The days after Sophia shut the door on Ethan felt like walking through a storm without shelter. Every moment, every memory between them replayed in his mind, taunting him with what he had lost. He had thought the truth about Clara would bring him and Sophia back together, but instead, it had only widened the distance between them.
Sophia had always been his constant—the one who understood him even when he didn't understand himself. But now, she was slipping away, and for the first time, he didn't know how to stop it.
The Weight of Regret
Ethan hadn't spoken to Clara since that night at the park. She had sent him a few messages, but he ignored them. He couldn't face her, not after what she had done. The revelation of her deception had shaken him, but it was the damage it had caused between him and Sophia that truly crushed him.
At school, Ethan barely saw Sophia. When he did, she avoided his gaze. If he walked into a room, she would find an excuse to leave. If their paths crossed in the hallways, she would look straight ahead as if he wasn't there.
It was unbearable.
One afternoon, Ethan finally found the courage to approach her.
"Sophia," he called, catching up to her outside the music room.
She hesitated but didn't stop walking.
"Please, just talk to me," he pleaded, stepping in front of her.
Sophia looked at him, her brown eyes filled with a sadness that twisted his gut. "What is there to say, Ethan?"
"That I'm sorry," he said quickly. "That I messed up. That I should have listened to you."
Sophia sighed, hugging her violin case close to her chest. "It's not just about Clara," she said. "It's about everything. It's about how easily you pushed me aside. How I had to fight for you to see what was right in front of you."
"I never meant to push you aside," Ethan said. "I was just… lost."
"And now I am," Sophia whispered.
Ethan's heart clenched. "Sophia—"
"I need time, Ethan," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to figure out if I can trust you again."
And with that, she walked away, leaving Ethan standing there, feeling like the most helpless person in the world.
Clara's Last Words
Later that evening, Ethan received a message from Clara.
Clara: I know you hate me. But please, meet me one last time. I need to say something in person.
At first, he considered ignoring it. But something in his gut told him he needed closure.
They met at the same park where everything had fallen apart. Clara stood by the fountain, the same place she had confessed her lies.
"I didn't think you'd come," Clara said softly.
"I almost didn't," Ethan admitted.
She nodded, shifting nervously. "I know I ruined everything. And I know I can't take it back. But I want you to know that despite how it started, what I felt for you was real."
Ethan looked at her, feeling a strange mixture of anger and pity. "You hurt me, Clara. You hurt Sophia. And the worst part is, I don't even know if you understand why."
Clara's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I do. I got so caught up in the idea of you that I never stopped to think about how unfair it was. You were never mine to chase."
Ethan sighed. "I just don't know how to move past this."
"You don't have to," Clara said. "I'm leaving."
Ethan's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"My parents are moving back to Riverview," she said. "I asked them if I could transfer early. I think it's better this way—for everyone."
Ethan was stunned. A part of him had expected Clara to keep fighting to stay in his life, but maybe this was her way of making amends.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Ethan," she said. "I just… I just wanted to be part of your world."
Ethan swallowed hard, nodding. "I hope you find your own world, Clara."
She gave him a small, sad smile. "I hope you fix yours."
And with that, Clara turned and walked away. This time, Ethan didn't stop her.
The Silence Between Them
With Clara gone, Ethan had no one to blame but himself for the wreckage of his relationship with Sophia. He tried to focus on his writing, but the words wouldn't come. His journal remained blank, each empty page mocking him.
Sophia, too, seemed different. She played her violin more than ever, but there was something missing in her music—something raw, something real. It was as if she was trying to play the pain away, but no melody could drown out the silence between them.
One evening, Ethan sat outside her house, staring up at her window. He remembered all the nights they had talked for hours, all the songs she had played just for him.
Summoning every ounce of courage, he pulled out his phone and sent a message.
Ethan: I miss you.
Minutes passed. Then, finally, his phone buzzed.
Sophia: I miss you too.
But the silence wasn't broken yet. And Ethan knew that missing each other wasn't enough. He had to find a way to fix what had been shattered.
He just didn't know how.