Chapter 3 A Friend and A Lover

Grief

The usually vibrant energy in the dorm room had all but vanished. Jane sat curled up on her bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her face buried in a blanket. The light from the window illuminated the disarray around her-books stacked haphazardly, clothes tossed carelessly on the floor, and her once-pristine piano now coated in dust.

Abigail hesitated in the doorway, clutching a tray with tea and a small sandwich. She'd lost count of how many times she'd tried to reach Jane in the past few days, only to be met with silence or sharp words. But today, the weight in her chest was unbearable, and she had to try again.

"Jane," Abigail said softly, stepping into the room. "I brought you something to eat."

Jane didn't move.

Undeterred, Abigail set the tray on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed. "You haven't eaten much lately. You need to keep your strength up."

Jane's head snapped up, her face pale and blotchy from days of crying. "I don't need you to take care of me, Abigail," she said, her voice cutting like glass. "Just... stop hovering!"

Abigail flinched, but she didn't retreat. "I'm not trying to hover," she said gently. "I just... I want to help you."

"Well, you can't," Jane snapped, her voice breaking on the last word. She turned away, clutching the blanket tighter. "No one can."

Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating. Abigail sat there, staring at her friend's trembling shoulders, her own heart aching.

"You don't have to talk to me," Abigail whispered, her voice trembling. "But please, Jane, don't push me away. I'm here for you."

Jane didn't respond.

Later that evening, Abigail found herself sitting at her desk, her journal open before her but the pages blank. The pen in her hand hovered over the paper, unable to capture the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

She glanced at Jane's side of the room. The bed was empty now-Jane had slipped out without a word, retreating somewhere Abigail couldn't follow.

Her mind drifted to memories of Jane before the tragedy: her bright laughter that once lit up the dorm, her quick wit and playful teasing, the way her fingers danced effortlessly across the piano keys. Jane had been a force of nature, always pulling Abigail out of her own head and into the present.

But now, that light was gone.

Abigail sighed, resting her chin on her hand. She felt powerless, like she was watching her best friend drift further and further away, caught in a current she couldn't fight.

"I miss you, Jane," she whispered to the empty room.

Her gaze fell to the violin propped in the corner. The gift that had once filled her with joy now felt like a hollow reminder of a celebration that had ended in heartbreak.

For the first time in years, Abigail didn't know how to reach someone she cared about. And it hurt more than she thought possible.

The cold wind bit at Abigail's cheeks as she pushed open the heavy metal door leading to the school rooftop. The clang of the door echoed behind her, swallowed by the vast openness of the sky. She stepped onto the concrete, her footsteps hesitant, her breath clouding in the crisp air.

The rooftop had always been her sanctuary-a place to escape when the world felt too heavy. Below, the school grounds buzzed faintly with life: the chatter of students, the scrape of chairs against desks, the distant laughter from a group near the cafeteria. But up here, it was quiet.

Abigail walked to the edge, resting her hands on the cool metal railing. She looked out at the horizon, where the sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. The beauty of it felt like a cruel contrast to the ache in her chest.

Her thoughts spiralled as she gripped the railing tighter. Jane's hollow stares and sharp words replayed in her mind, each one a dagger to her already bruised heart. She had tried everything-words, gestures, even just sitting in silence-but nothing seemed to break through.

"I'm losing her," Abigail whispered to the wind.

The admission made her chest tighten. It wasn't just about Jane; it was everything. The helplessness she felt now mirrored the pain she'd buried deep within herself-the pain of losing her mother, the sting of her father walking away.

She closed her eyes, the memories rising unbidden. Her mother's laughter, warm and melodic, fading into the sterile quiet of a hospital room. Her father's promises; a source of comfort, turning to empty chorus, a voiceless melody as the door closed behind him for the last time.

"I should've been enough," she murmured, her voice cracking. "Why wasn't I enough for him to stay?"

The tears came before she could stop them, hot and relentless. She sank to the ground, her back against the railing, her knees pulled to her chest. Her shoulders shook as sobs wracked her body, years of grief and frustration pouring out in waves.

