Can't get over you

Chapter 8

The venue buzzed with motion.

Echoed as I walked through the hallway, clipboard in hand, pulse steady but heart all over the place.

He’d been avoiding me all morning. I’d barely caught a glimpse of him since the power came back.

"It is, until you drop dead from exhaustion."

Faded. Torn at the edge. Tucked between dusty binders.

People moved like threads weaving into a chaotic tapestry—volunteers hauling boxes, decorators hanging strings of lights, soundcheck echoing off high ceilings. My footsteps brushed against paper.

I managed a small smile. But my shoulders still ached from yesterday. And the elevator. And Aaron.

"You say that like it’s a good thing."

Practically jogging toward me.

"My queen," she breathed, handing me a crumpled list. "You’re the only thing holding this event together."

Every time I turned, I half-expected to find him staring. Every hallway I walked through felt like it held the weight of the words he almost said but didn’t.

And yet, I felt him everywhere.

I made my way to the main supply room, a small closet tucked near the back of the building. We kept folders, toolkits, tape, and all the random bits no one remembered until the last minute.

I crouched, sorting through the bottom drawer looking for extra name tags when my fingers brushed against paper.

I pulled it out slowly.

The handwriting stopped me.

What was this?

I unfolded it.

At first, I thought it was just a scribbled list or a draft.

I didn’t know.

But then I read.

I read it again. And again.

Aaron.

Did he write it for me? Was it old? Recent?

"You still feel like home even when I don’t know who I am anymore."

No signature. No date. No recipient.

And the not-knowing wrapped itself around my throat.

I knew his writing. It was sharp but clean. Controlled, even when his world wasn’t.

The page cut off there. Like someone had stopped mid-thought.

I stood slowly, slipping the note into my back pocket.

I sat back against the wall, holding the note like it might crumble.

Confused.

But it felt like it wasn’t meant to be discovered.

---

"Farah!" Kelly, one of the girls on the team—tall, always dressed like a Pinterest board, and the queen of calm chaos—called from the entrance. "We’re setting up the donor table. Can you help match the names to placards?"

"On it."

I walked out into the open room again, heart still thrumming with the words I shouldn’t have read.

Aaron passed once, talking to someone in a headset, phone to his ear. His eyes slid to me for half a second.

His lips twitched. Almost smiled. Almost.

Then away.

Kelly handed me a clipboard. "You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

I forced a laugh. "Just tired. And this dress is fighting for its life."

She smirked. "Girl, same. Let’s get this over with."

I made my way to the elevator.

Layla leaned beside me. "Told you. You’re magic."

I shook my head. "I’m tired magic. But magic, I guess."

By late afternoon, the space transformed. Lights glowed. Centerpieces stood tall. Volunteers were finally smiling.

"We’ve got twenty minutes until the guest walk-through. Want to take a break upstairs? There’s coffee in the green room."

"Do what?"

"I’ll go up. You?"

"Too tired. I’ll join you soon."

I entered the elevator, letting out a sigh just as the doors began to slide shut.

He moved then. "Farah."

His eyes searched mine. "You didn’t imagine it."

"You always do that."

I held the silence. Waiting. Begging.

"You know what’s worse than missing someone?" I whispered. "It’s this. The silence. The not knowing. You look at me like you’re drowning but won’t throw a rope."

He stepped in, expression unreadable, and stood a full step away. The tension? Immediate.

"Coffee?" he asked, glancing at the button panel.

"In the supply drawer. A note. Your handwriting. Half-finished."

His brow twitched. "What?"

"Was it yours?"

Nothing.

He looked away. His throat worked, jaw flexed, but still no words.

Still nothing. But his eyes locked onto mine, and in them I saw it—Pain, maybe. Or guilt. I couldn’t tell. But it sat there like a shadow.

He nodded, silent.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

And of course, as fate would have it, a hand slipped between the doors just in time.

"Just needed a breather."

I turned sharply. "Forget it. It’s easier not to care. God knows you make it easy."

"If found something," I blurted.

"No. Don’t say anything now."

"I wasn’t going to."

"Of course. You never do."

That stung. More than I expected.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

Just silence. And the way his hand brushed mine for a second too long before he walked out first, leaving me standing there with a hundred unsaid things burning in my throat.