Unwritten Stars Episode TWO
409 Words
Chapter Two
Ghosts of the Past
Clara’s fingers tightened around the counter, her knuckles turning white. She had spent years preparing for the possibility of running into Ethan Calloway again—only to realize, in this moment, that she wasn’t prepared at all.
“Clara,” he said again, softer this time, as if testing whether she was real or just a memory that had slipped into his imagination.
She forced herself to breathe. To school her expression into something neutral, unreadable. “Ethan.” His name tasted foreign on her tongue, yet too familiar all the same.
A slow smile curved his lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
Clara straightened a pile of books on the counter, as if the motion could steady her racing heart. “I own the place.” She gestured vaguely around the shop. “The Story Nook.”
Ethan let out a soft chuckle, glancing around. “Of course, you do. It suits you.” His eyes lingered on the walls of books, the tucked-away reading corners, the scent of coffee and ink mingling in the air. “Still surrounding yourself with stories?”
She nodded. “They never leave.” Unlike people.
He caught the unspoken words, his expression shifting for a fraction of a second. Then, as if remembering why he was here, he exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just moved to Edinburgh. Thought a change of scenery might help.”
“Help with what?” The question escaped before she could stop it.
His lips twitched. “Writing.”
Clara blinked. Of course. Ethan Calloway—the same boy who had once scribbled poetry in the margins of library books, who had dreamed of writing novels that would change lives. And he had. His books were everywhere now, his name printed in gold on bestseller lists.
A bestselling author. And she, the girl who once dreamed of writing, had never finished a single story.
A silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid words.
Finally, Ethan nodded toward the espresso machine. “Do you still make those terrible lattes?”
A surprised laugh escaped her, light and unbidden. “I’ve improved.”
“Prove it.”
Clara hesitated—but then, without thinking too hard about it, she turned and started making his drink. Some ghosts, it seemed, weren’t ready to be buried just yet.
- Writer
