Chapter 11
745 Words
Luna never saw him again.
After the day in the classroom — after the kiss that felt like fire and the Dean’s cold stare and Ethan’s final, cutting words (“hopefully we never cross paths again”) — something inside her broke clean in two.
She didn’t cry in public anymore.
She didn’t chase rumors or walk past his old lecture hall hoping for a glimpse.
She didn’t let herself think his name until the lights were off and the world was quiet.
She hurt. Deeply. Quietly. The kind of hurt that lives under your ribs and makes every breath feel heavier.
But she decided — in the silence of her room one night when the fairy lights were the only thing glowing — that she wouldn’t let it win.
She focused on herself.
On her studies.
On her grades.
On the small routines that reminded her she still existed outside of him.
She woke early. Ran until her lungs burned. Studied until her eyes blurred. Ate meals with the girls even when her appetite was gone. Joined the book club she’d always wanted to try and actually spoke during discussions. She laughed when they made her laugh. She smiled when they needed her to.
She didn’t date.
Didn’t flirt.
Didn’t let anyone close enough to see the scar.
The girls watched her quietly rebuild.
They didn’t push.
They just stayed.
Time did what time always does: it moved forward, even when the heart begged it to stop.
Months passed.
Final year arrived like a slow, steady breath.
Luna threw everything into it — late nights in the library, early mornings with flashcards, group revisions where she led without realizing she was leading. She cried over failed practice exams, celebrated small wins with cheap takeout and the girls screaming her name like she’d won something bigger than grades.
When results came out, she stared at the screen until her vision blurred.
First Class Honours.
The room exploded.
Aria tackled her onto the bed.
Layla played victory riffs on her guitar until the neighbors banged on the wall.
Zara cried — soft, proud tears — because she had seen Luna at her lowest and now here she was: standing tall.
Graduation day was sunlight, laughter, and too many tears.
Caps flew. Hugs lasted forever. Parents sobbed. The four of them posed for a thousand pictures, arms around each other like they’d never let go.
Luna stood on that stage in her gown, scroll in hand, and felt something settle deep in her chest.
Not wild happiness.
Just quiet, solid peace.
She had survived.
After the ceremony, they sat on the hostel steps one last time — fairy lights still glowing even in daylight.
Aria rested her head on Luna’s shoulder. “We’re really leaving this place.”
Layla strummed softly. “New city. New jobs. New beginning.”
Zara smiled. “But the same four of us. Always.”
Luna looked at her sisters — the ones who had carried her when she couldn’t stand — and felt her throat tighten with gratitude.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For every single day you chose me even when I couldn’t choose myself.”
They piled into the biggest group hug, laughing and crying at the same time.
“No thanks needed,” Aria whispered. “We’re family.”
Packing took a week.
Clothes folded. Books boxed. Fairy lights carefully rolled up. Memories tucked away.
Luna kept one single thing from that painful chapter: Ethan’s faded black T-shirt.
She didn’t wear it.
Didn’t look at it.
Just folded it neatly and placed it at the very bottom of her suitcase — like a closed book she had no intention of opening again.
The day they left, the sun was bright and unforgiving.
They crammed into a rented van — suitcases stacked high, music loud, windows rolled all the way down.
Luna sat in the back seat, watching the old city shrink in the rearview mirror.
Hostel. Campus. Lecture halls. The street where everything changed.
All of it growing smaller until it disappeared.
She felt the old scar tug once — faint, distant — but she didn’t cry.
She smiled instead. Small. Real. Hers.
New city waiting.
New life.
Fresh start.
She leaned her head against the window, let the warm wind whip through her hair, and whispered to herself:
“I’m going to be okay.”
And this time, she truly believed it.
- Writer
