Page 1 of Our Little Moments

Chapter 1

Stella

When I open my eyes, I wish I were still dreaming.

The sunlight barely peaks through my blinds, casting a dim glow that only seems to make everything feel . . . lifeless.

I can’t shake the hollow feeling in my chest; I haven’t been able to get rid of it since that night.

Sighing, I get up from my bed and stare.

And stare.

And stare some more.

Derek’s home flashes through my mind. He loves competing in magical tournaments just as much as I do, maybe even more so. It’s why we became friends in the first place. We wanted to help each other become better, learn to fight, and control our magic.

His house is all gray—gray walls, gray bed, gray curtains. Even though his house is monochrome, it’s full of, well . . . him. There are trophies and posters of his victories amongst the constant gray.

It’s a place where his life is written in every corner.

My apartment, on the other hand, feels empty. Like I’m living in a stranger’s house.

A stranger’s life.

I push the thought away because it’s a ridiculous concept. I chose this life.

I fought . . .

I can’t finish the sentence when my throat starts closing up, choking on the words.

It’s fine, Stella.

You’ll get your powers back and your life will go back to the way it was.

It’s just a minor setback.

An incessant pounding starts in my head as my thoughts become a jumbled mess.

What if my life as I know it is fading away? What if I have to start all over again?

The thought sends shivers down my spine.

I can’t start over. I finally succeeded.

I haven’t sacrificed every second of every single day since I was sixteen just to lose it all on a random Thursday night.

Still, the doubt is a lingering whisper I can’t ignore.

Don’t worry, you’ll get your life back soon. Then everything else will get back on track.

Walking to the front door, I make sure everything is in order: the kitchen is clean, the fridge is stocked, my bed is made, and my desk is in order.

But even that doesn’t make a smile creep up. I’ve always needed everything to be organized, otherwise, I’m uneasy the whole day.

I grab my keys, step out, and look back at my home. I can’t shake the thought that everything feels wrong—like I forgot to hang a coat or turn off the oven or throw the trash out.

Sighing again, I leave my apartment, yearning for a spark of hope.

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