The morning sun flooded through my window, almost daring me to linger in bed. My eyelids fluttered open just as a wet tongue sloshed across my face.
"What the—?" I pushed off the furry assailant, only to find Chucky, the golden retriever, wagging his tail excitedly.
"Chucky, you rascal!" I exclaimed, leaping out of bed to shower him with affection. I glanced up to see Dave leaning against the doorframe, a grin stretching across his face.
"Extra roomie," he said, joining in the canine cuddles.
"So, Dave, what happened?" I asked, concern coloring my voice.
He hesitated.
"Well, I've been meaning to tell you—"
Before he could finish, Emma burst through the door, holding a tray of steaming tea.
"Tea solves everything," she declared, British conviction shining in her eyes.
"We broke up," Dave blurted, his eyes watering.
"Caught him in bed with another guy. In our apartment."
Emma started to utter a curse, but I raised my hand to stop her, giving her a reassuring squeeze instead.
Dave continued, "And it turns out, I was the 'other man.' He is married."
"Dave, I can't believe this," I said, my heart aching for him.
"So, what now?" Emma inquired softly.
"I'm fighting for that apartment. It was supposed to be our home," he muttered, wiping his eyes. "Now it's just... tainted."
"You can stay here as long as you need to," Emma assured him.
"Thanks, but as soon as I gather myself, I'm going back for it," Dave vowed.
"That's the spirit," I encouraged him.
Suddenly, Emma's eyes widened.
"Steph, I completely forgot!"
"Forgot what?" I asked, my heart rate ticking up a notch.
"Your interview!" She gasped.
"It starts in an hour!"
Panic surged through me like electricity.
"I have nothing to wear!"
Dave tossed a blouse at me.
"How about this?"
Emma chimed in, flinging a black skirt my way.
"And this!"
I sniffed the clothes, my nose scrunching.
"Smells passable," I declared, both relieved and disgusted.
With the minutes ticking away, I slipped into my heels, grabbed my purse, and twisted my hair into a hasty bun.
"Where am I even going?"
"5th Avenue, 'Cloud & Sons,'" Emma called out as I dashed out of the room, my life a perfect storm of chaos, hope, and the unexpected comfort of friends both old and new.
Stepping onto the street, my eyes darted for an incoming taxi.
Whistling may work in the movies, but in my reality, it's hit or miss.
A yellow cab finally screeched to a halt before me. The driver muttered something under his breath before politely asking, "Where to?"
"5th Avenue, 'Cloud & Sons,'" I replied. He simply nodded and sped off.
Half an hour later, the cab pulled up in front of a towering edifice that stretched skyward like a monument to ambition. I paid the driver, took a deep breath, and faced reality: I was woefully unprepared. Resume? Nonexistent.
Suit? Nope.
Any idea what the job was about? Barely.
Yet here I was—audacity personified.
Inside, I inquired at the front desk about the interview location. The receptionist wordlessly gestured to a couch occupied by a cadre of suited men, each deeply engrossed in their own set of papers.
It hit me—I was the only woman in the room.
Seated in an empty chair, my eyes darted over a vague job description, but my thoughts wandered aimlessly. Suddenly, a man in a crisp suit beckoned, "Miss, are you here for an interview?"
"Yes," I stammered, following him toward the elevator.
Upon entering his spacious office—replete with a cityscape view that seemed improbably high for a second floor—I was greeted by another man, equally well-dressed, with piercing blue eyes that momentarily transported me to memories of James.
"Please, have a seat," he motioned to a luxurious chair, diving right into a hypothetical scenario. His questions were shrewd, assessing my ability to think on my feet. Each of my answers was met with a calculated smile.
"Emma Johnson recommended you," he finally said, raising an eyebrow.
"She neglected to mention how beautiful you are."
"With all due respect, sir, I'm not here for my looks," I shot back.
"Good," he nodded. "I have no patience for empty heads."
Asshole.
