01
AURORA
A chilly breeze ripples through my twists and olive-green dress as I stand on the edge of a cliff, staring out at the vast ocean. A deep shiver settles in my body as I take a deep breath, inhaling the salty, humid air. Gripping my arms and holding them close, I gaze toward the star-peppered sky.
My eyes widen, taking it all in and completely distracted by its luminosity—the bright pinholes of light contrast against the dark, cloudless night sky. I focus below my dirty sandals and past the grassy surface edge beneath my feet. I watch as the ocean crashes into the rocky, jagged landscape below, and I listen. It’s quiet but not inaudible, low, and sharp. It’s the only sound besides the gentle breeze and the night animals and insects chittering.
I reach up, clutching my beach hat onto my head, when a loud, blaring sound suddenly echoes behind me. I look over my shoulder at the lighthouse, its light piercing through the darkness. The thunderous foghorn joins the symphony of gentle sounds, dominating everything and becoming the primary focus. I gaze at it thoughtfully, observing and admiring the scenery around me. I smile as I turn to face the lighthouse.
Feels like being the main character of a movie or a book.
I smile at that thought before closing my eyes and enjoying the serenity of this moment—the peace of being here alone.
It feels good...
I don’t ever want it to go away. I want to stay in this moment for a little longer-
Buzz-Buzz-
Bringing a hand to my chest, I get cozy in my scenic surroundings. I close my eyes, savoring this moment-
Buzz-Buzz-
The earth rumbles beneath me, and I start losing my footing as I stumble, panicking. I try to walk away carefully, but the ground only rumbles even more. Knocked off balance, I step backwards off the cliff’s edge, kicking up dirt. I hyperventilate, feeling weightless as I helplessly fall.
Breaking out into a nervous sweat, I reach for anything to hold on to. My finger scrapes against the roots hanging from the cliff’s ledge, and my hands claw through the thick, coarse dirt, scratching against the bedrock. To my dismay, I grab at air, missing the cliff and descending further and further away. My adrenaline spikes as the wild wind blows through my clothes and hair, and I tumble down to what I’m sure is the end.
My hat whisks away in the air above me, fluttering in the wind, and my eyes widen in horror. I can’t hear anything, just wind, my heart, and my thoughts. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Swooping my hair out of my face, I look over my shoulder and find I’m speedily approaching the sharp rocks below.
FUCK-
The ocean crashes into them once more, and I brace myself for impact, squeezing my eyes shut-
BUZZ-BUZZ-
My eyes fly open, my heart pounding in my chest and ears. I sit up, panting, and find myself in a dimly lit area. Bookshelves surround me in a corner next to a computer desk. I blink at my surroundings, and my brows furrow in confusion.
Wait, this isn’t-
Why am I-
I look at my hands before rubbing my eyes. A piece of hair in my mouth, I pull it out, hating the taste.
Hair products...
Blegh-
Threading my fingers through my hair, I sigh, my nerves starting to ease. I move my arm out of the way and find my sketchbook underneath. Next to my arm, my pencil is on the edge of the table instead of in my hand.
I’m in the library...
I must’ve fallen asleep at some point...
Opening my sketchbook, I find the page I bookmarked and study the sketch of the lighthouse and the beach—the same as my dream.
Felt more like a nightmare to be honest...
BUZZ-BUZZ-
I perk up at the sound and look around, noticing I don’t have my phone. I lift my sketchbook, searching for it. Flipping through the various books and papers on the table before me, I listen as my phone continues to buzz. I grab my bag under the mess and dig through it, about knocking everything out and adding to the pile.
However, it’s all for nothing. There’s no sight of it anywhere.
Of course-
Looking under the table, I look around and find nothing. Jumping from my seat, I pat myself down, spinning in a circle. I reach into my shorts’ pockets, only finding a mint and a random sticky note. After spinning around a few times, I find my phone in my chair.
I was sitting on it?
How, the hell-
Snatching it, I find Mrs. Robinson calling. Clearing my throat, I answer, pressing it to my ear, "Hello, Mrs. Robinson."
"Aurora, sweetheart, hi!!" Mrs. Robinson chirps, sounding chipper, ”How are you?"
"I’m good!!"
I adjust my thin flannel and turn to the table. Picking up a few things and shoving them into my bag, I mash my phone between my shoulder and ear, "How are you?"
"Oh, I’m just fine!!" Mrs. Robinson replies warmly, “I’m just calling you about the painting!!”
I pause, dreading what she could say, “Yeah, sure!”
Please don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind...
I’ve had too many people do that before...
