How to Fall in Love ✔

FROM THE VAULT || miles in the past (iii)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

hi lovelies!

merry christmas to those that celebrate, and happy holidays to those that don't <3 this is probably the last you'll hear of me this year, so i'll tack on a happy new year (in advance) too! may 2024 be the year that makes us the happiest and most us that we've ever felt and been, and may we be strong enough to navigate the curveballs that life will surely throw our way.

that said, this is your obligatory disclaimer that the chapter you're about to read was written a decade ago and has never been touched or edited since. think of it as a pure, unadulterated decade-old artifact.

this is also the last update for this discontinued prequel/spin-off, and the last you'll hear of miles (that is, until the release of the proverbial bonus chapter that's already been partially written and is meant to be a final gift for all the staunch #fia believers).

lastly, thank you! thank you for checking this out (which i assume you did bc you read mia's story, and thank you for that, too) even if it's been years since miles was first introduced to you. 2013 (the year htfil was written) was the toughest year of my teenage self, and it's funny that 2023 (the year i'm writing this note) has so far been the toughest year of my bumbling adult self.

and it's all the more meaningful that you've been here through it all.

with that, thank you again, and i hope the sun shines on you when you need it... while the moon comforts you at night <3

with love,

myka

❀❃❀❃❀

m i l e s '  p o v

[  f i x  y o u  ]

"HEY MA, what's up?"

She looked up from the television screen, a smile spreading across her face. "Miles, honey!"

I frowned. She was drinking again—that slur was distinctive, definitive. What did Sir Royal do again?

I rushed to her, dropping my things on the nearest table and leaving my vans on the doorstep. "What's wrong?" I asked her, sitting beside her and taking away the silver bottle from her pallid fingers, putting it on the table before us. She frowned, shaking her head and reaching out for it. I took her arm away and held her hands in mine, looking at her in the eye. She'd cried. A lot. Her eyes were teary, tired. "What did he do to you?"

Mom shook her head, trying to smile but horribly failing. Tears started to stream down her cheeks. That was enough cue—I took her in, hugging her, embracing her, taking away all the pain. I rubbed my hands on her back in comforting circles, saying, "Tell me, Mom. What. Did. He. Do?"

I felt her shake her head on my shoulder, but she tightened the embrace. "You should finish up your university year nice and neat. Then you go to New York. Your life awaits you there."

I held her away, looking at her face, feeling something inside me scalding and forming and just so furious. Mom looked so helpless, I felt vengeful. "What did he say to you?" I demanded, angry at him. "He called you up, didn't he? What did he tell you? Did he tell you to let me go, did he shout at you, did he act like the asshole he is–"