Before I had time to fully digest his abrupt statement, he added, "You're hired—on a two-week trial."
His arrogance slightly dampened my excitement.
"Just like that?" I asked.
"I like you, and I owe Xander a favor, so yes, just like that."
"Thank you," I said, a bit taken aback, and began to walk away. As I approached the elevator, he quickly followed.
"You start on Monday," he announced as I nodded and faced the elevator doors.
"Stephanie," he called out, holding the elevator door open for me.
"You've forgotten your purse."
Caught off guard, I felt my cheeks flush.
"Thank you," I stuttered.
"I'm Noah," he added.
"Nice to meet you, Noah," I said, reclaiming my purse and exiting the elevator.
As the elevator descended, I heard the original interviewer inform the remaining applicants that the position had been filled. A triumphant grin crept across my face. I had walked in utterly unprepared and yet, I walked out with a job. It was undeserved victory, but it was mine.
I stepped out of the towering office building, my fingers dancing over my phone's screen to dial Emma's number.
"Hello?" Emma's voice crackled through the speaker.
"I got it, Em! The job is mine!" I exclaimed; my voice tinged with elation.
"Damn, I'm good," she replied, "how about we toast to new beginnings? Dave and I are gearing up for a night out."
"I'm in," I agreed, my heart feeling unusually light.
"See you soon."
The taxi's backseat transformed into a quiet sanctuary as we crawled through the traffic. My gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, capturing the driver's uninterested expression. Then, almost without intending to, my mind wandered to Noah's eyes.
My fingers wrapped tightly around the leather of my purse, pulling it close like an embrace with an old friend.
My thoughts then drifted to Charlie—his way of looking at me, the gentle cadence in his voice that somehow managed to rise above the bitterness of our hometown. I pictured him there, standing out against the familiar backdrop, like a lone rose thriving amidst a thicket of thorns.
A curious thought struck me about their identical last names, Cloud, but then again, New York is a vast place.
My hand instinctively reached for the diary wedged at the bottom of my purse. The binding creaked as I opened it to a dog-eared page marked 'June.'
For a moment, ink and paper melded into a world of memories, pulling me back to the Summer of 2013.
16/06/2013
Dear Diary,
James's presence has woven itself into the fabric of my daily existence, each chance meeting humming with a silent, shared understanding of our separate struggles. As our friendship quietly flowers, the storm of my mother's emotions continues to rage, her smiles dissolving into tears with the suddenness of a summer storm. I stumbled upon an article about bipolar disorder that made me wonder, but I'm far from qualified to diagnose.
Today broke the mold. James rolled up on his bike, a pink helmet in hand.
'Your color,' he teased, his smirk a sliver of sunlight in my often-cloudy days. We raced toward the serenity of the lake, the placid waters standing in stark contrast to my roiling thoughts.
'Why are we here?' I asked, my voice betraying a tremble.
'To talk,' he said, gaze locked on mine, infusing the words with a gravity that seemed to anchor my fleeting courage. As the conversation edged toward last night's events, his proximity felt like gravity, pulling me into his orbit. His fingers brushed a wayward lock of hair from my face, skimming past a scar I'd long kept hidden. His kiss on my forehead was a balm, a silent vow of protection.
In a bid to lighten the heavy air between us, I blurted, 'Ever watched Dr. Who?' His confusion was almost comical. 'To me, you're like the Doctor—carrying me away from my chaos, if only briefly.'
His gaze softened, 'I wish I could do more.' He spun me into an embrace that felt like coming home.
'What are you doing to me, Stephanie?' His whisper was a gentle wind, stirring leaves in my heart.
I felt a blush warm my cheeks.
'Now you, tell me about your parents.'
His sigh was a gust, carrying stories of storms weathered alone. We sat in the grass, a sanctuary from standing too long under the weight of our pasts.
'Dad is in the army. Mom... she left when I was five,' he confessed, his voice splintering. 'She only came back last year to finalize a divorce with Dad.'
