The morning began with the smell of rain and toast. The air outside was heavy and gray, the kind that makes the sky feel tired. I could hear the sound of my aunt moving around the kitchen, her soft humming mixed with the clinking of dishes.
It was just another school morning — or so I thought.
I brushed my hair in front of the mirror, tying it into a loose ponytail. My school bag leaned against the chair, ready and waiting. I was half awake, half lost in thought when Aunt Mira's voice floated from downstairs.
"Elara! Hurry up, you'll be late. Aiden's going to drive you today!"
My heart skipped.Aiden.
For a second, I didn't move. My fingers froze on the brush, and a hundred thoughts started racing through my head.
Aiden hadn't spoken to me properly in weeks.Ever since I came back to the city, his eyes avoided mine, his words turned sharp or silent. But hearing his name again — he's going to drive you today — made something flutter in my chest anyway.
I grabbed my bag and went downstairs, trying not to let my nerves show. Aunt Mira stood near the door, cheerful as always, pouring tea into her cup.
"Morning, sweetheart," she said. "You'll be going with Aiden today. He's already outside."
My heart did a small jump. "O-oh. Okay."
She smiled warmly. "He offered himself. Isn't that nice of him?"
I nodded, forcing a smile, though inside I wasn't sure if "nice" was the word.When I stepped outside, the wind hit my face — cold and damp. Aiden's car was parked by the gate, engine quietly running. He was sitting inside, one hand on the wheel, his head turned slightly away as if he didn't want to see me.
Still, I whispered to myself, maybe this time will be different.
I walked toward the car, my shoes crunching against the wet gravel. He looked up when I reached the door — just for a second — and our eyes met. His expression was blank, but his gaze… sharp. Cold.
"Morning," I said softly.
He didn't answer.
I hesitated, clutching my bag a little tighter. Then I opened the door and sat down beside him. The inside of the car smelled faintly of mint and rain — the same scent I used to love when we were younger.
He started the car without a word.
The silence stretched between us as we pulled out of the driveway. The sound of the tires against the wet road was the only thing filling the space. I wanted to speak — to break the stillness — but I was scared that my voice would tremble.
Finally, I tried. "It's been a while since we went to school together."
Aiden didn't respond. His jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the road.
I swallowed hard. "Do you remember the last time? We got caught in the rain and—"
"Elara," he cut me off suddenly. His tone was low, flat, and colder than the morning itself. "Don't."
My breath hitched. "Don't what?"
"Don't talk like we're still the same," he said.
The words felt like ice against my skin. I stared at him, trying to find even a trace of softness in his face — but there was none. His features were unreadable, carved in stone.
"But we are," I whispered, almost to myself. "We're still—"
"We're not."
The air in the car thickened. My fingers twisted the strap of my bag. I looked out the window, blinking fast. The city rolled by in blurred colors — buildings, streets, people — but I couldn't see any of it clearly.
"You've changed," I murmured.
He gave a bitter laugh, just once. "Maybe I have."
I turned to him. "Why are you being like this?"
He didn't answer right away. Then, with a slow breath, he said, "Because it's easier this way."
Those words again. The same ones from before.
My throat tightened. "Easier for who, Aiden? You or me?"
He didn't reply. He just pressed harder on the gas. The car moved faster, the rain streaking across the windshield like broken glass.
Something in me snapped then — the hurt, the silence, all the questions left hanging for weeks. "You think pushing people away makes it easier?" I said, my voice shaking. "You think ignoring me makes it go away? Because it doesn't!"
He didn't even look at me.
"Aiden, look at me!"
"Stop," he said quietly, his voice rough. "You don't understand."
"Then make me understand!" I pleaded.
Suddenly, he pulled the car to the side of the road with a sharp turn. The tires screeched against the wet pavement, and the sound made my heart jump.
He parked abruptly, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. His knuckles turned white.
"Get out," he said.
My heart dropped. "What?"
"I said get out, Elara."
I stared at him, thinking I'd misheard. "You can't be serious—"
"Now." His tone was harsh, final. His eyes, when they finally met mine, burned with something between anger and pain. "Just… get out."
For a moment, I couldn't move. The world felt tilted, unreal. "Why are you doing this?" I whispered.
He looked away, his jaw trembling slightly — like he was trying hard not to say something. Then, in a quieter voice, he said, "Because I can't stand pretending anymore."
The words stung.Pretending.
I opened the door slowly, the wind rushing in to meet me. My hands shook as I stepped onto the wet road.
Rain had started again — soft at first, then harder, until it drummed against the car and soaked my hair.
Aiden didn't look at me.
I stood there, staring at his reflection in the window. "You're cruel," I whispered.
He closed his eyes briefly, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw regret flicker across his face. But when he looked up again, it was gone.
Then the car moved. Slowly at first, then faster, until the taillights disappeared into the gray mist.
And just like that — he was gone.
The sound of the rain was deafening. My shoes sank into the puddles, my clothes clung to my skin, and my heart felt like it had been hollowed out.
I don't know how long I stood there — minutes, maybe hours — before my tears started mixing with the rain.
I wasn't angry at first. I was just hurt. The kind of hurt that sits deep in your bones.But then the anger came — sharp, bitter, burning.
I kicked at the puddle near my feet, shouting into the empty road, "Fine! Leave! Just go!"
My voice cracked halfway through, and the sound that came out didn't even sound like me anymore.
I started walking, no idea where I was going. The city looked endless and cold, full of strangers passing by, umbrellas overhead, not one person noticing the girl crying quietly by the side of the road.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
By the time I reached the school gates, my shoes were soaked, and my heart felt numb. I wiped my face quickly, trying to make myself look okay. But inside, I was breaking.
Because maybe that was the truth I didn't want to face —Aiden wasn't mine to keep.Maybe he never was.
At lunch, I sat alone, staring at the half-open notebook on my desk. The ink on the pages blurred slightly from the rain still dripping off my sleeve. My pen trembled as I wrote the one sentence that had followed me since the night I saw him smile for someone else:
I stopped sending you letters when you smiled for someone else.
The words looked small and fragile against the white paper, but they felt heavier than anything I'd ever written.
I closed the notebook and pressed my hand against it. My chest hurt, but there was something strangely quiet inside me too — like a storm finally passing.
Because maybe love isn't about who stays.Maybe it's about learning to live with who leaves.
And as I sat there, staring at the raindrops racing down the classroom window, I whispered to myself, barely audible,
"Aiden was never meant to be mine."