Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 34

“You think your mom won’t mind?” he asked, voice quieter now. More fragile.

I sat down beside him, reaching for his hand.

“Dad,” I said, smiling through a sudden sting behind my eyes, “she would be happy for you. I am sure.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that question in for months.

And for a while, we just sat there. Two people who lost the same woman in different ways. A silence between us, but not the kind that felt heavy or wrong. The kind that said we’re okay.

As I sipped my coffee and watched the sunlight slant through the window, dust motes dancing like old memories, I thought of how strange and unfair grief could be. How it makes you feel like you owe your sorrow to the one you lost. Like moving forward is a betrayal. Like smiling again means you've forgotten.

But it’s not forgetting.

It’s choosing to keep living while carrying them with you. Not behind, not replaced, but beside.

Love doesn’t vanish when someone new enters the room. It expands, folds, stretches wide enough to hold what was and what could be.

The fear of moving forward isn’t really about the future. It’s about the guilt of leaving someone in the past. But maybe, just maybe, our loved ones aren’t trapped behind us. Maybe they’re ahead, too, cheering us on, waiting for us to catch up to joy again.

Maybe healing is not about closing the door.

Maybe it’s about letting the light back in.

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The gym was buzzing. Strings of orange lights dangled from the rafters, casting everything in a warm, pumpkin glow. Fog machines puffed little ghosts into the air, and the bleachers were filled with students in makeshift costumes, some spooky, some lazy, most somewhere in between.

Inez had gone all out. Her hair was twisted into Bella Swan waves, and Tim had a ridiculous amount of pale powder on his face. They were fully committed to being Twilight’s most co-dependent couple.

And me?

I was a fairy. Not a cool, edgy fairy. A sparkly, glittery, winged one that Inez basically forced onto me like some kind of frilly punishment. My cheeks were dusted in shimmer, my dress poofed at the sleeves, and my sneakers were the only rebellion I had left. Drake and Corey had matching zombie outfits, with ripped shirts and fake blood so realistic it made my stomach twist. Corey kept groaning dramatically and lurching forward with outstretched arms. Drake rewarded him with a playful slap on the back of the head.

It should’ve felt perfect. Whole, even.

But one piece was missing.

“Where’s James?” I asked, scanning the crowd instinctively.

Tim shrugged. “Haven’t seen him.”

And then---

The lights went out.

Gasps and squeals shot through the crowd. The fog machine hissed.

A beat of silence.

Then, a single spotlight pierced the darkness, aimed straight at the center of the stage.

There he was.

James.

In a Dracula costume that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did. His hair was tousled, a guitar strapped across his shoulder, and under the harsh white light, his expression looked... real. Not performative. Not guarded.