Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 22

I hit play. The Middle by Jimmy Eat World.

> Hey, you know they're all the same
You know you're doing better on your own (on your own)
So don't buy in…

I watched her expression slowly shift. The faint wrinkle between her brows softened. Her lips parted just slightly. She wasn’t smiling, but something in her shoulders eased, like the air between us had changed temperature.

> Live right now
Yeah, just be yourself
It doesn't matter if it's good enough… for someone else…

I looked at her, not just looked, but watched. Her lashes fluttered. Her fingers, always fidgeting, stilled against her thigh. She turned her face slightly away from me, but not far enough to hide the tight gloss beginning to form in her eyes.

> It just takes some time…
Little girl, you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything'll be just fine
Everything, everything'll be alright, alright…

She exhaled, slow, like she didn’t even know she’d been holding her breath. The kind of breath you take when you realize something is reaching the part of you that’s been locked shut.

My chest ached. Not in the cinematic, heart-flutter kind of way. In the heavy, real kind. The kind that makes you want to fall to your knees and pray that whatever this song was doing, it would be enough.

I didn’t say anything. I just kept watching.

Her fingers slowly moved, this time not to scratch or hide, but to tap against the table, faintly keeping rhythm.

A small nod. Barely there.

And maybe it meant nothing.

But to me, it felt like a crack in the ice.

Just enough light to slip through.

The song faded out. The world returned, school noise, laughter from a nearby table, a bird cawing somewhere outside.

But between us, there was only silence.

Betty pulled the earbud out and stared ahead, not looking at me.

“I hate it,” she said flatly.

She didn’t look at me when she said it, and that’s how I knew she was lying.

She hated it because it did something to her. Because it reached her. Because it reminded her of something she thought she had buried in the lake the day I pulled her out, hope.

The way her lips pressed tightly. The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes. The way she blinked more than necessary like something was trying to surface and she was trying to shove it back down.

I didn’t call her out. I didn’t need to.

I just shrugged.

The silence returned, not awkward, but dense. A bubble around us no one could pop.

So I cleared my throat.

“B,” I said casually, picking at the edge of my rice container. “My dad wants to meet you tonight. For dinner. You up for it?”

She whipped her head toward me, eyes wide like I’d told her we were getting married.

“What?” she said. “And you’re telling me this now?”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. That mix of shock and dry sarcasm was so her, so effortlessly Betty.

“I mean, don’t sweat it,” I said with a grin. “He just wants to say thank you. You know… for helping me not flunk out.”