I wrapped my arms around him, sharing the shelter of empathy.
'That's just sad,' I murmured.
He leaned in close, our breaths mingling.
'You're the best thing that's happened to me,' his voice barely above a whisper. The world faded as our lips met, my hands falling to my sides, useless as my heart took the lead. It was my first kiss, and beneath the sky's vast canvas, it painted a promise of hope.
Stephanie
Tears filled my eyes, and I covered my mouth with my palm. James was so vividly there in the pages of my old diary—still tender, still kind. It was as if I had unearthed a time capsule of pure emotion, reminding me how deeply he had imprinted on my life. He was my best friend, my first love, the one person who had filled a space in my heart that remained vacant to this day.
"We're here," the driver's voice pulled me back to reality.
"Thank you," I muttered, paying the fare, and stepping out. I paused in front of the building, a surge of nostalgia rushing over me as I contemplated thoughts of James. Emma and Dave were expecting me, but the ache to lose myself in memories of James was too potent to ignore. I wondered about his grandmother and whether I should pay her a visit to perhaps find some closure.
As if on cue, Emma burst out of the building. "You're not ready yet?!"
"I just can't tonight, Em."
"Fine, join Dave upstairs. He's marinating in his own misery. His ex-called."
She handed me a bottle of wine.
"You'll need this."
"Thanks," I said, waving her off as she hopped into a taxi.
The weight of the bottle in my hand somehow made my next move feel inevitable. I took the staircase, each step a reluctant ascent toward what awaited me: my friend, in need.
Pushing open the door, I found Dave cocooned in a pink blanket, tissues in hand. His eyes, red and swollen, met mine, and he shuffled over, enveloping me in a tight hug. I stood there, awkwardly holding the wine bottle aloft like some twisted version of the Statue of Liberty.
"What happened?" I finally asked, breaking our silence.
"He wants me to pick up my stuff," Dave said, his voice cracking as fresh tears began to flow.
"What a jerk! You told him no, right?"
"Absolutely."
I uncorked the bottle.
"Wine?"
Dave nodded. We moved to the living room, sinking into the familiar comfort of our aged but spacious apartment—a relic of our university days, blissfully untouched by rent hikes.
"So, what now, Dave?" I asked as we both took generous sips.
"I don't want to lose my apartment over this."
"Then fight for it. Sue him if you have to."
"For what? For sleeping with him?"
"No, for emotional distress. I heard on a true-crime podcast that it's a thing now."
Dave raised an eyebrow.
"In this state?"
"I don't know about here, but it's worth looking into."
He pondered, taking another sip.
"I might just do that."
As Dave shifted in his seat, preparing to rise, I felt an impulse.
"Dave, wait."
He paused, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
"Do you ever find yourself wanting to contact people from your past? Maybe for closure or to heal old wounds?"
He sighed and looked at his nearly empty wine glass.
"I usually prefer to let sleeping dogs lie. The past is a messy place."
I nodded, but the tension remained. Softly murmuring to myself, "I wish it were that easy for me," I moved across the room.
My fingers hovered over the diary, half-hidden behind a stack of books. I'd meant to put it away before Dave saw it, but I was too late.
"Step, what's that you've got there?"
I clutched the diary to my chest, my voice unsteady.
"It's an old notebook from my teen years. Not a big deal."
But his gaze caught mine, and I knew he didn't buy it.
"The way you're holding it suggests otherwise. That diary is loaded with memories, isn't it?"
He reached for his wine and took a sip.
"Go on, read something. I'm curious."
My stomach tightened.
"I can't, Dave. It's too personal."
Before I could react, he lunged forward, snatching the diary from my grasp.
"DAVE!" I shouted, but he was already flipping through the pages.
Resigned, I sank into the couch, cradling my last glass of wine like a lifeline. I watched as his eyes scanned the pages, absorbing the raw, painful moments of my youth.
Finally, he closed the diary and looked at me, his eyes a mixture of confusion and concern.