"I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't keep losing people."

The wind carried her words away, leaving her alone with her sorrow.

"Abigail?"

The voice startled her, and she looked up, hastily wiping at her cheeks. Ethan stood a few feet away, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading light. His expression was soft, concerned, as though he could feel the weight of her pain.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said gently, stepping closer. "But I think I already know."

Abigail turned her face away, embarrassed by her tears. "I just needed some space. I didn't expect anyone else to come up here."

Ethan sat down beside her, not too close, giving her room to breathe. "I've been coming up here for years," he said. "It's the best place to think."

She let out a shaky laugh. "Or cry."

He smiled faintly. "Yeah. That too."

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet between them comforting rather than awkward. Then Ethan spoke, his voice low and steady.

"You're carrying a lot, aren't you?"

Abigail's throat tightened, but she nodded. "It's Jane," she said finally. "She's hurting so much, and I don't know how to help her. Every time I try, she pushes me away. And... it reminds me of..." She trailed off, unable to finish.

Ethan's gaze didn't waver. "It reminds you of your own pain," he said softly.

She swallowed hard, nodding again. "My mom... my dad... It's like everything I tried to bury is bubbling up again. And I feel so... so useless."

Ethan's hand rested on the concrete between them, close but not touching hers. "You're not useless, Abigail. You care. That's more than a lot of people can say."

She sniffled, her hands shaking. "It doesn't feel like enough."

"It is," he said firmly. "Jane knows you're there, even if she can't show it right now. And you're stronger than you think."

Abigail looked at him, her eyes searching his face for some proof that he wasn't just saying it to make her feel better. His expression was open, sincere.

"Do you remember the rose I drew for you?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

She blinked, caught off guard by the shift. "Yes. And those strange symbols around it."

He smiled faintly. "They're not random. It's a forgotten language I came across while researching for a poem. The symbols spell out something I wanted to tell you."

Her curiosity piqued despite her tears. "What does it say?"

Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I wrote it down. It's a short poem, but it's about you."

He unfolded the paper, his voice steady as he read:

"Through storms, you've stood, unyielding and true,

A beacon of strength in skies once blue.

Though shadows may whisper, and doubts may creep,

Your spirit shines bright, a soul to keep."

Abigail's chest ached at the words, their meaning sinking deep into her.

Ethan looked at her, his eyes kind. "You don't have to carry everything on your own, Abigail. You're stronger than you know, but even the strongest people need support sometimes."

Her tears started again, but this time, they felt lighter, as though some of the weight had been lifted. Ethan reached out hesitantly, wrapping her in a gentle hug.

She leaned into him, the warmth of his embrace grounding her in a way she hadn't felt in years.

"Thank you," she whispered.

When they finally pulled apart, she felt steadier, like the cracks in her resolve had been patched up, if only temporarily.

"I need to go to Jane," she said, her voice firmer now.

Ethan smiled. "She needs you. And you've got this."

Abigail stood outside the dorm room door, her fingers hovering over the handle. Her heart was racing, but this time, it wasn't from fear or uncertainty. It was from determination-that had been rekindled on the rooftop.

She took a deep breath, Ethan's words, clear in her mind. She needs you. And you've got this.

Turning the handle, Abigail stepped inside. The room was dim, the curtains drawn even though the sun had barely set. Jane was on her bed, curled into a ball, her back to the door.

She crossed the room quietly, sinking into the chair beside Jane's bed. For a moment, she said nothing, letting the silence settle around them like a fragile thread.

"Jane," Abigail said softly, her voice steady but full of emotion. "I know you don't want to talk right now, and that's okay. I just need you to hear me."

Jane didn't move, but her sobs quieted slightly, her breathing hitching as she tried to compose herself.

"I don't know what to say or do to make things better," Abigail admitted, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "And maybe there's nothing I can say or do. But I need you to know that I'm here. Even if you push me away. Even if you feel like I don't understand. I'm not going anywhere."

