A Symphony of Scars

Part 2

Ivy leaned against the cold wall of the restroom in the cafe the flickering fluorescent light above casting a harsh glow on her reflection. She wiped her hands on her jeans, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that had settled in her chest. The echoes of laughter and chatter from the café outside mingled with the sound of rushing water, creating a dissonance that felt too loud to bear.

As she stepped back into the bustling café, the warmth enveloped her, yet it did little to ease the chill within. Soren was still at their table, scrolling through his phone, a frown etched across his face. She could see him tapping his foot impatiently, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

“Sorry for taking so long,” Ivy said, sliding into the seat across from him. “You look like you’re about to take flight.”

“More like about to freeze into a popsicle” Soren replied, crossing his arms dramatically. “If you had taken any longer, I might have started building an igloo. Plus you've already been to the toilet 10 mins ago outside the cafe”

“An igloo? You’d make a terrible architect, and i was washing my hands thank you very much.” Ivy teased, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. "Besides it's literally warm in the cafe, how are you still cold?"

“I'm just kind of sick lately! And hey, my igloos would have character,” he shot back, grinning. “Speaking of character, how’s that painting coming along? You know, the one you promised to show me?”

Ivy hesitated, the memory of her half-finished canvas flooding her mind. The vibrant colors she had once used to express herself now felt dull and lifeless. “It’s… getting there,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I just need to work on it more.”

Soren raised an eyebrow. “More? Ivy, you’ve been saying that for weeks. Is it the subject? Because you can paint whatever you want, you know that.”

“It’s not the subject,” Ivy sighed, pushing her cup aside. “It’s me. I can’t seem to find the spark I used to have. After… after everything, it just feels pointless.”

“You can’t think like that,” Soren said softly, his tone serious. “You’ve got to confront what happened, Ivy. Bottling it up won’t help.”

“Confront what?” she snapped, her voice rising. “The fact that I lost my mom in a stupid accident? Or that I’m left with these… these scars? You think it’s that easy?”

Soren flinched but didn’t back down. “I know it’s not easy, but avoiding it isn’t going to fix anything either. You’re not broken, Ivy. You’re just… figuring things out.”

She looked at him, the hurt in his eyes cutting deeper than any blade. “Maybe I don’t want to figure it out. Maybe I just want to forget.”

“Then you’ll forget who you are,” he said quietly. “You can’t erase the past, but you can learn to live with it.”

Ivy stared out the window, watching the rain trickle down the glass. It mirrored her emotions—cloudy, murky, and filled with uncertainty. “What if I don’t know how?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Soren said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone in this, Ivy. Just take it one step at a time.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of her thoughts. For the first time in a long while, she felt the faintest glimmer of hope stirring within her. But it was quickly overshadowed by the fear of vulnerability—the fear of letting anyone in, even Soren.

Just then, the café door swung open, and a tall figure walked in, shaking off snowflakes from his dark hair, his eyes was dark as the night sky. Ivy’s breath hitched as she recognized him instantly. Aiden St. Pierre.

He looked around, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked. Something in his gaze was electric, but Ivy quickly looked away, feeling a rush of heat across her cheeks. Aiden was known for his talent and charisma, and she had seen him at a concert last week. His music was good, no doubt, but she wasn’t about to fangirl over him.

Soren shifted in his seat, oblivious to Ivy’s internal struggle. “Who’s that?” he asked, eyeing Aiden with curiosity.

“That’s Aiden St. Pierre,” Ivy replied, keeping her tone casual. “He’s a musician. I saw him at a concert last week.”

“Dude’s got a presence, I’ll give him that,” Soren noted, his tone shifting to one of mild annoyance. “He looks like he knows he’s the hot stuff.”

“Don't say it like that, I mean yeah, he’s talented,” Ivy shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. “But it’s not like I’m following him around or anything.”

Soren raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Just don’t get too caught up in his ‘talent’ or whatever. You know how guys like that can be.”

“I’m not caught up in anything,” Ivy said, rolling her eyes. “I just think it’s cool to see someone do what they love. That’s all.”

Just then, Aiden turned his back to them as he picked up his order, completely unaware of the effect he had on Ivy. Torn between wanting to admire him from afar and the nagging feeling that she should stay focused on her own life.

“Okay, well, I should probably get back,” Soren said, taking a sip of his drink. “But seriously, don’t lose yourself in admiration. You’re more than your art, Ivy.”

“I know,” Ivy replied quietly, the tension hanging heavy between them. She took another sip of her drink, forcing herself to focus on the warmth in her hands instead of the unfamiliar flutter in her stomach at the sight of Aiden.

As they sat in the café, Ivy tried to push aside her thoughts about Aiden, reminding herself that she had her own journey to navigate. Sure, he was talented and confident, but that didn’t mean she needed to get caught up in his world. She had her own life to live, her own art to create.

She glanced back toward the counter just in time to see him turn and leave, his figure disappearing into the snow covered streets. With a sigh, she turned back to Soren, who was still watching her closely.

“What?” Ivy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said, smirking. “Just wondering when you’re going to admit that you’re kind of crushing on him.”

“I’m not,” Ivy insisted, rolling her eyes. “I mean, sure, he’s good at what he does. But I’ve got my own path to focus on.”

“Right, your own path,” Soren replied, clearly unconvinced. “Just don’t forget to enjoy the journey while you’re at it.”

Ivy shrugged, a small smile creeping onto her lips despite herself. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try.”

As they settled into a comfortable silence, Ivy couldn’t shake the feeling of Aiden’s presence lingering in the back of her mind. He was just a musician, after all, and she was Ivy Carrigan Blair—a painter trying to find her way in a world that felt all too heavy. And while she appreciated the talent that surrounded her, she was determined to carve out her own identity, one brushstroke at a time.