Under the Stars

Chapter 12

~CHAPTER TWELVE~

THURSDAY,SEPTEMBER 19,2024

   A week had passed since we wrapped up our project, and despite Lyla's insistence on going our separate ways, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye. Armed with a small gesture—a book of poetry that I remembered her mentioning she liked—I made my way to the library where we often studied together.

  Entering the library, I spotted Lyla sitting at our usual table, buried deep in a thick textbook. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she seemed lost in her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I approached her table, the book of poetry in hand.

“Hey, Lyla,”I greeted her, trying to keep my tone casual despite the tension in the air.

She glanced up, her expression guarded as she acknowledged my presence. “Stevans, what are you doing here?”

“I brought you something,” I replied, holding out the book. "I remembered you mentioned once that you liked poetry."

“I get motivations from poetry. I mean for me, I just love poets.”

She hesitated for a moment, eyeing the book cautiously before accepting it.

“Thanks,” she murmured, flipping through the pages briefly. “But you don't have to keep doing this. The project is done. You don't owe me anything.”

Sitting down across from her, I met her gaze steadily.

“I know I don't owe you anything,” I said earnestly. “I'm not doing this because of the project. I'm doing this because I care about you.I care about our friendship.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of frustration and curiosity flickering in them.

“Carl, we've been over this,”she sighed, closing the book and placing it on the table. "It's better if we just go our separate ways."

“I can't do that,” I said firmly yet gently. “Especially I see beyond the grumpy exterior, beyond the walls you’ve built. And I want to be there for you, even if it’s just as a friend.”

She looked at me skeptically, as if weighing my words carefully. “Why? Why do you keep trying?”

“Because I think you're worth it,” I replied sincerely. “And I believe you deserve to have someone in your life who genuinely cares about you.”

Lyla didn’t respond immediately, her gaze dropping to her hands resting on the table.

“Stevans, I've been hurt before. Badly,” she admitted quietly. “I don't want to go through that again.”

“I understand,” I said softly, reaching across the table to briefly cover her hand with mine. “But I'm not like the others. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to support you, in whatever way you need.”

She looked up, meeting my eyes with a mixture of vulnerability and hesitation. “I don't know if I can trust that.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” I urged, my voice earnest. “Give me a chance to show you that I'm different.”

Lyla took a deep breath, her expression softening ever so slightly. After a moment of silence, she nodded slowly. “Alright. But no promises.”

A wave of relief washed over me, accompanied by a sense of determination. “No promises,” I agreed. “Just take it one day at a time.”

...

   Carl's persistence both frustrated and intrigued me. Most people would have given up by now, especially after I made it clear that I preferred to keep my distance. But not Carl. He kept pushing, gently yet firmly, and I couldn't deny that there was something about his unwavering support that touched a chord within me.

   As I sat in the library, holding the book of poetry he had brought me, I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Part of me wanted to push him away again, to protect myself from the possibility of getting hurt. But another part of me, a smaller, more vulnerable part, was curious. Curious to see if maybe, just maybe, Carl was different.

Actually very different. And it's scares the hell out of me.

...

   A sense of relief washed over me as Lyla agreed to give me a chance. We spent the afternoon in the library, talking about everything from poetry to our childhood memories. It felt good to see her open up, even if just a little. As we packed up to leave, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope for what could be between us.

“Hey, Lyla,” I said as we walked out of the library together. “There's this new café that opened downtown. Would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime?”

She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Carl, I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I think it's better if we keep things platonic.”

Disappointment flickered briefly in my chest, but I nodded, respecting her boundaries. “Of course. Just as friends.”

Lyla glanced around the library lobby, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noticed Violet, a member of Charles' clique, shooting us a curious glance from across the room. Violet had always been the queen of gossip, and I could tell she was intrigued by our interaction.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, following Lyla's gaze.

She shook her head, her expression unreadable. “No, it's nothing.”

As the bell rang signaling the end of the school day, Violet's eyes lingered on us for a moment longer before she turned and walked away, her mind undoubtedly already spinning tales of what she had just witnessed.

...

I trudged home, my footsteps heavy as I approached the front door. I braced myself, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. The familiar, suffocating atmosphere greeted me as I stepped inside. I could hear the faint sounds of Mom's and my sister's voices upstairs, but what immediately caught my attention was the escalating argument in the living room.

My aunt's shrill voice pierced the air, “You never listen, never! I'm sick of this!”

My uncle's deep, gravelly tone responded with equal intensity, “And I'm sick of you always nagging! You think I don't do enough around here?”

I winced, the harsh words bouncing off the walls, each one a painful reminder of the tension that plagued our home. I quietly closed the door behind me, trying to remain unnoticed as I made my way through the hallway. I could see my aunt, face flushed with anger, standing with her hands on her hips, while my uncle loomed over her, equally irate.

My aunt's eyes darted towards me, a brief flicker of surprise crossing her face before she snapped, “What are you looking at? Get to your room!”

I didn't respond, merely nodding before hurrying past the living room. I climbed the stairs, the arguments fading slightly as I moved further away. Reaching the top, I saw Mom and my sister in the hallway. Mom glanced at me with a disapproving frown, but my sister offered a sympathetic smile.

“Another day in paradise, huh?” my sister whispered as I approached.

I forced a small smile, “Yeah, something like that.”

I retreated to my room, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, letting out a sigh of relief. The faint sounds of the argument downstairs continued to seep through the walls, a constant reminder of the chaos I couldn't escape.

I took a deep breath and moved to my desk, pulling out my journal. Writing had always been my solace, a way to cope with the turmoil around me. As I began to scribble down my thoughts, I resolved to keep pushing forward, no matter how heavy the burden of my home life weighed on me.