Chapter 3: Fractured Pieces
Ethan couldn’t stop thinking about what Sophie had written: “Because no one listened when I did.” It lingered in his mind like a stubborn melody, refusing to fade. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to push her. Every interaction with Sophie felt like stepping onto thin ice—fragile, delicate, and requiring care.
Days turned into weeks, and their friendship grew in quiet but meaningful ways. Ethan found himself spending more time with her, drawn to the calm presence she brought into his otherwise predictable world. Sophie began to trust him, revealing little fragments of herself through her notebook.
Ethan learned that she loved art. Her notebook wasn’t just filled with words but also intricate sketches—portraits, landscapes, and abstract designs that seemed to tell stories all on their own. One day, she shyly handed him a drawing of the oak tree where they often sat. The detail was stunning, every leaf shaded with care.
“This is amazing,” Ethan said, genuinely awed.
Sophie smiled, the corners of her lips barely curving upward, but it was enough to make his chest tighten.
---
One afternoon, as they sat under the oak tree after school, Ethan decided to take a chance.
“Do you want to come over sometime?” he asked, glancing at her.
Sophie tilted her head, her pen hovering over her notebook.
“My mom makes a mean spaghetti,” he added, grinning. “You’d love it. And we could hang out, maybe watch a movie or something.”
Sophie hesitated, then wrote: “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Ethan nodded, pretending not to notice the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
---
The next day, Ethan was walking to class when he heard raised voices echoing down the hallway. He turned the corner and froze.
A group of students stood near the lockers, laughing loudly. Sophie was in the middle of them, her notebook clutched to her chest as one of the boys reached for it.
“C’mon, let me see!” the boy taunted, his hand swiping at the notebook.
Sophie shook her head furiously, backing into the lockers.
“Hey!” Ethan’s voice rang out, sharper than he intended. He marched up to the group, his heart pounding. “What’s your problem?”
The boy turned, a smirk playing on his lips. “Relax, man. We’re just joking around.”
“It doesn’t look like she’s laughing,” Ethan shot back, his eyes narrowing.
The boy rolled his eyes but stepped back. “Whatever. Let’s go.” He and his friends sauntered off, leaving Ethan and Sophie alone.
“Are you okay?” Ethan asked, his voice softer now.
Sophie nodded, but her hands trembled as she opened her notebook and wrote: “Thank you.”
Ethan hesitated, then said, “You don’t have to thank me. They were jerks.”
Sophie didn’t respond, but she gave him a small smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
---
That evening, Sophie surprised Ethan by showing up at his house. She texted him beforehand, a simple: “Okay to come over?”
Ethan greeted her at the door, a little stunned but happy. “Hey! Come on in.”
His mom was delighted to meet Sophie, immediately offering her a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread. Sophie’s face softened as she sat at the dinner table, surrounded by the warmth of Ethan’s family.
After dinner, they retreated to Ethan’s room. Sophie perched on the edge of his bed, her notebook balanced on her knees, while Ethan rifled through a stack of DVDs.
“How about this one?” he asked, holding up an action movie.
Sophie tilted her head, then scribbled: “Too loud. Something quieter?”
Ethan smiled. “Got it.” He put on a light-hearted comedy, and they settled in, the room filling with soft laughter and the occasional sound of popcorn crunching.
Halfway through the movie, Ethan noticed Sophie glancing around his room. Her gaze lingered on a framed photo on his desk.
“That’s my dad,” Ethan said, following her line of sight. “He passed away when I was ten.”
Sophie’s eyes widened slightly, and she wrote: “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ethan said, his voice steady. “It was a long time ago. But it still sucks sometimes.”
Sophie hesitated, then wrote: “Me too. My mom.”
Ethan’s heart sank. “I didn’t know,” he said softly.
She nodded, her pen moving again: “It’s why we moved. Dad couldn’t handle it.”
The words hit Ethan like a punch. Suddenly, so much about Sophie made sense—her silence, her guarded nature, the sadness in her eyes.
“I’m really sorry, Sophie,” he said. “That’s... a lot.”
She gave him a small, grateful smile but didn’t write anything else.
---
That night, after Sophie had gone home, Ethan lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the weight she carried in silence.
For the first time in a long while, Ethan felt like his life had a purpose. He wanted to be there for Sophie, to help her piece together the parts of herself she’d hidden away.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d help him find something he hadn’t realized he was missing.
