Unseen Paths
1605 Words
Amelia stayed where she was for a few seconds after Lola disappeared into the hallway.
Students brushed past her, lockers slammed open and shut, laughter echoed off the tiled walls — the normal chaos of a Monday morning — but it all felt slightly muted, like she was hearing it from underwater.
Lola said she hadn’t left the house.
Not once.
Amelia replayed the moment in the café in her mind. The sunlight across the street. The figure standing there. The familiar shape of her hair. The way the person had been watching.
It had been quick.
Just a glance.
But she had been so sure.
Her stomach twisted.
Am I losing my mind?
The thought arrived quietly, but it sat heavily in her chest.
She tried to reason through it as she walked toward her first class.
Maybe it had just been someone who looked like Lola. That happened all the time. People saw familiar faces everywhere when they weren’t really looking properly.
Except she had looked.
Hadn’t she?
And it wasn’t the first time.
The memory from the park on Saturday slipped back into her thoughts.
She had been sitting on the swing, gently rocking back and forth while watching families drift through the playground. Parents pushing toddlers on swings. Kids chasing each other across the grass. The kind of warm, simple scenes that made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t fully explain.
She remembered staring down at the dirt under her shoes, letting that familiar heaviness creep in.
Why isn’t it enough?
She had tried so hard her whole life — at school, at home, with people.
And somehow it always felt like she was still falling short.
After a while she had looked up again, letting her gaze drift across the park.
That was when she’d seen her.
Just for a second.
Near the edge of the walking path, partially hidden behind a tree.
The same dark hair. The same shape of her shoulders.
Lola.
Amelia had turned fully in the swing, her heart jumping.
But when she looked properly —
No one was there.
The path had been empty.
She had stood up, scanning the park again, telling herself maybe Lola had just walked behind the trees or left quickly.
But deep down, something about the moment had felt… wrong.
Now, standing in the school hallway, the memory made Amelia’s chest tighten again.
First the park.
Then the café.
And now Lola standing right in front of her saying she hadn’t left the house all weekend.
Amelia rubbed her thumb along the edge of her phone as she walked.
If Lola was lying… why would she?
The question didn’t make sense.
It wasn’t like Amelia had confronted her. She had just asked what she did over the weekend. A normal question. One people answered without thinking.
What possible reason would Lola have to lie about something so small?
Unless—
Amelia stopped that thought before it could go any further.
You’re overthinking again.
Ryan’s voice echoed faintly in her memory.
She exhaled slowly and pushed the thought aside as she stepped into her first class.
The morning passed in its usual blur of notes, teachers talking too fast, and the constant scratching of pens across paper.
But the uneasiness stayed with her.
It clung quietly in the back of her thoughts like a loose thread she couldn’t stop tugging at.
By the time second period arrived and Amelia walked into the art room, she was grateful for the familiar smell of paint and charcoal.
The room was quieter than most classrooms. Softer. Students tended to spread out, claiming their usual tables like territory.
Amelia slipped into her seat near the window and pulled her sketchbook out of her bag.
Her teacher, Ms. Patel, stood at the front of the room holding a stack of papers.
“Alright everyone,” she said once the last student sat down. “Time for the next portfolio prompt.”
A few students groaned quietly.
Amelia looked up.
Ms. Patel smiled slightly, clearly used to the reaction.
“You’ll be happy to know this one is a bit more open-ended,” she continued. “Your next piece is titled: Where You See Yourself in Ten Years.”
A ripple of murmurs moved through the class.
“Interpret that however you like,” Ms. Patel added. “Literal, symbolic, emotional — that’s up to you. But I want to see thought behind it.”
She began handing out the printed sheets as she walked between the tables.
Amelia stared at the words when the paper landed in front of her.
Where you see yourself in ten years.
Her pencil rested loosely between her fingers.
Ten years.
She tried to picture it.
Nothing came.
Her life had always been measured in smaller pieces. Days. Weeks. The next thing that needed to be done.
Get the twins ready.
Finish homework.
Make dinner.
