The boarding announcements echo through the airport, too loud, too sharp. People drift around us in waves, dragging suitcases, sipping coffees, talking into phones. The normal, harmless chaos of travel.
But standing here, I feel like I'm standing in the eye of a storm.
Lila is holding my book like it's a bomb she doesn't know how to defuse.
"Amelia," she says slowly, "I'm going to ask again. And this time, I need the truth."
Her expression isn't angry. It's worried. Deeply, genuinely worried. Which only makes the guilt pool hotter in my chest.
I swallow hard. "Lila—"
"No," she says, lifting her hand, her voice unusually sharp. "You can't do this. You can't shut down and expect me not to notice." She steps closer, lowering her tone. "You looked like your soul left your body when you opened that book."
My eyes drop to the cover. The glossy title shining under the terminal lights. The Truth Between Lines. My story. My secret.
His handwriting inside.
I force air into my lungs. "It's complicated."
Lila lets out a quiet, humorless breath. "You wrote a whole novel about complicated, so try me."
I flinch.
She knows she hit something. Her expression softens, but she doesn't back down. "Just… tell me who he is," she says. "Why does this guy showing up shake you like this?"
I can feel myself retreating, the way I used to in high school when emotions threatened to spill out too fast. I look away toward the floor. "I knew him."
A beat of silence.
"Okay," she says gently. "And…?"
"And it was a long time ago." My voice cracks, just barely. "I didn't think I'd ever see him again."
Her brows knit together. "Amelia… was he important to you?"
My mouth opens.
No words come.
She sees it anyway.
Something shifts in her; understanding, confusion, maybe even hurt that I never trusted her with this part of me. "How much of your book is fiction?" she asks softly.
It feels like a punch to the stomach.
I stare at the tiled floor. The airport hums around us. A child laughs somewhere, someone's suitcase wheels squeak, a coffee machine hisses. Life goes on, completely unaware that my past and present have collided so violently.
I can't answer her.
Not here.
Not yet.
When Lila realizes I'm not going to speak, her expression melts into empathy. She steps closer, lowering her voice. "I'm not mad," she says. "I just… you've been my best friend for years. I didn't know you were carrying someone like this."
"I didn't mean to," I whisper. "I just… never figured out how to let it go."
She exhales, nodding slowly. "Okay. You don't have to tell me everything right now. Just don't push me out. Please."
Guilt rises in my throat like something physical. "I'm not trying to."
"I know." She touches my arm lightly. "But you look like your heart is about to climb out of your chest."
Before I can respond, our boarding group is called over the speakers.
Lila offers a small, fragile smile. "Come on. Let's get on the plane before I drag you by your hair."
The plane smells faintly of coffee, recycled air, and something lemon-scented. Lila lets me take the window seat, claiming the aisle for "easy escape access" but I know she's giving me space.
As people shove bags into overhead compartments, I rest my forehead against the cool glass. The city is grey beneath the drizzle, clouds hanging low and heavy.
My thoughts drift like the rain - steady, unstoppable.
Ryder Gonzales.
The boy I watched from too far away.The boy I wrote a book about without ever saying his name.The boy I spent years trying to forget, only to immortalize him on paper.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Teenage me had been so quiet, so unsure. She fell for him like it was breathing, even though he only saw her in fleeting glances and soft, accidental moments. Ryder was sunlight, fast jokes, confident strides through crowded halls. And I… wasn't.
And yet I wrote him into the kind of boy who loves back. Because fiction is safer than memory.
Lila buckles her seatbelt, glancing at me, worried but trying not to hover. "Do you need anything? Water? Chocolate? A sedative?"
I let out a shaky laugh. "I'll manage."
The plane begins to taxi. The hum of the engine fills the cabin, vibrating through my seat. My pulse refuses to settle.
Lila nudges me gently. "Just so you know… whenever you're ready, I want to hear everything."
I nod, throat tight. "I know."
She puts in headphones and scrolls through her playlist. She gives me space without making me feel alone — one of the thousand reasons I love her.
When the seatbelt sign turns off, I finally unlock my phone, needing mindless distraction. Maybe a game. Maybe a message from my editor. Anything that isn't—
A notification pops up instantly.
1 new email — R. Gonzales
I freeze.
My breath leaves my body in a slow, shaky exhale.
Lila notices instantly. "What is it?" she whispers.
I don't answer.
My thumb trembles as I tap the notification. The email opens, filling the screen with paragraphs. My chest tightens with every line my eyes skim. Longer, more emotional, more direct than anything I expected.
Even before reading a single full sentence, my pulse is racing so fast it hurts.
Lila leans in slightly, sensing everything. "Amelia… who is—?"
But I'm no longer in the plane. I'm back in those hallways. Back where everything started. Back where nothing ever really died.
The first line of the email reads:
Amelia,I think we need to talk.
The world tilts.
The hum of the plane fades. The chatter around me disappears. All I hear is my heartbeat and Ryder's words, echoing louder than any engine.
Lila watches my face closely, her voice a soft breath."Amelia… who is he?"
My voice is barely audible, trembling with the truth I've never said aloud.
"Someone I never stopped writing."