Shadows in colors

CHAPTER FOUR

Seraphine

The world looked like it was holding its breath.

She parked her car by the side lot, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. For a moment, she didn’t move. Her hands rested on the steering wheel, her knuckles pale. She could still see it—the flicker of recognition, the way Camilla’s eyes had widened, the sharp inhale that seemed to catch the air between them.

And then, just like that, it had been over. Seraphine had turned, walked back to her car, and driven off before her body could betray what her heart was doing. Before she could reach for something that no longer belonged to her.

She exhaled now, slow, deliberate, until the breath felt thin and exhausted. Then she pushed open the door and stepped out. The faint scent of earth mixed with cigarette smoke drifted from the corner where a few teens huddled, laughing quietly among themselves.

The shelter’s sign—The Haven Project—hung a little crooked above the entrance, its paint peeling in spots. She had been coming here for years now, helping however she could. Sometimes it was workshops, sometimes counseling sessions, sometimes just sitting beside someone who needed silence more than advice.

Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the smell of cheap coffee and clothes that hadn’t quite dried. A heater hummed against the far wall.

“Seraphine,” called Evelyn’s voice from the office.

She turned. Evelyn leaned against the doorframe, a file pressed to her chest. Her curls were tied back in a loose bun, glasses perched on her nose.

“You’re late,” Evelyn said, though her tone carried more curiosity than reprimand.

“Traffic,” Seraphine murmured. Then, after a pause she didn’t mean to leave hanging, “and something else.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “You’re here now. That’s what matters. We’ve got a full house today—two new girls came in last night.”

Seraphine nodded and slipped off her coat, draping it over the back of a chair. “How are the others?”

“The usual mix of chaos and miracles.” Evelyn smiled faintly, then narrowed her eyes. “You look pale. You all right?”

Seraphine hesitated. “I’m fine.” It came out too quickly.

Evelyn gave her that don’t-lie-to-me look, the one that could see through everything.

Seraphine sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I saw someone today.”

“Someone,” Evelyn repeated. “Important?”

Seraphine looked away. “Camilla.”

The sound of that name in her own voice startled her. It had a taste—familiar and forbidden, like an old song she wasn’t supposed to remember.

Evelyn’s gaze softened. “Camilla Hart?”

She nodded. “At the school. Just standing there. Like no time had passed.”

“And?”

“And I panicked,” Seraphine admitted. “I couldn’t breathe. I just… left.”

Evelyn crossed her arms, the file pressed against her. “After all these years, huh? You’d think time would’ve dulled that sort of thing.”

Seraphine gave a humorless laugh. “You’d think.” She leaned against the wall, eyes distant. “It’s strange. I didn’t even realize how much I’d tucked her away until I saw her again. Now it’s like every memory just—opened.”

“You’re allowed to miss her,” Evelyn said softly.

“Missing her isn’t the problem.” Seraphine’s voice broke slightly. “It’s that I don’t even know if I have the right to.”

They stood in silence for a while, the quiet filled only by the muffled hum of the heater and the murmur of voices from the main room.

Then Evelyn reached out and squeezed her arm. “Come on,” she said. “You’ve got a session starting. The kids have been asking for you.”

Seraphine nodded, grateful for the distraction.

The main room of the shelter buzzed with low chatter and music leaking from someone’s phone speaker. About a dozen teenagers sat scattered across mismatched couches and folding chairs—some sketching, some braiding each other’s hair, a few scrolling their screens. The smell of instant noodles clung to the air.

“Alright,” Seraphine said, clapping her hands lightly. “Let’s get started. Who’s got updates for me this week?”

A few groans. Some laughter.

“You’re worse than the school counselor,” said a girl with cropped red hair, her lip ring glinting.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mel,” Seraphine said, smiling.

They chuckled, and the session began. They talked about boundaries, about finding calm when everything felt too loud. About what healing might look like—not the shiny version people put in books, but the slow, uneven one.

Halfway through, one of the new girls lingered near the back. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, with dark braids and sharp, guarded eyes. Her name, Seraphine recalled, was Naomi—brought in two nights ago after leaving home mid-argument.

When most of the others drifted toward the vending machine after the session, Naomi stayed behind.

“You okay?” Seraphine asked gently.

Naomi shrugged. “Depends on what that means.”

Seraphine smiled faintly. “Fair enough. You want to talk?”

A pause. Then a sigh. “It’s just… everyone keeps saying it’ll get better. But what if it doesn’t? What if this is just—life now?”

Seraphine sat beside her on the edge of the couch. “Sometimes it doesn’t get better the way we want it to,” she said. “Sometimes it just changes shape until we can carry it differently.”

Naomi frowned, looking down at her chipped nail polish. “You sound like you know.”

Seraphine let out a slow breath. “Maybe I do.”

Naomi glanced at her. “Someone hurt you?”

Seraphine hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. A long time ago. And sometimes I still feel it—like a scar that itches when I think too much.”

Naomi smiled a little at that. “So you just… keep going?”

“You keep painting new layers over the old ones,” Seraphine said. “Not to hide them. Just to remind yourself that you’re still here.”

Naomi was quiet for a while. Then she asked, “Did you ever forgive them?”

Seraphine looked toward the window. A bird perched on the fence, tilting its head toward the light. “I’m still learning what forgiveness means,” she said. “Maybe it’s less about them, and more about not letting it own you anymore.”

Naomi nodded slowly, her eyes softening. “Thanks,” she said. “I—needed that.”

“Anytime,” Seraphine said.

When Naomi finally joined the others, Seraphine sat alone for a moment, letting the noise fade to a gentle hum. She rubbed her palms together, feeling that familiar ache in her chest. She didn’t realize she’d been talking about Camilla until she caught herself tracing the same rhythm in her mind—the same unanswered questions.

Later, in the quiet of Evelyn’s office, she sat on the edge of the desk while Evelyn typed. The clock ticked softly behind them.

“You’re quiet,” Evelyn said.

“Just tired,” Seraphine murmured.

“From the session?”

“From everything.”

Evelyn didn’t press. She never did.

Seraphine watched her reflection faintly in the office window, her own eyes hollow but steady. Her reflection looked older, more fragile.

“I keep thinking about her,” she whispered. “Camilla.”

“I know,” Evelyn said.

“She looked exactly the same,” Seraphine said, voice almost breaking. “Or maybe I’m just remembering her that way. I thought I’d be fine seeing her again. I thought I was past it. But it’s like time didn’t even touch the part of me that used to—”

She stopped.

Evelyn turned to face her. “You loved her,” she said quietly.

Seraphine nodded, barely.

“And maybe part of you still does.”

Seraphine closed her eyes. The words hurt, but they also fit—like a truth she’d been ducking around for years.

After a long silence, she stood. “I should go. I need to pick up Aria.”

Evelyn leaned back in her chair. “You sure you’re up for it?”

Seraphine hesitated by the door. “No,” she said honestly. “But I’ll go anyway.”

She walked to her car, her boots splashing lightly against the pavement. The air carried that faint metallic scent that lingered after everything went quiet.

As she reached for the door handle, she caught her reflection in the window—blurred, uncertain, but undeniably there.

She thought of Aria waiting for her, of the small everyday rhythm that kept her grounded. And she thought of Camilla, standing in the schoolyard that morning, the years collapsing into something that still refused to fade.

For a heartbeat, Seraphine let herself feel it all—the ache, the fear, the unfinished tenderness—and then she drew in a breath, steady and low.

She got into the car, started the engine, and drove away.