Just The Thought

Chapter 4: Hidden Truths

Chapter 4: Hidden Truths

Days blended together in a haze of classes and hostel routines.

Jackson's presence lingered, but I maintained my distance.

One afternoon, while studying in the library, I stumbled upon an old newspaper clipping.

"Local Family Tragedy: Smiths Lose Beloved Father"

My heart skipped a beat.

The article was about my family.

How did it end up here?

I folded the clipping and tucked it into my pocket.

That evening, Jackson approached me in the hostel lounge.

"Hey, Emily. Can we talk?" he asked.

I hesitated.

"What's up?" I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Jackson sat beside me. "I know you're hiding something."

My guard went up.

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

Jackson's eyes locked onto mine. "I see the pain in your eyes."

I looked away.

"Everyone has secrets," I said.

Jackson's voice softened. "I want to help."

I stood, feeling exposed.

"I appreciate it, but I'm fine."

Jackson's expression turned sympathetic.

As I walked away, I felt his gaze on me.

That night, I unfolded the newspaper clipping.

Memories flooded back.

Dad's smile.

Mom's tears.

My heart ached.

Why did Jackson have to dig up the past?

The next morning, I avoided Jackson at breakfast.

In class, he caught my eye, his expression concerned.

I looked away.

At lunch, Maddie cornered me.

"Emily, what's going on with you and Jackson?" she asked.

"Nothing," I insisted.

Maddie raised an eyebrow. "You're pushing him away."

I sighed. "I don't know, Maddie."

That evening, Jackson appeared in the library.

"Emily, I need to show you something," he said.

Curiosity got the better of me.

I followed him to a quiet corner.

Jackson pulled out a sketchbook.

The drawings took my breath away.

They were of me.

In various moments.

Some I'd never shared.

"How did you...?" I trailed off.

Jackson's eyes met mine. "I observe."

My heart skipped a beat.

No one had ever seen me like that.

Not even myself.

"Jackson..."

He waited.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

Jackson's voice barely above a whisper:

"Because I care."

My defenses crumbled.

For the first time, I saw Jackson – truly saw him.

A soul as broken as mine.

Longing for connection.

Understanding.

As I delved deeper into his sketchbook, I discovered more.

Drawings of his own pain.

His struggles.

His fears.

We sat in silence, the only sound our gentle breathing.

In that moment, I felt a connection.

A bond forged through shared struggles.

Jackson's hand brushed mine.

A spark.

I pulled back.

Not ready.

Jackson nodded.

Understanding.

The library's silence enveloped us once more.

But something had shifted.

A crack in the facade.

A glimmer of hope.

As I closed the sketchbook, Jackson's eyes met mine.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"For what?" he asked.

"For understanding," I replied.

Jackson's smile was gentle.

We sat together, the silence between us no longer awkward.

But comforting.

Like two souls finding solace in each other's company.

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