The Only Exception

An Unexpected Encounter

The city lights blurred into streaks of color as I walked, the cold air a shock to my lungs. My chest felt lighter than it had in months, but the ache was still there, a phantom limb I'd have to learn to live with. I had found a small, independent bookstore a few blocks from my apartment and had been going there to try and get lost in someone else's story instead of my own. I was looking for a book on old photography techniques, something to anchor me to a new and demanding hobby, when I saw him.

He was standing in the aisle with his back to me, the familiar shaggy hair falling over the collar of his reddish-brown jacket. My breath caught in my throat. Finneas. The one who'd never trusted me, who had looked at me with open suspicion even when things were good between Billie and me.

My first instinct was to turn and run, to melt into the shadows and pretend I hadn't seen him.

But then, Dr. Sully's words echoed in my mind. 

The truth, Stella. Start there. 

Running was what I had always done, and it had gotten me nowhere.

I took a shaky breath and walked forward, my hand finding the spine of a book for support.

"Finneas?" I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned, and his eyes, so much like hers, widened in surprise. For a moment, his face was a blank slate, and then the familiar wariness settled in. He held a book on music theory, his fingers gripping it tightly. 

"Stella," he said, his voice flat. It wasn't accusatory, just... tired.

The silence that stretched between us was heavy with unspoken words. I could see all the reasons he had to hate me reflected in his eyes—the sleepless nights, the tear-streaked texts, the countless ways I had broken his little sister's heart. I didn't try to defend myself. I just swallowed and looked at the book in his hands.

"I... I wasn't expecting to see you here," I said, the words clumsy on my tongue.

He just nodded. "Small city."

"Yeah," I replied. I fidgeted with the book on the shelf, my mind racing. This was it. The moment I had avoided for months, and it was happening in the middle of a quiet bookstore. I didn't want to make things worse. I didn't want to create more chaos. I just wanted to do what I hadn't done before: be honest and not ask for anything in return.

"I know you don't owe me anything, and I know I don't deserve to ask, but... is she okay?" 

The question hung in the air, a raw and honest plea.

He looked at me for a long time, his expression unreadable. I braced myself for the anger, for the biting words I knew he had every right to say. Instead, he just sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

"She's... doing her thing," he said. The answer wasn't a slam of a door, just the simple truth of a protective older brother who wasn't going to give me more than he had to.

"Is she happy?" I asked, pushing my luck.

"She's working. She's writing," he said, his voice a little softer. "That's how she gets through things. You know that."

A small, painful smile touched my lips. 

I did. 

I had forgotten, in my own self-absorbed grief, that Billie had her own ways of healing. 

She was a creator, someone who took her pain and turned it into art.

"I just wanted to know she was alright," I said, the words heavy with sincerity. "I'm not trying to... I'm not looking for anything. I just needed to know she was safe."

He finally broke his gaze from mine and looked down at the book in his hands. He took a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was so low I almost didn't hear him. 

"She's better now, Stella. She's moving on."

It was a finality, a gentle but firm closing of a door. He wasn't giving me hope. He was telling me that she was alright, and that my part in her story was over. And for some reason, hearing it from him, the one who had wanted me gone from the beginning, felt like the purest kind of closure.

I nodded, the ache in my chest familiar but manageable. 

"That's good," I said, my voice steady. "I'm glad."

Finneas gave me a curt nod, a subtle acknowledgment of the truth in my words. 

The interaction was a sharp, clean cut. It didn't fix the hole in my chest, but it stopped the bleeding. 

The pain was a familiar weight, but it was mine now.