Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 53 - SILENCE IS THE LOUDEST NOISE

Matt’s voice was steady. “We always were. Even when I wanted more, I never stopped being your friend.”

And that’s what broke me, not the regret, not the past, but the fact that he never made me feel like I owed him anything for the way he loved me.

“Thank you,” I said, barely above a whisper. “For being kind. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“I just want you to be okay, B. That’s all I ever wanted.”

We didn’t hug. We didn’t need to. We just stood there, two people who had been through too much together, who finally understood the shape of their bond.

When I walked away this time, I didn’t feel like I was leaving him behind. I felt like I was finally bringing our friendship with me.

The following days were quiet that even the littlest noise makes the loudest sound. I can feel it, there was something different in the air. Not loud. Not dramatic. Not some grand performance in the hallway with a guitar and a crowd holding their breath. It was quiet. Almost invisible, if you weren’t looking closely. But I was. It started with the trash in Room 109. Someone left their mess again, candy wrappers, a half-empty juice box, torn notebook paper. Before class started, I saw him crouch down and clean it up. No one asked. No one saw. Except me.

Another day, I passed the bulletin board. The flyer for the school cleanup had his name on it, volunteer leader. I had to read it twice. He didn't make a speech. He didn't post about it. He just showed up. On a Saturday. In the mud. Carrying buckets and pushing brooms like he was just another person trying to make something right. Then there was the classroom door. Miss Eva always struggled with it, hinge squeaking, hard to pull. One morning, it moved smoother than it had in months. I asked her what changed.

“James came in early. Fixed it.” She smiled like she couldn’t believe it either.

I saw him help first years who were struggling with a locker combo. Saw him push a stalled car in the parking lot with Drake. Saw him fall asleep with books in his lap in the library, actual books, not just his phone. He still laughed with his friends. Still teased Drake. Still stole fries off Tim’s tray. But something had settled in him. Like the storm passed, and left this version of James that didn’t need applause anymore. Didn’t need an audience. I caught him once sitting outside the counselor’s office. Not pacing. Not scowling. Just... there. Waiting his turn.

And I didn’t know what to do with all of it. I wasn’t ready to trust it. I wasn’t even sure if it was for me to trust. But it made me stop. It made me look. It made me wonder if healing could sometimes start with just... noticing. And maybe, for the first time, I wasn’t looking at the boy who broke me. Maybe I was seeing the boy who was trying not to break himself anymore. I didn’t say anything. Not that day. Not the next.

I carried my books. I sat with Inez. I watched the wind tilt the leaves outside the window and let myself stay still for once, not chasing or running, just still. But every now and then, I’d catch him again. Sweeping chalk off the court after practice. Helping teachers with little tasks, even ones he never cared for before. Carrying paint cans. Saying “thank you” to teachers. Listening more than talking.

He didn’t flinch anymore when people brought up the past. He didn’t fight it. He didn’t apologize with words, not out loud, but every quiet action felt like a thread pulled toward something resembling atonement. He never looked at me the way he used to, like I was a dream he couldn’t catch. Now when our eyes met, if they did at all, there was something steadier there. Not longing. Not regret.

Just... presence. And I didn’t know if that made it harder or easier.

One day, I walked into Room 109 and saw a small notebook on my desk. No note. No name. But I recognized the way the pages were dog-eared, the crooked little doodle in the corner of the first page. It was mine. The one I thought I’d lost months ago. Tucked between two pages was a dried leaf, golden and speckled, shaped like a heart but crumbling at the edges. I closed the book. Took a deep breath. Pressed it to my chest.

"James brought that here..." my classmate Zach said behind me then he left, running after Belle, the girl who never once said a word to anyone before but now started singing during school events with Zach.

Sometimes change doesn’t knock. It just lingers. Soft as a sigh. And I think part of me, buried under all the armor I’d built, quietly exhaled. Maybe I was still broken. But maybe... so was he. And maybe we were both finally trying to rebuild, not for each other. But for ourselves.

When I got home, the front door creaked softly behind me, the sound echoing in the quiet house. A faint scent of lavender floated through the air, mixed with the musty smell of old wood and dust. I hesitated in the hallway, the floor cool beneath my bare feet. In the living room, Claire was gently wiping dust from Mom’s portrait. The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over Mom’s smiling face in the frame. Claire’s movements were slow, deliberate, almost reverent, as the soft cloth brushed the glass.

She didn’t notice me at first.

“Claire,” I said quietly, my voice breaking the stillness.

She looked up, startled, blinking as if waking from a trance. “Betty,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

I shuffled forward, the weight in my chest tightening. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to come in.”

Claire set the cloth down and turned to face me, her eyes kind but serious. “You don’t have to be afraid here,” she said gently. “I love your dad, Betty. I want you to know that. But I’m not here to replace your mom. Not now, not ever.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Then why are you here?”

She took a step closer, the faint scent of vanilla clinging to her, comforting and familiar. “Because your dad needs someone who cares. And because I care about you, too. I want to be part of your family, not instead of your mom, but in addition to everything she meant to you.”

I bit my lip, the tears threatening to fall. “It’s hard... seeing you here. Like... like I’m losing her all over again.”

Claire nodded slowly, her gaze steady. “I know. I can’t replace her. No one can. But your mom taught you to see the light in others,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “but sometimes, Betts, you have to learn to see that light within yourself too.”

Her words hit me like a wave, warm and painful all at once. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears, but one slipped down, then another.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “For shutting you out. For being so angry.”

Before I knew it, Claire was pulling me into a hug. Her arms were warm and steady, holding me when I felt like falling apart. I could hear her soft breath, feel her heart beating against mine. The wooden floor creaked beneath us as Dad appeared in the doorway. He took in the sight of us quietly embracing, then walked over, the faint smell of rain and his aftershave filling the room.

“Hey, Betts,” he said softly, kneeling down to pull me into a hug of his own. I rested my head on his shoulder, the ache in my chest easing just a little. In that golden, dusty room, surrounded by the people who loved me, not perfectly, but deeply, I realized the pieces of me that were broken might never be the same. But maybe, just maybe, they could still be mended. Not by grand gestures. Not by fairy tale romances. But by quiet moments like this. By the steady hands of the people who never gave up on me.