Jane shifted slightly, her head turning just enough that Abigail could see the tear-streaked side of her face. Her eyes were puffy, her expression guarded but curious.

"It's okay to feel broken," Abigail continued, her voice softening. "It's okay to cry and scream and feel like the world is falling apart. You have every right to feel that way. But Jane..." She reached out, her hand hovering near her friend's shoulder before gently resting there. "You're not broken beyond repair. You don't need fixing. You're allowed to feel sad, angry, or whatever else comes up. And when you're ready, I'll be right here to hold you through it."

Jane's lip quivered, her guarded expression crumbling as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Abigail's hand stayed on her shoulder, firm and reassuring.

"I feel like I'm drowning," Jane whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

Abigail moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Then I'll be the one to hold you up," she said simply. "You don't have to face this alone. I won't let you."

For a long moment, Jane didn't respond. She stared at the wall, her tears soaking into the pillow. But then, slowly, she shifted, sitting up and leaning into Abigail. Her head rested on Abigail's shoulder; her breaths uneven but calming.

Abigail wrapped an arm around her, holding her tightly. She didn't try to offer platitudes or force optimism. She just held her, letting Jane's grief fill the space between them without judgment.

"Thank you," Jane whispered after a while, her voice barely more than a breath.

Abigail pressed her cheek against Jane's hair, her own tears slipping down her face. "You don't have to thank me," she murmured. "I'm your friend. That's what I'm here for."

The two sat there for what felt like hours, unspoken words hanging in the air. Jane didn't say much, but her leaning into Abigail was enough. It was a small sign of gratitude, that Abigail's presence mattered.

For the first time since Andrew's death, there was a sense that the walls Jane had built around herself might one day come down.

Love Triangle

Dear Diary,

It's been a week. No notes, no poems. Just silence.

Jane and her family left three days ago for Andrew's burial. She texted me once-just a short "We're here"-and nothing since. I don't blame her. She needs space. But I feel so... disconnected.

Exams are in less than two months, and I can't stop panicking. Every time I try to focus on studying, my mind wanders to Jane, to Andrew, to... everything else. I'm not ready for any of it.

And then there's Ethan.

We've been talking a lot lately. More than I ever thought we would. He's kind, patient, and he has this way of saying the exact thing I need to hear. It's comforting, but it's confusing too. I can't let myself feel anything for him-not when Jane has always liked him. It wouldn't be right.

But sometimes, I catch myself hoping.

I hate that part of me, Diary. The part that wonders. The part that dreams of something I know I can't have.

-Abigail

Abigail closed the journal, running her fingers over the worn blue cover. She placed it on her desk, staring at the blank wall ahead. The silence in the dorm felt heavier than usual, the absence of Jane's voice and laughter almost unbearable.

The past week had been a blur of restless nights and half-hearted attempts at studying. The mounting pressure of exams only amplified her anxiety, and the lack of a new note from her mystery admirer left her feeling strangely hollow.

She sighed, pulling her textbook closer. The words on the page blurred together, her focus slipping like sand through her fingers.

A knock at the door startled her. Abigail looked up, her heart skipping a beat.

"Come in," she called.

The door creaked open, and Ethan stepped inside, his familiar calm presence filling the room. He held two steaming cups of tea, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I figured you could use a break," he said, setting one of the cups on her desk.

Abigail managed a weak smile. "Thanks. I'm not getting much done anyway."

Ethan pulled up a chair, sitting across from her. "You've been quiet lately. Everything okay?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the cup. "It's just... a lot. Jane's gone, exams are coming, and I feel like I'm falling behind in everything."

Ethan nodded, his gaze steady. "You've got a lot on your plate. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."

His words, simple as they were, made her chest tighten. She looked down at the tea, her reflection rippling in the surface. "I just wish I could do more," she admitted. "For Jane, for school, for... I don't know. Everything."

Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're doing more than you realize, Abigail. Just being there for Jane means more than you think. And as for exams..." He grinned slightly. "You've got this. I know you do."