“I know I said I wanted it by next Wednesday, but I just found out I’m going out of town until Thursday night. So, I was wondering if it’d be okay to have that delivered by Saturday afternoon instead?”
Oh, thank God-
“Yeah!! No, that’s perfect, actually!!” I smile, setting my bag on the floor, “Works out just fine!!”
Especially since I scrapped the original idea and developed a new one...
“Oh, good!! I’m glad!! Thank you, sweetheart!!!”
“Of course, Mrs. Robinson! I hope you have a good and safe trip!” I hang up, staring at my phone.
Thank God I have more time to make this painting...
Sighing, I look at the mess I left on the table and frown. After cleaning it up, I fix my shorts, grab my bag, and head to the front of the library, my library book in hand."Aurora!! Hello, dear!!” Ms. Flanders, the librarian, says, waving at me from behind the counter. I smile in return, setting my bag and book on the counter, “Hi, Ms. Flanders!!”
“I almost forgot you were here!!” She giggles, and I laugh.
Yeah, I did too...
I visited the library about two hours ago to work on my next project. I sell paintings as a side job to earn some extra cash. Mrs. Robinson is a new client. I usually sell to the same ten people or so, but getting new clients is always exciting. I have been working on her painting for about a week now, and I’ve been struggling to outline precisely what she wants—envisioning it, I should say. I think I’ve found the perfect outline.
And it’s all thanks to my dream.
I walked to the library today after being at the park. I came to look at some books about lighthouses, beaches, and other stuff—art books, of course. I don’t live far from here, about a good five to ten-minute walk, and the park and the library are next to each other. Convenient now that I think about it.
I figured I’d go walking today as a good de-stressor. Being two weeks into college and learning how to take care of a house on my own has been a whirlwind of events lately—lots of trial and error. So, a walk was just the remedy for that.
And I guess I needed a nap too.
“I guess I lost track of time.” I shrug, smiling sheepishly, “Always seem to.” She giggles, “We’ve all been there a time or two.”I lay my library card beside the book I want to check out, and she scans them. After getting all my things, I head out, waving goodbye.
“Have a good day, Aurora!!” Ms. Flanders smiles, waving at me. ”You too!!” I reply, exiting the library.
I walk down the street, gripping my canvas bag strap. I hum to myself as I pass various shops and restaurants. People walk by, chatting with one another or on their phones. Lost in thought, I step on a few stray sticks and branches as I travel through the streets and busy sidewalks.
I should probably head home now that I know what to do for Mrs. Robinson’s painting...
Plus, I still have homework due Monday, so I should do that too while I’m at it...
I also need to finish painting that one wall on the back porch...
My brows furrow at that thought.
Do I have enough paint?
I should buy some just in case-
I spot a colorful flower cart ahead, interrupting all of my thoughts. Upon seeing them, I grin, and I rush over before I can help myself. All those thoughts I had prior disappear the moment I stare at the array of flowers in front of me.
Those are tomorrow’s problems...
Slicking a twist behind my ear, my eyes scan the colorful bouquets and bundles.
How pretty...
I waft the floral scent, appreciating its pleasant, soft fragrance. As I marvel at the many flowers, an older woman wearing a white apron approaches. I look over to meet her gaze. The moment I do, I can’t help but notice her nametag.
Martha.
The woman smiles, “Hello!! Would you like to purchase a bouquet today, Miss?”
"Hello, ma’am!! And, no, I’m just looking." I reply honestly, returning her smile, “These are pretty, though.”
Martha nods, sliding her arms behind her, “That they are. My daughter is quite the florist.”
“She made these?”
“She did.”
“Oh wow, that’s amazing. I’m sure you’re very proud of her.”
"I am."
She looks to the young woman with black, straight hair, who is talking with a few people on the other side of the cart. Her nametag reads Naomi, and she hands two bouquets to someone. Martha’s eyes soften, "So very proud."
She glances at me and the flowers momentarily before picking the last white tulip. She extends it to me, and I pause, surprised as she says, ”Here you are." I look from her to the flower, “Oh, but—”
“A pretty flower for a pretty girl. It’s the last white tulip. I think you should have it.”
“...are you sure?”
"Absolutely.”
I take it, “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She then leans in and whispers, “Don’t tell my daughter. She’ll get onto me.”
I snort, “My lips are sealed.”
I wave goodbye, and she does the same as I head down the sidewalk again. I smell my tulip just when my phone suddenly vibrates, and I jump. Reaching into my shorts’ pocket, I fish out my phone and find Ms. Shanice is calling me. I answer, pressing my phone to my ear and staring at my flower, “Hey, Ms. Shanice!!”
