CHAPTER TWO
1311 Words
The light in the room was tender that morning—slow, golden, stretching itself across the floorboards and over the half-finished canvases that leaned against the wall. Dust motes danced lazily in its warmth, caught in the gentle hum of the ceiling fan.
Seraphine stirred, her body heavy, mind still caught between dream and memory. Her sheets smelled faintly of mint and lavender,
She blinked, exhaling through it, grounding herself. The room was quiet, except for the soft snores coming from the tiny figure curled beside her. Aria’s hair had fanned across the pillow, dark curls a messy halo around her face, she had probably slipped in the middle of the night . Her small hand was tucked under Seraphine’s arm, as if even in sleep she refused to let go.
Seraphine smiled faintly.
“Up, my little moonbeam,” she whispered, brushing a thumb along her daughter’s cheek.
Aria groaned dramatically, burrowing deeper into the blanket. “Five more minutes…”
“Five more minutes means we’ll be late,” Seraphine murmured, kissing her forehead. “And you know what happens if you’re late again.”
Aria peeked open one sleepy eye. “Mrs Thomas gives me that look.”
“That look,” Seraphine repeated with mock gravity. “And you hate that look.”
A muffled giggle came from under the blanket. “Okay, okay! I’m up!”
They moved through the morning like clockwork—shoes by the door, cereal crunching, Aria humming as she tied her laces wrong twice before getting it right. Seraphine made coffee, the bitterness grounding her, her hands steady even though her chest still felt heavy.
“Mom?” Aria’s voice was soft. “You okay?”
Seraphine blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah, baby. Just thinking about work.”
Aria tilted her head in that serious, grown-up way that made her look too much like her father for a second—then, thankfully, she grinned, snapping the tension. “You think too much.”
Seraphine laughed. “Probably.”
When they stepped outside, the morning was crisp, bright. The city was just waking—street vendors setting up stalls, distant chatter, the hum of engines starting. The world felt alive again, but somewhere inside, the ache still pulsed softly, like an echo waiting to rise.
In the car, Aria talked endlessly about school projects and Luna’s newest “painting attempts.” Her voice filled the small space, grounding Seraphine in the rhythm of normalcy.
“Mom?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Are you gonna come to the art fair this time?”
Seraphine hesitated. “Of course I am.”
Aria studied her with the sharp honesty only a child could have. “Promise?? "
" Cross my heart darling "She smiled.
By the time they reached the school , Seraphine’s chest had loosened, her mind calmer.
Aria ran ahead, waving goodbye before vanishing into a sea of blue uniforms and small voices. Watching her go always filled Seraphine with something complicated — pride tangled with fear, love shadowed by old ache.
She turned to leave and then..
froze in , her breath catching halfway between disbelief and panic. The laughter in the hallway dimmed; the world tilted a little. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.
That same honey-brown hair, now tied in a low knot. The same soft eyes — older now, sharper around the edges — but still her.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The space between them buzzed, alive with something Seraphine had buried long ago and prayed would never resurface.
Camilla’s mouth parted, like she might say her name.
Seraphine turned before the sound could form.
Her heart thundered as she fled, sunlight slicing across her face. She didn’t stop until she reached her car. Fingers shaking, she slammed the door shut and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel.
The past clawed at her chest.
And before she could stop it—
memory bled through.
********
It was raining the first time I saw her.
Not the gentle kind of rain that begged for poetry — it was the kind that soaked through uniforms and made the hall floors slick with mud. I remember cursing under my breath, clutching my sketchbook like it was something sacred.
Then she laughed.
I turned, and there she was — leaning against the lockers, drenched and grinning like she owned the storm. Camilla Hart. The girl everyone knew but no one quite figured out.
“You draw, right?” she said, her voice cutting through the noise.
I nodded, too startled to speak.
She stepped closer, peering down at my sketchbook, strands of wet hair sticking to her cheek. “Mind if I see?”
I should’ve said no. I didn’t.
Her fingers brushed mine when she took it, and the spark that jumped between us was sharp enough to hurt.
“You’re good,” she said, flipping through the pages. “Really good.”
“Thanks,” I managed, trying to sound casual even as my pulse betrayed me.
She smiled — that half-smile that always felt like it was hiding something. “You ever paint people?”
“Sometimes.”
“Paint me.”
The words hit like thunder.
I looked up, ready to laugh it off, but her expression didn’t shift. She meant it.
And I — stupid, curious, breathless — nodded.
That was how it began.
The afternoons that followed were slow, easy, filled with whispers between canvases. She’d sit beside me, sketching in silence. I’d mix colors, pretending not to watch how her lips pressed together when she focused.
Once, after class, rain trapped us inside. The windows fogged over, the room dim and quiet. I remember sitting on the floor, our knees almost touching, the air thick with turpentine and something softer.
She reached for my wrist, brushing away a streak of red paint.
“You always end up wearing your art,” she murmured.
I wanted to say something—anything—but my throat closed around the words.
So she leaned closer instead.
Her hair smelled faintly of jasmine and rain. Her fingers lingered.
“Seraphine,” she whispered, my name tasting like a secret.
And I remember thinking:
This.
This is what safety feels like.
**********
The honk of a passing car yanked her back
Seraphine. gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, the city blurring past as the familiar streets twisted into ones she barely noticed anymore. Her mind spiraled with questions she didn’t want answers to—why now? Why after all these years? Camilla’s face, still impossibly beautiful, haunted the edges of her vision, the same soft eyes and teasing half-smile that had once made her pulse quicken . She tried to steady herself, but the ache of unfinished stories, of promises broken pressed against her chest. The shelter loomed ahead, a quiet destination in the chaos of her thoughts, and she wondered, not for the first time, how someone could carry both the comfort of familiarity and the sharp sting of the past all at once.
- Writer