She laughed softly, the sound surprising even herself. "You have a lot of faith in me."

"Of course I do," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged, electric. Abigail's heart raced, but she quickly looked away, the familiar pang of guilt creeping in.

"Jane really likes you, you know," she blurted out, her voice quieter than she intended.

Ethan blinked, his expression shifting. "Jane?"

She nodded, forcing a smile. "She's had a crush on you for ages. I just... thought you should know."

Ethan leaned back slightly, his brows furrowing. "Abigail..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Jane is... amazing. She really is. But I-"

Before he could finish, Abigail stood, cutting him off. "I should probably get back to studying," she said quickly, her voice tight.

Ethan watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, nodding. "Okay. But if you need anything, you know where to find me."

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. As the door clicked shut behind him, Abigail sank into her chair.

The familiar scent of chemicals and faintly singed paper hung in the air as Abigail took her seat. Around her, students settled into their desks, the usual hum of chatter filling the room. Abigail pulled out her notebook, her mind drifting as she twirled her pen between her fingers.

Miss Wilson stepped to the front of the room, her sharp, measured movements drawing the class's attention. "All right, everyone," she began, her voice calm yet commanding. "As you know, this week we're starting the crystal-growing practical. It's a two-part assignment that will require precision, patience, and collaboration."

There were groans from a few students, but Miss Wilson continued unfazed. "I've already paired you up, and your names are listed on the board. You'll need to plan your experiments carefully to observe measurable results by Monday."

As the students turned their attention to the board, Miss Wilson paused, her expression softening. "Before we dive in, I want to take a moment to talk about Jane. I know many of you are aware of her absence and the loss her family has experienced. This is a difficult time for her, and it's important that we support her when she returns. If any of you would like to write her a message of encouragement, I'll be collecting them by the end of the week."

The room grew quiet, the usual energy of the class muted. Abigail's chest tightened at the mention of Jane, her mind filling with the image of her best friend's tear-streaked face.

Miss Wilson's gaze swept over the class; her tone gentle but firm. "Sometimes, the best thing we can do is show kindness and understanding. Now, let's get started."

Abigail scanned the board as the names appeared, her breath catching when she saw her pairing:

Abigail Grey & Ethan Sanders

She glanced toward Ethan, who was already looking her way with a small, amused smile. "Looks like we're working together," he said, his tone light but warm.

"Guess so," Abigail replied, her cheeks warming slightly.

Around them, the other students were pairing off. Rachel leaned over to whisper something to her partner, while Liam sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on Miss Wilson as she explained the project's objectives. Abigail noticed the faint blush on Liam's cheeks whenever Miss Wilson glanced his way, and despite the tension in her own heart, she couldn't help but smile faintly at his obvious crush.

The bell rang, and Abigail gathered her things, trying to avoid the rush of students heading for the door. Ethan caught up with her as she reached the hallway, his easy smile disarming as always.

"So," he began, balancing his notebook against his hip, "about this crystal-growing thing. Got any ideas?"

Abigail shrugged, tucking her books under her arm. "Not really. I guess we'll need to look up the best methods for seed crystals and figure out a setup."

"Well," Ethan said thoughtfully, "my house isn't too far from here. It's quiet, and we'd have plenty of space to work. What do you think?"

She hesitated, the familiar guilt tugging at her. Spending time with Ethan felt like walking a tightrope-every moment made her feelings harder to ignore.

"That could work," she said finally.

"Great." His smile widened, his confidence bolstering her own. "We can grab the materials after school, and I'll meet you by the main gate tomorrow morning. Say, ten o'clock?"

"Sure," Abigail replied, her voice steadier now.

For a moment, they stood there in comfortable silence, the noise of the hallway fading into the background. Ethan tilted his head slightly, his eyes warm and searching. "You okay?"

"I will be," Abigail said, surprising herself with the honesty in her voice.

"Good." He nodded, his smile lingering as he stepped back. "See you tomorrow."

