Brief
Aris grew up in instability.
His father—Italian, distant, unreliable—was more of an idea than a presence. His mother did her best, but poverty shaped most of his childhood. Aris learned early that nothing was guaranteed—not food, not comfort, not consistency.
Because of that: • He became resourceful • Learned to hide struggle behind humor • Developed a habit of never depending on anyone fully
The room was quiet in the way it only got at night—when everything settled, when there was nothing left to distract him from his own thoughts.
Aris lay back against his pillows, phone in hand, thumb idly scrolling, not remembering that he opened Instagram, didn’t remember searching her name.
But there she was.
Natalie.
The moment her face filled the screen, something in him stilled.
It wasn’t even a new post. Months old, maybe longer. The kind of photo you had to scroll for—like he had no business being there in the first place.
He exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the details. She looked… the same.
No—that wasn’t right.
She looked better. Softer, maybe. Or stronger. It was hard to tell with her. Natalie always had that way of looking like she carried something quiet beneath the surface as his thumb pressed against the screen, zooming in just slightly.
Her eyes; he always noticed her eyes first.
They weren’t loud or attention-seeking, but they held things—thoughts, emotions, questions she never said out loud. Even in a still photo, it felt like she was somewhere else entirely, thinking something deeper than the moment she was captured in.
Aris swallowed.
“You look okay,” he muttered under his breath. His voice sounded strange in the silence like he didn’t quite believe himself.
His gaze dropped to the caption. Something simple. Thoughtful. Very her. The kind of words that didn’t try too hard but still meant something if you sat with them long enough.
He didn’t like it. He never did.
It felt wrong—like reaching into a life he had already walked out of.
So he just stayed there.
Looking. Longer than he should’ve.
A familiar tightness settled in his chest. Not sharp, not overwhelming—just enough to remind him that it was still there. Whatever that was.
Then—
Footsteps. They were faint at first then heard it come closer.
Aris froze.
For a second, he didn’t move at all. His mind lagged behind his body, still caught somewhere between the past and the present.
The sound of the hallway floor creaking snapped him back. Rosemary.
His grip on the phone tightened.
The doorknob shifted.
Shit.
His thumb moved quickly now, tapping the screen off. Too quick—sloppy. He flipped the phone face-down on the bed beside him and leaned back, forcing his body into something that looked like rest instead of… whatever that had been.
Then the door opened. “Hey.” Her voice was soft. Easy.
Aris turned his head, pulling on a small smile like it belonged there.
“Hey.” Aris replied.
Rosemary stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She looked at him the way she always did—like she was checking in without making it obvious.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said.
“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “Just tired.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
She walked closer, her gaze flicking briefly to the bed—landing on his phone for a fraction of a second before returning to him.
“Mm,” she hummed, sitting down beside him. “You always say that when something’s on your mind.”
Aris let out a quiet breath of amusement, though it didn’t quite reach his chest.
“Do I?”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “It’s kind of your thing.”
Her hand rested lightly on his arm.
Warm.
Grounding.
Real.
Aris glanced down at it.
For a moment, he just watched her fingers against his sleeve, the gentle weight of her touch. It should’ve been enough. It was enough—on paper, in reality, in everything that made sense.
So why did it feel like something was missing?
His mind betrayed him before he could stop it.
A flicker.
Sunlight. A quiet voice. A girl who never asked him to be anything but honest.
He blinked, jaw tightening slightly as he forced the thought away.
