bChapter /bb48 /b

Caleb’s POV

The diner was quiet that evening, the usual hum of conversation reced by the soft tter of dishes and the low murmur of a radio ying some nid tume in the background. I stepped inside, my hands shoved into my jacket pockets, and scanned the nearly empty booths. The familist scent of coffee and freshly grilled burgers filled the air, but it did nothing to settle the unease twisting in my gut. I wasn’t here for food. I was here for her.

Sliding into a booth near the window, I let out a slow breath and tapped my fingers against the table. I didn’t have to wait long before a zry–tall, broad shouldered, and wearing a name tag that read “Roan“-walked over with a notepad in hand. But as soon as his gaze flicked over me, recognition Rashing in his eyes, and his expression hardened.

“You want something to drink?” he asked, his tone neutral, but there was an edge to it.

I hesitated for a second before shaking my head. ‘Is Aurora here?”

The shift in his demeanor was instant. His jaw tightened, and he took a deliberate step back, his eyes narrowing. i“/iYeah, she’s here,” he said, voiceced with something close to disgust. “I remember you. You and your friends had fun humiliating her, didn’t you?”

The words stung more than they should have, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. “I know,” I admitted, my voice quieter nowi. /i“And I’m not here for that I just need to talk to her. I want to apologize.”

Roan studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I could see the hesitation in his eyes, the battle between his own instincts and whatever obligation he felt toward Aurora. Finally, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head before turning on his heel and disappearing into the back.

The seconds stretched, each one pressing heavier on my chest. I shouldn’t havee. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she didn’t even want to see me, and I wouldn’t me her if she didn’t. But before I could think about leaving, the kitchen door swung open, and she stepped out.

I never really noticed how pretty she was until this moment. It wasn’t like she was dressed to impress–her worn–out shirt and faded jeans spoke of practicality rather than vanity–but somehow, she still managed to catch my attention in a way that felt almost inconvenient. The way thete afternoon sun nted through the windows of the empty library, catching the stray strands of her dark hair and making them shimmer like threads of bronze, made

me hesitate for half a second.

2

This wasn’t the first time I had seen her. I had known Aurora for years, and yet, standing here now, I realized I had never really looked at her. Not like this.

Not with this strange, unspoken awareness curling in my chest.

Aurora had her notepad in one hand, ba /bsmall smile on her lips as she scanned it. She hadn’t seen me yet, and for a fleeting moment, I saw her the way she was before–before that night, before everything I’d done to make her life hell. The lightness in her expression, the way her eyes softened when she was lost in thought. But then her gaze lifted,nding on me, and the smile vanished.

Her entire body stiffened, her grip tightening around the notepad. The warmth in her eyes drained away, reced by something colder, something that sent a sharp pang through my chest.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. b‘/bAurora-

“Why are you here?” Her voice was quiet, but there bwas /bno mistaking the steel underneath.

And just like that, whatever I had nned to say feltpletely inadequate.

She stood stiffly by one of the long wooden tables, her arms crossed over her chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves like she was holding herself together. Her blue eyes, always sharp, always too full of things she didn’t say, locked onto mine with clear suspicion. I expected nothing less.

“Why are you here?i” /ishe repeated, cutting straight to the point, her voice edged with wariness. “If this is about the schrship, I’m not interested. I’m not going to listen.b” /b

1 exhaled slowly, trying not to let the way she immediately jumped to conclusions frustrate me. Not that she was wrong to. We had barely spoken thisst week, and thest time we did, it hadn’t exactly been a pleasant conversation. She had every reason to be defensive.

“Aurora,” I said, palling out the chair across from her and gesturing to it. “Just sit down. Talk to me.”

She hesitated. I saw the flicker of resistance in her eyes, the way her shoulders tensed like she was weighing the consequences of staying versus leaving bfor /b1/2 a mothat, I thought she was going to walk away, but then, with a sigh that carried more exhaustion than she probably intended bto /breveal, she pulled the

chair out band /bsat down. Not because she wanted to, but because something in her had decided to give me five minutes. Maybe less,

“Fine,” she muttered, resting her elbows on the table. “Say what you need to say.”

I studied her for a moment, noting the way she kept her hands clenched together, like she was bracing for an argument. Like she was expecting me to say something she would have to fight against. And maybe that was fair. Maybe I had done nothing to prove otherwise.

But this wasn’t about a fight. This wasn’t about the past, or the schrship, or whatever narrative she had convinced herself of

This was about something else entirely.

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