Whisper In A Moonlit Night

Memoir

One day, Bella arrived early. The school courtyard was still quiet, the usual buzz of students chatting and rushing to class not yet in the air. She made her way to the bench where she and her friends usually met, the cool morning breeze brushing against her skin. The trees lining the pathway swayed gently, their leaves rustling softly as the early light of the sun filtered through the branches. She placed her bag down on the bench and glanced around.

No one was there yet.

She checked the time on her phone, knowing she was early but hoping, maybe, that Caden would be too. Lately, it felt like she was always waiting-waiting for him to show up, waiting for him to care more, waiting for something to change. She tried not to let the thought sink too deep, not when she knew Austin would probably be late again, as usual. His habit of arriving just as the bell rang was almost comforting in its predictability. Caden, though, was different. His unpredictability made her anxious.

She sighed and sat down on the bench, feeling the cool wood beneath her. The bench had become a familiar spot, a little corner of the school where she and her friends shared moments that, at times, felt forced. But today, she was alone. The emptiness around her mirrored the quiet unsettled feeling in her chest.

Bella reached into her bag and pulled out her diary, a small leather-bound book she kept tucked away for moments like this, when the world felt still, and her thoughts felt like too much to carry alone. She opened it to a blank page, her fingers tracing the edges of the paper for a moment before she picked up her pen.

She opened the notebook to a fresh page, running her fingers over the paper before she picked up her pen. For a moment, she stared at the blank page, her mind swirling with the tangled feelings that had been building inside her for weeks now-feelings about Caden, about Austin, about the complicated web of relationships they all seemed trapped in.

Her pen hovered above the page, unsure of where to begin. The diary was her refuge, a place where she could let out the things she couldn't say aloud, the truths she didn't have the courage to face in the open.

The words came slowly at first, as they always did when her thoughts were tangled. But soon, they began to flow, each word bringing her closer to the feelings she kept buried beneath her calm exterior.

She stopped, chewing on the end of her pen, her mind racing. Why was it so hard to admit to herself that things with Caden weren't what she wanted them to be? She had known from the beginning that he wasn't serious, that his feelings were shallow, fleeting. But she had stayed, hoping that maybe-just maybe-he would change. That maybe he'd realize she was worth more than just a casual relationship, worth more than the way he always seemed to be looking for the next distraction.

Bella continued writing, the thoughts pouring out of her like a flood and she turned them into poetry

Five minutes later, Austin finally appeared, his usual laid-back grin in place.

"Hey, Belle."

Everyone called Arabella "Bella" except for Austin. He always called her "Belle," a subtle variation that somehow felt more intimate, more personal. She liked it.

Bella looked up from her notebook and smiled. "Hey! You're early today. How did that happen?"

Austin laughed, a sound that was warm and easy, filling the quiet space between them. "Surprising, isn't it? Even I'm surprised."

Bella chuckled softly, shaking her head. Austin had that effect on people-he could make a joke out of anything, and it never felt forced. He wasn't always trying to be funny, but when he was, it caught her off guard in the best way.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind of quiet that only comes with close friends, where words weren't necessary to fill the gaps. Austin stretched out on the bench, his arms casually draped behind his head, while Bella glanced down at her notebook, her thoughts still wrapped around the poem she had been working on.

After a few beats, Austin turned his head slightly, his gaze falling on the notebook in her lap. "So... what are you writing?" he asked, his voice light but curious.

Bella quickly shut the book, tucking it back under her arm. "Oh, nothing special."

But Austin wasn't one to let it go so easily. With a playful grin, he reached out and snatched the notebook from her hands before she could react. "Poems again, huh?" he teased, flipping through the pages.

"Austin, give it back!" she protested, her cheeks flushing slightly as she tried to grab it from him. "I was just... passing time."

Austin skimmed a few lines, his expression softening as he read. "Wow, Belle... you're amazing. How do you come up with this stuff?"

She blushed deeper, looking down. "It's nothing. Just thoughts, really."

But Austin wasn't done. He closed the notebook gently and handed it back to her, his eyes shining with admiration. "Your poems are awesome. Seriously. Why don't you post them online? People would love them."

Bella shrugged, feeling a bit shy. "Nah, they're not good enough."

Austin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Not good enough? Are you kidding me? They're perfect."

Bella fell quiet for a moment, her eyes drifting away from him as something heavier settled in her chest. The lightness of the moment shifted, the weight of her earlier thoughts creeping back in. She glanced at her notebook, then looked up at Austin, her expression more serious than before.

"Austin?" she asked softly.

He noticed the change in her tone immediately and straightened up. "Yeah?"

She hesitated, as if unsure how to put her thoughts into words. Finally, she spoke. "I was just thinking... before I die, I want to give my diary to someone."

Austin blinked, startled by the sudden turn in the conversation. His eyes widened, but he quickly composed himself. "Whoa. That's... unexpected. So, passing on, huh?"

Bella gave a small, bittersweet smile. "Not exactly. More like... leaving behind a piece of me. Like a memoir."

Austin nodded slowly, trying to grasp the gravity of what she was saying. "Okay... So you'd give it to Caden, right?"

For a split second, Bella's face tightened-just a flicker of something uneasy before she smiled, a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Umm... no."

Austin frowned, confused. "Why not? Even he writes. Wouldn't it make sense to give it to him?"

Bella shifted slightly on the bench, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her notebook. "That's the problem."

"What problem?" Austin asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

She let out a soft sigh, shaking her head. "I don't want to give it to a writer."

Austin looked at her, bewildered. "Because they might use your story?"

Bella gave a soft, thoughtful chuckle. "No. It's just... I don't want to give it to someone who'd overthink it or try to analyze every word. I want to give it to a reader-someone who will just... understand."

Austin's eyes softened in realization. "Ah, I get it."

She held the notebook out towards him, her hand steady but her heart racing.

Austin stared at the notebook for a moment, then back at Bella, surprised. "Wait... You mean you're giving it to me?"

She nodded, her eyes locked on his, her voice soft but sure. "Yeah. I think you're the right person. You're a good reader, Austin. You always have been. And I know how much you appreciate poetry, even if you don't talk about it much. So... think of it as a gift from me. I'm not the best writer, but... it's yours."

Austin took the notebook from her hands, carefully, almost reverently, as if it were something fragile. He looked at her, his expression more serious than usual, gratitude and something deeper flickering in his eyes. "Wow, Belle... Thank you. It'd be an honor."

Bella didn't say anything. She just smiled, a soft, sincere smile that spoke louder than words.

For a moment, they sat there in silence, the air between them charged with the quiet understanding that something had shifted. The notebook wasn't just filled with poems-it was a part of her, something she trusted him with. And Austin understood that, more than he could ever say.