“Hello, my darling!!” She chirps on the other end of the phone, “I was just calling to see what you were up to!!”
“Oh, nothing!!” I reply, looking down at the concrete as my shoes thud against it. I kick a stray rock, “I was at the park and the library for a bit. Oh, and Ms. Robinson called!! She wants me to deliver the painting on Friday instead of Wednesday.”
“Oh, nice!! That gives you time to brainstorm some more!!”
“Yeah, it does, but I finally have an idea I can settle on.” I stop at a crosswalk. I shake my head at myself, “About time I did.”
I think I make things harder for myself sometimes...
“I think you were overthinking it.” She laughs warmly. “You think?” I snort, sliding my tulip into my bag. I hit the crosswalk button, “I wasn’t trying to. I just...I want this to be absolutely—”
"Perfect, I know."
Shanice Montgomery is a family friend. She used to perform ballets for Broadway but has long since retired. She became a ballet instructor at my university, and my grandmother was her best friend. She’s been around my whole life and has been there for everything. She recommended my art to Mrs. Robinson since they’re good friends. She always recommends my art to people, even though I tell her she doesn’t have to.
"You’ve always been a perfectionist." Ms. Shanice replies matter-of-factly. I raise a brow, “A perfectionist?"
“Yep. That’s you.”
I snort as she asks, “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“I’m on my way home now. Probably do some cleaning. I still haven’t opened the garage.”
I can only imagine what it looks like in there...
I shudder at the thought and notice the light signaling I can cross, “Maybe get some homework done, work on Ms. Robinson’s painting a little. The usual.”
“Busy as always.”
“I’ll say...”
"Oh, I just remembered—” She blurts, “I know you’re walking, so be careful. I hear it’s supposed to rain today.”
"Rain?” I echo, making it across the street. I walk past a crowded pub, brows furrowed, “It didn’t say anything about rain in the forecast.”
“I heard otherwise. It’s supposed to start in 20 minutes.”
I look to the sky, seeing no clouds, just the sun and a bright blue sky. I sniff the air but don’t note the scent of rain. I blink in confusion, “Um...I don’t think so...”
“I’m telling you it is. I bet my money on it.”
I giggle, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
At first, it was sprinkling—tiny, almost invisible water droplets. Ironically, it started just five minutes after I got off the phone with Ms. Shanice. And y’know, I was sure it wouldn’t get any worse. Confident even. And now it’s pouring. Like, buckets of water.
I squeeze my lips into a line as I look around the street and the neighborhood, standing beneath the black, metal canopy of the bus stop. The rain falls ridiculously heavy, swamping the street and streaming waterfalls from the roof. Each mini waterfall trickles down and splashes the ground, nearly splattering onto my legs. I step back to avoid it, standing further under the canopy’s protection. Tugging my hood over my head, I look to the clouded sky.
If I hadn’t found this bus stop in time, I would’ve been drenched...
I’ve never felt more like a cat in my life...
I look to the road, the smell of petrichor swirling in the air. I inhale the earthy scent, staring at the streets and noticing that it’s impossible to see anything. Minus the faint headlights of cars passing by. I sigh, finding the sound of rain comforting...
But also, a reminder that I had walked here.
I owe Ms. Shanice five bucks...
It’s wild because the forecast didn’t mention rain. Clear skies and sunshine all day. All week, even. That’s what I get for trusting that it was accurate. It’s never accurate. I grip my bag strap, gnawing on my bottom lip as I contemplate what I should do now.
I could...call Nevaeh and Jackie, they’re in town for the weekend...or maybe Beck...
One of them could give me a ride, right?
I frown at that thought.
No, I wouldn’t want Nevaeh or Jackie driving in this crazy weather, it’d be too dangerous...
And I almost forgot Beck’s out of town until tomorrow...
Nevaeh Carter, Jackelyn Ebersole, and Beckett Henderson are my best and only friends. I’ve known them since middle school, and we’ve been inseparable.
"The Four Stooges.” Nevaeh likes to say.
Nevaeh’s studying journalism, Jackie’s studying law, and Beck’s studying education in the arts and theatre. He also does ballet and dance. I love them. I can’t imagine how different life would be if I hadn’t had them by my side throughout these years.
Probably scary...
I look at my watch, checking the time, “The bus should be here in another hour or so...”
Welp, better make the most of it...
I sit on the bench, setting my bag next to me. I tug my sketchbook and pencil from my bag, tapping my eraser to my chin. I look around momentarily, finding inspiration in the rain and how it falls. The sound of it crashing into the pavement from the storm clouds overhead.
