Through the Glass

Chapter 9

The circle was tighter for this class. The group sat on the floor, chairs pushed back to make space for the centerpiece of the exercise—an assortment of objects laid out on a woven blanket. Eliza shifted uncomfortably as Tori introduced the activity, her gaze briefly landing on each person before it swept back to the objects.

"It's time to focus on why we're really here," Tori said, her voice steady but not too forceful. "I know we've talked about our struggles, but this exercise is designed to dig deeper into the root of things. I'd like each of you to choose an object from the blanket that represents something personal, and then share what it means to you."

The assortment of items seemed carefully curated, a mix of everyday objects: a pocket watch, a photograph in a small silver frame, a compass, a pair of old leather gloves, a marble, a tattered journal. Eliza's eyes flickered over the selection, her stomach churning at the thought of picking something. Her chest felt tight, and she stole a glance at Connor, who sat directly across from her, legs crossed, his expression unreadable. A quiet tension hummed between them, stemming from the morning's interactions, but now it felt like the pressure was building for something more intense.

Tori spoke again, "This doesn't need to be perfect or profound. Just honest."

One by one, the others in the group began to make their selections. A woman named Megan picked the gloves, and as she spoke about her father, the room filled with a sense of quiet reverence. Eliza barely registered the story, her mind elsewhere. She was trying to slow her breathing, reminding herself she wasn't going to be forced to share more than she could handle.

Then Connor stood.

Her heart skipped a beat.

He walked toward the blanket with a calm certainty, his movements fluid but purposeful. His hand hovered over the objects for a moment before he picked up the journal. Eliza's breath caught in her throat. For some reason, it felt too fitting. The journal seemed to symbolize something heavier than it should—an entire history, secrets buried between its yellowed pages.

Connor returned to his place and sat down, cradling the journal in his lap. When he looked up, his eyes met Eliza's briefly, and she felt the quiet pull between them again, the same pull that had confused her since their first meeting on Friday night. He broke the gaze and turned his attention to the group.

"This journal," he began, his voice soft but clear, "it reminds me of something I used to keep when I was younger. I guess I always thought writing down what happened would make sense of it all. But it didn't. It just became this...archive of everything I couldn't fix."

His eyes lowered to the journal in his hands, and he opened it, though the pages were blank. He ran a finger over one page, as though reading invisible words.

Connor paused for a long moment, allowing the silence to stretch out before he continued. "I think my whole life I've been trying to belong somewhere—anywhere—and it's like I've been keeping this mental journal of all the places I didn't fit in."

The room was still, the atmosphere thick with the weight of his words. Outside, the wind brushed against the window pane, a soft whispering sound that seemed to echo Connor's inner turmoil.

"As a musician," he said, shifting slightly, the journal still open on his lap, "you're supposed to connect with people, reach them through your music. But what if every note you play reminds you of how isolated you feel?" He glanced up again, his blue eyes scanning the circle, meeting Eliza's gaze with an intensity that made her heart thump louder.

"This," he tapped the journal gently, "this is me trying to find a harmony in the dissonance. A place where I don't just perform, but truly belong."

Eliza felt something shift within her as she listened. It wasn't just empathy; it was a shared need, a mutual understanding of longing for connection and fearing it simultaneously. The room seemed to close in around them, the air charged with the emotional gravity of his confession. She wasn't prepared for the way it would trigger memories of her brother, but it hit her all at once. She swallowed hard, trying to stay composed, but Connor's words unraveled her defenses.