School was usually the kind of place that dragged on forever.
The kind that left your back sore from sitting too long, your thoughts wandering by the fourth hour.
But that day, it felt like it ended in minutes.
School strictly abided by eight hours. One subject per hour. Even when teachers didn't bother showing up, no one was allowed to leave early.
The schedule decided when you were free, not how you felt.
Elle didn't care about any of that today.
She just wanted to go home.
The hallway buzzed as they walked, students pouring out in uneven waves.
Some lingered
Some rushed
Everyone seemed to know where they were headed.
Stephanie walked close beside her, their shoulders brushing now and then, their steps even.
"So,"
Stephanie said, breaking the quiet,
"Your birthday, right?"
Elle nodded.
"Yeah."
"Hmm, a party later?"
"Just something small..."
Stephanie hummed, like she was considering it.
"Sounds fine."
They stepped outside.
The sun hung low, warm against the concrete.
Their shadows stretched ahead of them, overlapping, separating, then overlapping
again.
Elle thought of Jane.
Of the pause before 'I'll see'.
Of how hope always found a way to stay, even when it shouldn't.
Just then, Stephanie's steps slowed.
"I might come by later," she said, eyes forward.
"If I'm not too tired."
Elle's chest tightened.
"That's okay," she said quickly.
"—...Really."
Stephanie smiled, familiar and easy. She continued to walk along the road, while Elle followed behind her.
The day felt strangely thin, like it could tear if she pulled at it too hard.
As she started walking with Stephanie, a thought brushed past her. It was quiet against the footsteps and the vehicles passing by.
She felt this birthday to be important in a way she couldn't explain.
That maybe, it something could... change.
Though, feeling faded as quickly as it came.
Elle adjusted her grip on her bag and kept walking.
Hope followed her.
So did the fear of trusting it.
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[ 4:16 ]
I got home to the sound of oil popping in a pan, with knives striking the cutting board in a steady rhythm, almost methodically.
Garlic filled the air, sharp and pungent, clinging to the walls like it had been there for hours.
My mom was everywhere at once, moving from the stove, to the counter, and to the sink in a beat of a breath.
Even my dad was home early.
He stood beside her, peeling potatoes with a focus that made it look like a task he couldn't afford to mess up. It was rare to see him here before the sky darkened.
And it felt… nice.
A warm atmosphere filled the room. My mom called instructions over her shoulder. My dad complained that the peeler was dull, the potatoes too stubborn, and that nothing ever cooperated, contrasting to his slow peel.
I've never seen something go wrong between these love birds.
They always made up no matter what situation hit them.
It felt nostalgic, just the three of us in a kitchen that smelled like home.
The house felt... AL■VE.
And i felt the tug of myself to help.
I stood there watching their figures ran past my vision.
I knew I wasn't good at this.
...no, I know, in the very depths of my bone, there lay someone who still couldn't get out of her cocoon.
I knew 'helping' meant ruining something before it could be finished. Cooking meant burning edges I wasn't supposed to touch. Setting the table meant plates slipping from my hands, a mistake waiting to happen.
I stood at the edge of the kitchen, watching my parents move around me, already convincing myself that stepping in would only slow them down.
That they didn't need me.
That I would just get in the way.
For a moment, I almost left. Almost retreated back to my room where I wouldn't be noticed, where I couldn't mess anything up.
But I didn't.
It was... a second chance.
To redeem myself.
And maybe because I knew not to take more than I can bite. Just small tasks that wouldn't hinder them too much if done badly.
Rolling my sleeves up, I opened my mouth.
"Mom," I said, voice a little too soft, stretching the word like I always did when I wasn't sure. "What do you need me to do?"
She barely hesitated before handing me a knife and a pile of onions.
...
Within seconds, my eyes burned. Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them, my vision blurring as I tried to blink them away.
She laughed—not mockingly, just a laugh that escaped her lips at my predicament.
I laughed too, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve, pretending the sting didn't hurt more than it should've.
——————————————————
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The clock crept closer to five.
The house grew louder.
My mom moved between phone calls and cooking without stopping, my dad dragging chairs outside, muttering under his breath about timing and space and how this always happened.
It should've stressed me out.
It should've made my chest tight, my thoughts spiral.
Made me panic because who would go to a party incomplete?
But it didn't.
Because the cupcakes arrived.
They sat neatly in their box, untouched by the chaos around them. Pink and purple frosting swirled carefully on top, with silver sprinkles catching the light. Chocolate on the other half besides vanilla, exactly the way I liked.
I stared at them longer than I needed to.
They reminded me that little things matter. That walking should feel like grasping the stairs to ascend, not just flying through it. That the experience of labor from ascending may brace you for the next step.
Anyways, enough of that philosophical crap.
Guests began to arrive.
Not all at once.
Just a few early ones, with their voices filtering in softly, shoes lining up by the door.
Time moved forward whether I watched it or not.
Still, I checked the clock. I couldn't help but worry I'd be dumped... again.
My thoughts spiraled.
Would she be late?
Would she come right on time?
No.
Jane wasn't the type to rush, or to arrive early just to prove she cared. She usually arrives before the bell rang, earlier than me—as if I was ever early enough, and never made any dramatic entrances.
She existed somewhere I couldn't tell.
Like time adjusted itself around her, not the other way around.
I told myself she'd arrive exactly when she meant to.
That... she'd arrive.
Still, a part of me kept wondering.