Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 25

I opened the door, expecting the house to be dark and still, but instead, the faint clatter of utensils and the smell of sautéed vegetables greeted me. In the dining room, dad sat at the table, and across from him, Claire. They both looked up, startled, almost guilty. Claire offered a sheepish smile.

“I brought pakbet.”

Dad scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged red. “It’s, uh… my favorite,” he mumbled, like a teenager caught in something innocent but too tender to explain.

I took in the scene, the mismatched plates, the comfort food, the way dad was trying not to meet my eyes.

“I’m good. We had dinner at school,” she said, my voice light, teasing. “You two enjoy, though.” Then with a small smirk: “Dad, don’t stay up too late.”

They both laughed awkwardly, blushing like kids, and I gave a thumbs up before heading upstairs. My steps were light. In my room, I sank onto the bed, not from exhaustion, but a kind of relief. Not because everything was perfect, it wasn’t, but because for the first time in a long time, it felt like my dad was letting the world in again. One shared meal at a time. And maybe that’s how grief works. Not like a wound that scabs over, but like a door left ajar, waiting for kindness to gently nudge it open. People don’t forget the ones they’ve lost. They carry them like shadows, quiet and constant. But sometimes, it takes another hand reaching out, another warm voice, a shared dish, a simple smile, to loosen grief’s grip, to remind us that we are still alive. Still capable of laughter. Still worthy of love.

I open my drawer.

It’s still there.

The one thing that reminds me how weak I can be. It catches the light, a small glint, sharp and unapologetic. I just stare at it for a moment. Funny. It used to terrify me. Not because of what it is, but because of what it made possible. But now… I don’t flinch. I don’t reach for it either. I just… acknowledge it. Like an old ghost I’ve finally made peace with. I pick it up. It's cold between my fingers. I study the edge, not to flirt with danger, not like before. This time, it’s different. I sigh, walk over to the door, and gently drop it in the trash bin. No crying. Just a quiet kind of closure. Maybe healing doesn’t always look like a miracle. Maybe it’s just this, choosing something different in a room where the old choice still lives.

I undress and step into the shower. The water runs over me. Warm. Alive. It maps my skin, presses into old bruises, whispers into places I forgot needed comfort. I peel away the gauze on my wrist. The wound is scabbing, slowly stitching itself back together, not pretty, but real. Honest.

I press my palm against the wall and close my eyes. This is the part no one talks about, how healing hurts. How you have to break in order to rebuild. That pain can be necessary. Sacred, even. Like a forest fire that makes way for something new. You crumble first. You dissolve. And then, slowly, you start again.

I’m starting again.

And then… I thought of Matt. His face flashes through my mind, the way his voice stammered when James called him over. The way he couldn’t even look at me. I thought I knew how to read people, but maybe I only saw what I wanted to see. Maybe I mistook his steady presence for simple kindness and not the quiet, aching sort of love. The kind that waits. That hopes. God, did I ignore him? Or worse, did I let him believe something that was never real?

I don’t know.

But I feel this guilt curling up inside me. Not because I chose James, but because I might’ve hurt Matt along the way without even knowing. I want to make it right. I don’t know how, but I want to try. Because even if love can’t be returned the same way, friendship… deserves the effort.

The water cools slightly and I exhale, like I’ve released something old from inside my chest. Tomorrow, I’ll be gentler. With myself. With others. I’m not perfect, far from it. But I’m trying. And maybe that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

After the shower, I towel my hair dry, pull on a loose shirt, and sink into my bed. The room hums with quiet, no more voices downstairs, just the sound of the fan and my heartbeat steadying itself again.

I reach for my phone without thinking.

Call: James Gray.

He picks up on the second ring. “Miss me already?” he says, voice low and teasing.

I smile. “Actually, yeah. I miss you beside me.”

The screen lights up and there he is, the dark paint of his bedroom wall now glowing gold under his yellow nightstand lamp. His skin is still fresh from his own shower, his hair a little messy. He looks… peaceful. He always looks softer at night, like this is the version of him no one else gets to see. And even through the OLED screen, his eyes sparkle.

He grins. “Swooning again?”

“You just look…” I pretend to squint. “A little bit handsome.”

“A little?” He gasps. “Hey, hey, hey. You couldn’t even hold yourself back in the car, Ms. Finn. You stole a kiss from me.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “You liked it though.”

“Fair point,” he says, with a smug nod. “Who wouldn’t? First time we tried, there was a tanod. Second time, Mr. Oxford. Third time, freaking fireworks. You can’t blame a man for starving.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Well,” he says, mock-formal, “I am all yours now, Ms. Finn.”

“And I am yours too, my love,” I whisper.

We talk about nothing after that. Favorite fast food fries. The funniest teacher in school. What song we’d play if we ever slow danced in public. How Tim’s face scrunches up when he’s focused on something. The shape of clouds. Everything and nothing. It’s past midnight when we finally say our goodnights. He hangs up first, after making me promise I’d get enough sleep. I place the phone over my chest and just lie there for a while. The ceiling doesn’t look so empty anymore. Yes, there will still be days when my thoughts slip into the darker corners. Yes, there will be moments when old wounds whisper their names again. But tonight… I choose happiness.

And this time, it feels like mine to keep