Chapter 5 Some Versions of Love Are Cages

The polaroid sat on her desk like it had always been there.

Elara hadn't moved it.

She couldn't.

Her fingers hovered over it, but something in her refused to touch it again-like if she did, she'd be pulled straight back into the version of herself that had loved Atlas Calloway without question.

Without hesitation.

Without realizing she was slowly being erased.

The texts were gone now. Deleted. Just like before.

But the damage had already been done.

Because now, she couldn't tell if she was actually being haunted...

Or if she was haunting herself.

###Ghosts Don't Knock, But He Did

The next morning, Elara barely spoke to Mia as they got ready. Her roommate had stumbled in sometime after midnight, too exhausted to ask questions.

Now, as Elara shoved books into her bag, her hands still felt unsteady.

"You look like you saw something you weren't supposed to," Mia muttered, biting into a protein bar.

Elara forced a half-smile. "What does that even mean?"

Mia shrugged. "You've got that I made eye contact with the void energy today."

Elara swallowed hard, not responding.

Because maybe she had.

She glanced at the mirror again, where the polaroid had been. It was gone now. She had shoved it into a drawer, out of sight.

But not out of mind.

"Hey." Mia's voice was softer now. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

Elara hesitated.

She wanted to tell her everything. The texts. The photos. The messages that disappeared before anyone else could see them.

But what if she sounded insane?

What if she was insane?

So instead, she forced another weak smile and grabbed her jacket.

"I'm fine," she lied.

Mia didn't look convinced.

And for the first time, Elara wondered if she was still a good liar, or if Atlas had taken that from her, too.

###A Familiar Kind of Wrong

Campus was loud, busy.

Elara moved through the halls like she was borrowing space instead of existing in it.

When she reached the art studio, she hesitated before stepping inside.

She didn't know why she kept coming back here.

Maybe because it was the only place where she wasn't being watched.

Or at least, that's what she thought.

Because the second she walked in, she felt it again.

That nagging feeling of being observed. Measured.

And then-

"Elara."

She froze.

That voice.

No.

She turned, her stomach plummeting.

Atlas Calloway stood just inside the doorway.

Looking at her like he had never lost her at all.

###The Versions He Wanted Me to Be (Flashback: 1 Year Ago)

"I just want you to be better," Atlas had murmured, brushing his fingers over her cheek.

Elara had been crying again, and she didn't even remember why.

"Better?" she had whispered.

"For yourself," he had said. But then, softer-"And for me."

The Present Collides with the Past

Elara's pulse roared in her ears.

Atlas was here.

Here.

Like he belonged.

Like he hadn't spent months tearing her down and calling it love.

Like he hadn't rewritten her memories so many times that she wasn't sure which ones were real anymore.

She couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

He stepped closer, his voice soft. "Elara."

Her name sounded too familiar on his lips.

Like a song she used to love but now only remembered in pieces.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice came out too quiet.

Atlas tilted his head slightly, his smile easy. "I was in town. Thought I'd stop by."

Stop by. Like this was normal. Like they were normal.

Like he hadn't sent those messages.

Or had he?

Because looking at him now, standing so effortlessly in her world again, she realized something.

He looked...untouched.

Unbothered.

Like he had never been the one sending texts in the middle of the night.

Like he had never slipped polaroids onto her desk.

Like he wasn't even aware of how badly he had broken her.

Or maybe he was.

Maybe that was the worst part.

"Elara." His voice was gentle, coaxing. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Her stomach twisted.

Because wasn't that how it always started?

Soft words. A tilted smile. An invitation to rewrite reality.

To pull her back in.

And the worst part?

A part of her still wanted to go.

###Not Everyone Wants to Save You

"Elara?"

Aiden's voice snapped her back into herself like a slap.

She turned, pulse still erratic.

Aiden was standing near the window, sketchbook in hand, watching the entire interaction.

Atlas followed her gaze, his expression unreadable.

And then he smiled.

It was small. Amused. Like he knew something she didn't.

Elara didn't like it.

Aiden's dark eyes flicked from her to Atlas, then back again.

"Elara," he said again, but this time, there was a question hidden in the syllables.

Like he was asking: Are you okay?

Like he was asking: Do you need saving?

And she didn't know how to answer that.

Because maybe the worst thing about being broken was realizing-

Not everyone who sees the cracks wants to put you back together.

###The Cages We Build Ourselves

Atlas didn't stay long.

A few more soft words. A casual mention of grabbing coffee soon.

Like this was casual.

Like she would say yes.

And the terrifying thing?

She almost had.

When he finally walked away, the tension in her chest didn't ease.

She turned toward Aiden, expecting a question.

Expecting judgment.

Instead, he just flipped a page in his sketchbook and said, "I was wrong."

Elara frowned. "What?"

Aiden met her gaze, his expression as steady as always.

"I thought you looked like a ghost," he said, tapping his pencil against the page.

"But I was wrong."

He held up the sketch.

And Elara felt her breath catch.

Because in this drawing, she wasn't a ghost.

She was a cage.

Trapped within the lines of herself.

Looking for a way out.

Aiden studied her, then asked, voice quiet-

"Are you going to let him lock you in again?"

Elara's throat tightened.

She didn't know how to answer that.

Because if Atlas could walk through the door so easily...

Maybe he had never really left at all.