"Steph, why didn't you ever tell me any of this?"
I stared at him, my heart pounding.
"Which part are you asking about?"
"All of it!" He spread his arms wide, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Why keep so much hidden?"
"Some things," I paused, searching for the right words, "some things are too fragile to expose."
"Even to me? What about James? You told him."
Dave's mention of James struck a chord, and I hesitated.
"James... he was different. He's still a part of me, in a way that's hard to explain."
His eyes misted over, and he swallowed hard.
"If I hadn't been such a clueless kid, chasing after Ash and Coyle, maybe I could've been there for you."
I offered a small, sad smile.
"We were all clueless kids, Dave. That's the point of being young, isn't it?"
He stared at me, clearly torn, then spoke softly.
"I'm sorry, Steph."
My eyes met his, and for a moment, we were both silent.
"I need to go to my room. Can I have my diary back?"
He nodded, handing the diary over.
"Of course. I'm sorry for prying."
I took it, my fingers brushing against his as I did, a current of unspoken understanding passing between us.
"Some ghosts should stay in the past."
As I walked away, diary in hand, each of us was left alone with our thoughts, pondering the spectral shapes of yesterday that still haunted us, each in our own way.
The moment I stepped into my room, I sank into the soft embrace of my bed, clutching a plush pillow to my chest. The familiar chime of an incoming text message broke the quiet, pulling me back to reality.
UNKNOW NUMBER: "Hi."
I squinted at the screen, puzzled.
ME: "Who is this?"
UNKNOW NUMBER: "Secret admirer."
ME: "VERY FUNNY, EM."
UNKNOW NUMBER: "I'll be in New York on Wednesday. Meet me in front of the new restaurant, on 5th Avenue."
A shiver of suspicion ran down my spine.
ME: "How do I know you're not some stalker?"
Their response popped up, lighthearted.
UNKNOW NUMBER: "Stalkers don't reply back."
I didn't reply. My thumb hovered over the 'block' option, but something stopped me. Deep down, an exhilarating sense of expectation swelled up, and I loathed myself for the thrill.
My fingers grazed the worn leather of the diary before I gingerly opened it.
20/06/2013
Dear Diary,
Today was wrapped in a magic I've never known. James arrived with a gleam in his eye, a playful secret dancing just beneath the surface.
'Ride with me to school?' His invitation sent a thrill through me, my heart skipping a beat as I held onto him.
The empty school parking lot greeted us, the silence a stark reminder of the holiday.
'James, the school's closed. Where to now?' I asked, a mixture of confusion and curiosity in my voice.
He just smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
'Library,' he announced as if unveiling a grand surprise.
He must've seen me, nose always buried in a book by the window.
'And what's on the reading list?' I played along, charmed by his thoughtfulness.
'Thrillers,' he said, tapping a rhythmic beat against the back door of the library, which opened to reveal the janitor, greeting James like an old friend.
We slipped into the library, our sanctuary of musty pages and whispered stories.
He steered me toward the romance section, my heart fluttering like the pages of the books surrounding us. 'Pride and Prejudice?' he teased.
I laughed.
'Read it. Maybe we should write our own story instead?' The idea hung between us, tantalizing and bold.
'Alright, what's your protagonist like?' His voice was a low murmur, his proximity an electric charge in the quiet of the library.
'My hero? Ginger hair, green eyes, heart forged in purest gold,' he said, his description a mirror to my secret thoughts.
I faltered, then spoke. 'Blond hair, blue eyes, taller than me.' Our eyes locked, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.
Then, drawn together as if by some unseen force, we shared our second kiss.
'So, what does this make us?' The words were a breathy whisper, barely daring to disturb the moment.
'Two people who were always meant to find each other,' he replied, his gaze holding mine in a promise of more to come.
And as we spun around in the stillness, our laughter the only sound in the night, I knew this wasn't just a fleeting page in my life's story.
James was becoming the story itself.