Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 25

It smelled like glue and paper inside the auditorium, the air thick with the kind of warm chaos only last-minute school events could summon. Somewhere to my left, Drake and Corey were trying to turn Manila paper into larger-than-life sunflowers, and I was afraid to ask how many sticks of glue they’d inhaled to get there.

“A little to the right,” Tim called out from below, pointing vaguely upward. I was halfway up the ladder, gripping the side of the stage tarp with both hands. Inez was on the opposite end, her foot wedged awkwardly into the rung.

“No, not your right. My right,” he added with absolutely no clarification.

“How am I supposed to know that?” Inez huffed, but her laugh gave her away.

I just laughed, the kind that bubbles out uninvited. There was something about their never-ending arguments that made the world feel safe again. Predictable in a sweet way. Like even if things fell apart, at least Tim and Inez would still be arguing about directions. Once the tarp was secure, Inez climbed down the ladder and marched straight into Tim’s arms. She kissed him, short and sure. “You’re one frustrating guy.”

Tim grinned, proud of it. “That’s why you love me.”

“Lucky you,” she muttered, but her smile betrayed her.

“HOW DARE YOU BOTH MAKE MY BABY JEALOUS WITH YOUR SWEETNESS,” a voice boomed across the stage. James, of course.

He held his arms open like a game show host. “Come here, baby. I’ll shower you with kisses too.”

“You’re hopeless,” I said, but I walked into his arms anyway. He kissed my forehead, soft and slow, like he was pressing his promise onto my skin.

“Guys,” he said, turning to everyone, “I brought dinner. Chickenjoy.”

“YEAHHHH,” Tim shouted like we’d just been rescued from starvation.

“Ohhh we’re starving, thank you,” Drake said, and Corey nodded enthusiastically beside him.

“You’re the best, babe,” I told James, and meant it.

“You hit the jackpot, Buttercup,” he whispered back. I could feel his pride in the way he held me.

We joined the circle our friends had formed on the floor, sauce packets already flying around, laughter spilling like soda fizz. James handed me a box, made sure I had gravy before he got his. Inez and Tim leaned against each other as they unwrapped their meals, Drake was showing Corey some meme on his phone, and for a moment, just a moment, everything was whole.

Then I heard James.

“Yo! Matt! We’re having dinner, join us!”

I turned to see Matt at the edge of the hallway, half in shadow. His eyes locked on us for a second too long. There was something glassy in them, not tears, exactly, but a shimmer of something too full.

“T-thanks, but I really have to go… Bye,” he stammered, then disappeared like a glitch in a happy memory.

James watched him go and sighed, not the kind of sigh you let out when you’re glad something’s over, but the kind you exhale when something hurts and you don’t have a name for it yet. I felt it too. That quiet ache. There are things we don’t talk about. Like how love, real, beautiful, mutual love, can sometimes bruise other people without ever meaning to. I never wanted to hurt Matt. But maybe that’s the cruel paradox of love. Even when it heals you, even when it fills your lungs with air after months of drowning… it can still take the breath away from someone else. And the worst part is, you might never know how deeply. Because not all heartbreak is loud. Some slip out through a cracked voice, or a rushed excuse, or blank notebook pages no one else reads. I looked at James. He was laughing now, licking gravy off his fingers, completely unaware that somewhere down the hall, someone else had just turned into a quiet version of heartbreak. And I held onto him just a little tighter. Because happiness, I’m learning, is fragile. It doesn’t arrive without cost. And when it does come, however small, however fleeting, you hold it. Gently. Carefully. Like a matchstick in the wind.