The morning was gray.
Not rainy. Not cold. Just… gray.
The kind of sky that made you want to stay under covers and pretend the world didn't exist.
Amelia sat by the window during homeroom, head resting against the glass, fingers curled loosely around a pen she wasn't using. Her notebook was open, but empty.
Lately, the words had come easily.
But today, nothing.
She stared at the faint reflection of her face in the glass—just soft enough to blur the details. Just honest enough to make her uncomfortable.
She didn't look happy.
She didn't look anything.
---
At lunch, she didn't sit with David.
He looked over a few times from his spot near the lockers, surrounded by Jonah and a couple other theater kids. They were laughing about something—a scene Jonah had accidentally ad-libbed during rehearsal the day before.
David was smiling.
But every time he glanced at her and she wasn't looking back, that smile dipped just slightly, like a flickering candle in the wind.
He didn't go over to her.
Didn't want to push.
Didn't want to make her feel cornered.
But part of him—some stubborn, stupid part—wanted to run to her table and say, Please. Just tell me how to stay close without hurting you.
---
Amelia barely touched her food.
She kept replaying the final lines from the new scene Ms. Parker had given them. The words lived in her chest now, haunting and fragile:
> "Because being here with you is worth the pain of losing you."
She hated how true they felt.
Hated that her heart stuttered when he said it during rehearsal.
Hated that she wanted to believe him.
Because believing him meant risking everything.
And she didn't have a lot left to give.
---
Drama class that day was quiet.
Ms. Parker was seated behind her desk, a steaming mug of tea cradled in both hands. Her eyes looked tired but sharp—like she hadn't slept, but she'd been thinking.
"Take the first fifteen minutes to breathe," she said. "Free write. Sketch. Nap. Do whatever it takes to find your center again. You can't act if you don't know where you're starting from."
David sat in his usual chair near the edge of the small stage. He pulled out his notebook and started scribbling.
Amelia opened hers too.
The pen hesitated.
Then moved.
> *There's a kind of silence that feels like drowning.
And a kind that feels like breathing.*
She didn't know which one today was.
---
After class, Ms. Parker stopped Amelia before she could leave.
"Got a minute?" the teacher asked gently.
Amelia blinked. "Um… yeah."
The classroom emptied slowly, the energy lingering like static.
Once they were alone, Ms. Parker leaned against the edge of her desk and folded her arms.
"You're pulling back," she said.
Amelia's spine went rigid. "I'm not."
Ms. Parker raised a brow.
Amelia exhaled. "Okay. Maybe I am. I just… it's a lot."
Ms. Parker didn't push. She waited.
"You said art imitates life," Amelia said softly. "But sometimes I feel like life imitates death."
Ms. Parker's gaze softened.
"Is it about David?" she asked.
Amelia hesitated, then nodded.
"He's—he's the only person who ever tried to understand me. And that scares me. Because every time I'm happy with him, I feel weaker. And every time I'm not near him, I feel like I'm already gone."
Ms. Parker was silent for a long time.
Then she stepped forward, slowly, carefully, as if approaching someone on a ledge.
"There are people," she said, "who teach us how to live, even when we think we're dying. People who give us their words when we can't find our own."
She paused.
"I've seen the way he looks at you. Not like he wants to fix you. Not even like he wants to save you. Just like… he wants to see you. Exactly as you are."
Amelia's breath caught.
"And that's rare," Ms. Parker whispered. "Don't run from it just because it hurts."
---
That evening, Amelia found herself sitting in the school auditorium.
Empty.
Dim.
Dust particles dancing in the faint light from the exit signs.
She liked it here.
No one watching. No one expecting.
Just the echo of a hundred past performances and the ghost of a thousand almost-confessions.
David walked in quietly.
Didn't say anything.
Just walked down the aisle and took a seat beside her.
They sat in silence for a while.
Finally, Amelia spoke.
"I talked to Ms. Parker today."
David looked over. "Yeah?"
"She said you look at me like you want to see me. Not fix me."
He didn't answer right away.
Just stared at the stage.
"I think people try to fix things they think are broken," he said. "But you're not broken, Amelia. You're just… tired."
She smiled faintly. "I am."
"Then rest. I'm not going anywhere."
Silence again.
Then Amelia turned to him, her voice barely a whisper.
"Why aren't you scared of me?"
David's jaw tightened slightly.
"I am."
She blinked.
"But I'm more scared of what I'd become without you," he added. "And I think... I think I'd rather burn close to you than freeze alone."
Something shattered inside her.
Quietly.
Gently.
Like a dam giving way to spring.
She reached into her backpack and pulled out her diary.
Held it in her lap.
Stared at it.
Then, slowly, handed it to him.
He looked at her, stunned.
"You don't have to read it now," she said. "Or ever. But… I want you to have it. Because it's the only way I know how to tell you everything without falling apart."
David took it like it was sacred.
Something holy.
His hands trembled.
"I have one too," he said. "A journal. I haven't let anyone see it either."
Amelia's eyes flickered. "Maybe one day."
He nodded.
"Maybe one day."
---
The next few weeks blurred into a slow crescendo.
Rehearsals intensified.
The script came alive.
They danced between fiction and truth like it was a tightrope—never sure where one ended and the other began.
Ms. Parker watched them closely, but never interfered.
She knew now that whatever story they were telling, it wasn't hers to direct anymore.
It belonged to them.
To the boy with storm-colored eyes who carried too much silence.
And the girl with a smile sharp enough to bleed.
---
Two days before the performance, the school hallways buzzed with nervous energy.
Props were being painted.
Lines recited.
Costumes pressed and hung.
But David?
He wasn't there.
Jonah noticed first.
Then Ms. Parker.
Then Amelia.
She tried not to panic.
Tried not to assume the worst.
But by lunch, she was chewing the inside of her cheek so hard it bled.
When rehearsal started and he still hadn't arrived, Ms. Parker pulled her aside.
"I can run his lines with you," she offered.
Amelia shook her head.
"I know them."
She stepped onto the stage.
Alone.
And began.
---
The scene was meant to be the emotional climax—her character confessing that she was dying, that every moment of happiness had stolen from her time left, but that she wouldn't trade it for anything.
Amelia stood center stage.
No lights.
No sound.
Just her voice.
"I didn't mean to fall in love," she whispered.
"But you made the world so beautiful, I forgot I was supposed to leave it."
Every person in that room forgot they were watching a rehearsal.
They watched a girl fall apart gently.
And build herself back up one breath at a time.
When she stepped off stage, the class was silent.
Ms. Parker's eyes were wet.
And Jonah clapped, once.
Then twice.
Then everyone joined.
But Amelia didn't smile.
Not yet.
She just looked at the door.
Still waiting for David.
---
That night, there was a knock at her window.
She rushed to open it.
David stood on the other side, hair damp from the rain, hoodie clinging to his frame.
He looked tired.
But when he saw her, he smiled.
"Sorry I missed rehearsal," he said. "Doctor's appointment ran long."
She opened the window fully. "Are you okay?"
He hesitated. "Yeah. Just… tired."
Amelia narrowed her eyes.
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
She didn't ask more.
Didn't press.
Instead, she climbed out onto the roof with him.
They sat in silence, rain lightly falling around them.
"I saw your scene," he said quietly. "Jonah sent me a video."
"Oh."
"You were amazing."
She swallowed. "I meant every word."
David looked at her.
"Me too."
She glanced over.
"You didn't say anything."
"I'm saying it now."
His hand found hers.
And for the first time in a long time, she let herself hold on.