Get through school.
Repeat.
Ten years felt like a completely different universe.
What did people normally imagine when they thought about their future?
Careers.
Houses.
Families.
Dreams.
Amelia’s chest tightened slightly.
She didn’t even know who she was right now, half the time.
So how was she supposed to know who she would be in ten years?
Her sketchbook lay open in front of her, the blank page almost mocking.
The anxiety painting from the weekend flashed through her mind — the girl covering her ears, ropes tightening around her chest.
That had been easy.
That had been honest.
But the future?
Amelia tapped the end of her pencil lightly against the paper.
Maybe the problem wasn’t the assignment.
Maybe the problem was that she had never really allowed herself to think that far ahead.
Planning a future required believing you had one that belonged to you.
And most days, Amelia felt like she was just… surviving the present.
Amelia turned the paper over as if the blank back might somehow be easier to face.
It wasn’t.
Her pencil hovered above the page, unmoving.
Around her, the quiet sounds of the art room slowly began to fill the space — chairs shifting, pencils scratching, someone opening a paint tube too aggressively. A few students were already sketching confidently, their ideas spilling onto the page without hesitation.
Amelia envied that certainty.
She rested her elbow on the table and pressed her fingers lightly against her temple.
Ten years.
In ten years the twins would be nearly adults.
The thought startled her a little.
Leo and Samuel would be taller than her by then, probably louder, probably still arguing over stupid things like whose turn it was to do the dishes. Maybe they’d barely need her anymore. Maybe they wouldn’t need her at all.
Her chest tightened at that idea.
What would she be then?
A sister who had finished her job?
A girl who used to hold everything together?
The pencil touched the paper without her fully deciding to start. A few uncertain lines appeared. Nothing clear yet — just shapes.
A figure sitting alone.
Small.
Indistinct.
She stopped again, staring at it.
Across the room someone laughed at a joke, the sound sharp enough to pull her attention away for a second. When she looked back down, the sketch suddenly felt wrong.
Too empty.
She flipped back a few pages in her sketchbook absentmindedly. The earlier drawings stared back at her — the happiness painting she’d photographed, the tight, dark sketches of anxiety, messy practice lines that never made it past rough ideas.
Her eyes lingered on the page where she had once drawn Lola during class weeks ago.
The likeness was quick but unmistakable — the familiar curve of her smile, the way her hair fell slightly across her cheek.
Amelia blinked.
Something about it made that uneasy feeling return.
Her mind drifted again to the weekend.
The park.
The path.
The moment she’d been certain she saw Lola watching her.
Then the empty space where no one had been standing.
She shook her head slightly and forced herself to focus on the assignment again.
You’re spiralling.
Her pencil moved again, this time slower.
Instead of drawing a clear future version of herself, she began sketching something more abstract — a long road disappearing into the distance. The path twisted slightly, fading as it went further away.
At the start of the road stood a small figure.
Not moving yet.
Just looking forward.
Unsure.
Amelia stared at it for a long moment.
Maybe that was the most honest answer she could give.
She didn’t know where she was going.
She didn’t know who she would become.
All she knew was that the path existed, even if she couldn’t see the end of it yet.
Across the room the bell rang, sharp and sudden, cutting through the quiet.
Students immediately began packing up, chairs scraping against the floor.
Amelia barely noticed.
She was still staring at the drawing.
“Amelia.”
She looked up.
Ms. Patel stood beside her desk, a gentle smile on her face.
“Class ended thirty seconds ago.”
“Oh.” Amelia blinked and quickly began gathering her things. “Sorry.”
Ms. Patel glanced down at the sketchbook before Amelia closed it.
“That’s an interesting direction for the prompt,” she said. “Not many people are comfortable admitting uncertainty.”
Amelia shrugged slightly, sliding the book into her bag.
“I’m not sure what else to draw.”
“That’s alright,” Ms. Patel replied calmly. “Sometimes honesty makes the strongest art.”
Amelia nodded politely, though she wasn’t sure she fully believed that.
- Writer
