The 18th Shade Of Summer (Fractured Script Series #1)

CHAPTER 08

I shut the door after picking up the sticky note that had been placed at my door.

It's been a few weeks since that late-night conversation with him, and things have changed in small but noticeable ways. We never stopped exchanging sticky notes. It's now something we just do. If we didn't, it would feel strange, like forgetting something important.

But something new started too, midnight conversations. We don't see each other, just voices through the wall. It always begins when his music starts playing. Soft at first, like he's unsure if I'm awake, but I always am.

I never pry. I don't ask questions about his life, or why he plays music only at night, or what he looks like. We keep it simple. Instead, we talked about our days. What we ate, what annoyed us, if the neighbor's cat got inside again. Sometimes, though, he says something that lands harder than expected. Like this sticky note.

"Congrats on your finals."

It was short, but it made something in me pause. It's been a while since someone said something like that. I don't even remember the last time someone noticed when I did something right, let alone said something about it. That's why it meant something to me.

I walked over to the fridge and stuck the note there then I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

My stomach grumbled. I looked in the fridge again—leftover rice in a container and some eggs. It wasn't much, but it would do. I scooped the rice into a pan, added a bit of oil, and cracked two eggs. While the eggs sizzled, a song drifted in from the next room. It was in English this time. I didn't know the lyrics or the artist, but it felt calming. Not sad, not exciting, just the right kind of background noise when your head's too full.

I ate while standing, scrolling through my phone in one hand, just checking random things. After finishing, I washed the plate and pan, dried my hands, and walked to the living room. I sat down on the floor near the wall between our rooms, curled up with a pillow, knees drawn close. The lights were off, but it wasn't completely dark. The moon was out, and the lamppost outside helped light up the space just enough to see everything clearly. It felt quiet, but not lonely.

On the wall facing the window was a sketch I'd been working on. A face, his or at least what I imagined it to be. I'd drawn it over time, adding pieces here and there. Calm eyes, a thoughtful expression, messy hair. Nothing exact. I didn't even know if I was close.

The music from next door faded into something instrumental. Then his voice came through the wall.

"Elaine."

His voice wasn't loud but it's just enough for me to hear. It had a calmness to it. Like someone who was used to talking late at night. No rush, no pressure.

"Why do you always start with my name?" I asked. I tried to sound annoyed, but I was actually relieved. I had been waiting, not on purpose, but just hoping he'd talk again tonight.

He laughed, low and soft. "Because you always answer fast when I do."

I rolled my eyes, even if he couldn't see me. "Maybe I'm just being polite."

"You always say that too."

We talked about random things after that. How hot the weather had been, how he accidentally knocked over a whole cup of water on his notes, how I burned toast the other day because I forgot it was even in the toaster. None of it was deep. Just normal, easy stuff.

After a few minutes of silence, his voice slipped through the wall again, soft and steady, like he had been thinking about what to say.

"Tomorrow's summer solstice." he said.