Page 38 of Our Little Moments

Chapter 15

Stella

After hanging up with Derek yesterday, there’s something I haven’t been able to shake off. I had a notebook when I was a teenager where I wrote all my song ideas. I never threw it away.

Now . . . I’m wondering if I have it with me. I spent all day thinking about where I could have put it—if I still have it—and trying to remember what I wrote in it.

I brought everything here in a hurry, not thinking twice as to what to bring to Westwood Spring. I dumped everything in my drawers into my suitcase. Which means that, if I didn’t lose it, my notebook should behere.

With me.

It was a really small one because I wanted to be able to carry it everywhere with me in case I needed it. I smile when I remember the little blue clouds and violet music notes on the cover. I loved that notebook. It was my entire life when I was a teenager.

It takes me an hour to unpack everything because I refuse to have a mess to clean up after. I organized everything once, I don’t want to do it again. Call me a neat freak, I don’t care.

. . . And I can’t find it.

You haven’t used it in ages, it’s probably in the trash somewhere.

You’re too sentimental to have thrown it away.

It’s back in the city, dumbass.

Maybe it’s hidden in a bag somewhere.

Who hides a notebook? If you can’t find it, it’s gone.

You didn’t want anyone to find it, so it probably wasn’t in plain sight.

Anybody that hides something from plain sight shouldn’t want to find that said thing.

I sigh heavily and start opening the smaller bags I threw in my suitcase.

My eyes land on a small bag with clouds and music notes. My heart stops.

When I moved out to go train at the tournament, I put everything that had a sentimental meaning from my childhood in that bag. Obviously, I couldn’t put a piano in there, but I took a picture of it and many other things to put in that bag.And I put my notebook there.

With shaking hands, I open the small bag. Emotion clogs my throat as I look at each picture.

The piano in the forest.

Me, singing as I played.

My bedroom back at my parents’ house, full of endless notes for singing and polaroid pictures.

Me, smiling.

I grin as I hold the pictures. I remember taking them because I . . . wanted the reminder of what joy could be like. That it wasn’tallabout the big accomplishments, but finding happiness in the smaller moments.

And now that I look at those pictures . . . I wish I had remembered. IwishI had listened to my younger self and followed my heart.But I didn’t.

I see it now, that being in the tournament stopped making me happy. I don’t know anymore if it ever did or if I caved under pressure. But, at the same time, I don’t want to let those years of hard work and sacrifice go to waste.

But you’re not there right now, Stella. You have a choice.

You can’t leave your life behind! You worked so hard for it!

You can build a new life where you’ll be happy.

---