Page 332 of Eternal
I look at her, breathless from laughing, completely lost in how beautiful she looks with the beach behind her. “That was terrible.”That was perfect.
“Birthdays suck anyway.”
She grabs her burrito again like nothing happened, like she didn’t crack open a part of my chest I didn’t know was still soft.
I lean in a little, close enough for her to feel how obsessed I am with her soul. “We’re doing something for yours.”
“You’re gonna forget.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
I shake my head. “Yours isdifferent.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, she simply stares ahead, the waves crashing in the distance. Her voice is quiet when it finally comes, “Okay.” She leans back beside me, half-wrapped in my jacket, the foil of her burrito rustling faintly as she shifts. Her head’s tilted toward the stars, hair moving in the wind, face half in shadow. Curls soft, eyes soft, gaze empty.
I can't stop looking at her.
There’s this feeling in my chest, like I want to reach inside myself and hand her whatever’s left.
Here. It’s not much, it’s ugly and probably not safe, but it’s yours.
She doesn’t know how soft she makes me, or maybe she does. Maybe she’s only pretending not to know, because that makes it easier to ignore.
Her birthday’s next month.
And I’m already thinking of ways to make it matter, ways to make her feel like someone cares, even if it’s me, even if I’m the last person who should.
We finish the burrito, the foil tossed aside on the blanket. The ocean hums behind us, steady and endless. She’s lying next to me, close but quiet, eyes fixed on the stars like they’re talking to her.
I break the silence. “How do you call them? The stars. You said you and your mom used to name them.”
She shrugs, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah it was a little game. I loved drawing them and putting the names just under.”
I watch her for a second, the way she goes quiet like that, like she’s ashamed. “Why?”
She turns her head, finally looking at me, her voice is flat when she talks. “Because they told me I didn’t deserve to see the real ones. So I drew my own. When I was a kid, I mean.”
It knocks the breath out of me, even though I should’ve seen it coming.
I’d seen the drawings in her room before, stars on the ceiling, tiny names in ink underneath. I never asked, never understood.
“You still do it,” I say, quieter now.
She nods. “Yeah. I don’t know. I think it’s just me and little me still... holding on to something. Like we’re doing it together now.”
I want to say something, anything. That it’s not fair, that they were wrong, that she deserved better than whatever that house gave her. But the words feel small in my mouth, so I reach for her hand instead, and she lets me take it. Her skin’s warm, fingers twitching a little when I squeeze.
“That one,” I say, pointing at a smaller star off to the right. “That’s a Sara.”
She huffs a tiny laugh. “Who’s Sara?”
“No clue. First name that came to mind.”
Liar, the first name that came to your mind was Azra.
She turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised.