As I sketch, I draw a ballet dancer twirling in the rain, her feet kicking up puddles and flowers, and her wild mane of curls soaked in the rainwater. Her arms are extended to the sky, the sun peeking through thick, heavy clouds. By her feet, patches of grass and more flowers are thrown in the air around her legs. I cross one leg over the other, adjusting my white tank top as I sketch and sketch.
Add some butterflies and dragonflies. Oo, some trees and a pond. Birds in the sky, but I have to ensure she’s the center of the picture, so I’ll add highlights and extra shading for the background. Add some textures here and some there-
FLAP.
I jump, yanked from my thoughts. My attention is pulled to my right, and I see a man standing under the bus stop canopy with me. He shakes out his umbrella roughly as I blink at him. He’s standing on the opposite side of the canopy, his white T-shirt dripping with rainwater, clinging to his torso and arms. His dark blue jeans and brown boots are sopping wet. Under his arm, I suddenly notice a brown leather jacket and immediately become confused.
Why does he have a leather jacket when it’s 81 degrees outside-
“Of course...” He murmurs, his voice barely audible, “Damnit...”
He looks down at his outfit and closes his umbrella. Looking him up and down, I can’t see his face all that well. It’s a little dark from the storm. His black, wet hair is in his face, making it impossible to see his eyes, but I can see his side profile. There’s a slight hump in the bridge of his nose, and I catch the faintest shine of silver on his earlobe and eyebrow. Not to mention the rings on his middle and pinky fingers.
Jewelry. Lots of jewelry.
Peeking from under his shirt sleeve, I notice small inklines on his shoulder and a tattoo of what looks like a forest around his wrist and up his forearm. His chest rises and falls fairly quickly as he snatches his thin glasses off. He runs a hand through his hair, closes his eyes, and sighs as he tilts his head toward the ceiling.
When it started raining, and I came to the bus stop, the streets and sidewalks were pretty empty. I figured everyone had found refuge in their homes or a shop of some kind. The man plops down on the bench, muttering curses under his breath. After a few lingering moments, I return to my sketchbook, lost in my imagination once more.
However, it’s short-lived because, for some reason, I keep glancing in the man’s direction.
He seems...familiar...
Even his voice, albeit mostly incoherent, sounded familiar...
I spare him another look, trying to figure out why that is. Let alone, where I might’ve seen him before.
On campus? At the park?
I try to ignore the nagging feeling and focus on drawing. I finish sketching the outline of trees in the background, and as I move on to draw something else, I bump my bag off the bench.I gasp, reaching to catch it, but my fingers graze the bottom before it crashes into the ground. Over half of my books, paintbrushes, and pencils spill out, scattering all over the concrete by my feet and under the bench. I also notice my tulip is on the ground, and I stifle a groan, setting my pencil and sketchbook beside me.
Greatttt...
I reach down to grab a few books and stack them. Reaching for another one, I halt when I notice a book being handed to me. Slowly, I drag my eyes to look up, only to be met with the greenest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen.
Forest green. Like the woods.
My mind sputters to a halt, and after a few moments, I finally realize who I’m looking at.
It’s the man sitting in the canopy with me.
He’s kneeling on one knee, one of my books in hand, and his black hair brushed back. His whole face is revealed to me, and I detail his features. His nose is strong, and he has a sharp, prominent jawline, but it’s still soft. He has high cheekbones, a very lightly stubbled face, and a tiny mole on his cheek. I spot the small brow-piercing jewelry, the little hoop earrings, and the thin silver glasses hanging from the collar of his shirt.
Before I realize it, I’m lost in his green gaze—so very lost.
And as much as this may sound horribly cliché...
I’ve never seen eyes so green before.
Not that shade of green, I should say. And y’know, now that I see his face, I’ve definitely seen him before.
Wait, that’s right-
Ezra Hitchcock.
He and I went to school together, and he was a “popular loner,” you could say. Everyone knew who he was, and not only that, but he was also a mystery of all proportions. Even more, an enigma to the entire student body. He was quiet and kept to himself most of the time. Only hungout with a few people.
We had a few classes together throughout the years, and we technically worked on the school’s theatre projects. However, he did the instrumental aspects, while I did the set, decorations, and such. We were never in the same place at the same time. And if we were, we’d only ever exchange a few words or glances, which were short-lived. Not to mention, those few occasions were not very often.
Rare, I’d say. Honestly, I doubt he’d remember any of those times, unlike me.
My face flushes at the prospect, the reality of it all hitting me harder than a bag of books. Scratch that, a bag of bricks.
We’ve never been this close...
There’s less than a foot between us.
