.”

He froze. “New York?”

“Yeah. We’re leaving next week.”

He leaned back in his chair, silent. The words hung heavy. Paris was already far, but New York… it felt like another world.

“That’s… great,” he said finally, forcing a smile into his voice. “New York’s beautiful.”

“Don’t do that,” she whispered. “Don’t act like it doesn’t matter.”

He sighed. “It matters, Emma. You matter. But what can I say? We’re already miles apart.”

There was silence. Then, softly, “Then don’t let this be just another goodbye.”

He closed his eyes. “It won’t be.”

“Promise?” she asked again, her voice breaking slightly.

“Promise.”

They stayed quiet for a moment, both listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. Then she said, barely a whisper, “Aiden… if one day you ever come looking for me, just look for the sky that matches the one we watched that day. I’ll be under it.”

And before he could answer, the call ended.

That night, he sat by his window again, the same moonlight spilling across his room, the same unfinished letter in his sketchbook. He picked up his pencil and drew — her again, but this time beneath a skyline that wasn’t Paris. New York.

Underneath it, he wrote: “Stay With Me — Part II.”

And when he finished, a single tear fell on the page, blurring one word — “me.”

The city lights looked like stars had fallen to the ground.

Aiden sat by his window, headphones in, a faint glow from his laptop screen painting soft shadows across his face. Outside, the rain whispered against the glass, the kind of quiet that makes you miss someone more than you should.

He clicked open a chat—

Emma 🌸 is typing…

His heart skipped, just like it always did.

> Emma: “You awake?”

Aiden: “Was waiting for you.”

Emma: “You always say that.”

Aiden: “Because it’s always true.”

He could almost hear her laugh, that soft, half-hidden giggle that lived between words. For a moment, it felt like she was right there, across the room, wrapped in her oversized sweater, pretending not to smile.

They talked about everything and nothing — her new art project, his late-night soccer practice, how the moon looked the same from both their cities. It was simple, pure, and quietly beautiful — like breathing after holding your breath too long.

At one point, she said,

> “Sometimes I wish the screen wasn’t between us.”

Aiden stared at the message for a long time.

> “Then what would you do?” he typed.

“I’d probably hug you,” she replied.

“Probably?”

“Okay fine, definitely.”

He smiled, running a hand through his hair, pretending that her warmth was already there, beside him.

But as the clock hit 2:14 a.m., her messages slowed. She started sending shorter replies — dots, pauses, sighs between words.

> Emma: “You ever think about… us?”

Aiden: “All the time.”

Emma: “And what do you see?”

He thought for a long time before replying.

> Aiden: “You. Standing under the same sky. Waiting.”

There was a long pause. Then a final message.

> Emma: “Stay with me… even when it’s hard.”

The screen flickered. Her status turned to offline.

But her words — they stayed.

Aiden leaned back, eyes on the night sky, rain still falling softly.

He whispered to the emptiness,

“Always.”

And for the first time in a long while,

the rain didn’t sound lonely anymore.