Abigail watched him walk away; her heart conflicted but steady. Despite her tangled emotions, she felt a flicker of anticipation for the weekend ahead.

The Crystals

Abigail's breath caught as Ethan's house came into view. No, house wasn't the right word-it was practically a mansion. Nestled behind tall wrought-iron gates, the sprawling estate rose like something out of a painting, its cream-colored walls framed by manicured hedges and a circular driveway large enough to park a dozen cars. The sheer size and grandeur were overwhelming.

"Welcome to my home," Ethan said with a small smile, holding the gate open as she stepped through.

Home. Abigail couldn't help but marvel at the understatement. She'd grown up in a modest house with creaky wooden floors and mismatched curtains-this felt like another world.

As they approached, the intricate double doors swung open, revealing a foyer that took her breath away. Polished marble floors reflected the light streaming through a massive crystal chandelier, and the air carried a faint hint of lavender and cedarwood. Abigail couldn't decide what to look at first: the sweeping staircase, the antique vases perched on pedestals, or the gilded mirror that seemed to double the room's size.

"Wow," she whispered, clutching the straps of her bag. "This is... something."

Ethan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "It's a bit much, isn't it?"

She glanced at him, surprised by his tone. "A bit much? Ethan, this is... it's beautiful."

"It's my parents' obsession," he said, gesturing to the walls lined with art. Oil paintings of landscapes and portraits hung alongside abstract pieces she couldn't quite decipher. "They're collectors. Travel the world, buy what catches their eye, then leave it here for the staff to dust."

His words were casual, but there was a note of bitterness that Abigail didn't miss.

"Where are they now?" she asked softly.

"Paris, I think. Or maybe Venice." He shrugged. "It's hard to keep track."

Abigail nodded, unsure how to respond. The grandeur of the house felt hollow now, like a beautifully wrapped present with nothing inside.

As they walked through the halls, Ethan introduced her to the art and sculptures with a quiet pride that didn't match his earlier indifference. "That's a Degas replica," he said, pointing to a statue of a ballerina mid-pirouette. "And this one's an original from a local artist my mom discovered."

Abigail found herself drawn to a painting of a serene forest, the sunlight breaking through the trees in a way that felt almost alive. "It's beautiful," she murmured, her fingers itching to touch the frame but stopping just short.

"Yeah," Ethan said, his voice softening. "It's one of my favorites too."

They continued their tour, passing rooms filled with plush furniture and bookshelves that reached the ceiling, until Ethan stopped in front of a door at the end of a long corridor.

"This," he said, pushing it open, "is the room we'll use."

Abigail stepped inside and froze. The space was unlike anything she'd imagined. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars and vials of colourful powders and crystals that sparkled under the soft glow of overhead lights. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the room, cluttered with beakers, pipettes, and trays of minerals. The air smelled faintly of earth and something metallic, like the promise of discovery.

"Wow," she said again, this time with genuine awe. "This is amazing."

Ethan grinned, clearly pleased with her reaction. "It's my dad's hobby lab. He's into geology-or was, before his focus shifted to rare art pieces. Most of this stuff just sits here unused, so I figured we could put it to good use."

Abigail walked over to the table, her fingers brushing the edge of a tray filled with tiny shards of quartz. "And you just... have this lying around?"

"Pretty much," Ethan said with a laugh. "But hey, it's perfect for our experiment. Crystal growing requires patience and precision, and this place has everything we need."

She smiled, feeling a rare spark of excitement. "Well, let's get started, Professor Sanders."

Ethan smirked, pulling out a pair of gloves from a nearby drawer and tossing them to her. "First lesson: don't touch the chemicals without these. Some of them can stain, and trust me, you don't want that on your hands."

As they began setting up their experiment, Abigail found herself relaxing in the quiet energy of the room. Ethan's focus and enthusiasm were contagious, and for the first time in days, she felt a flicker of contentment.

The house might have been enormous and intimidating, but here, in this room filled with crystals and quiet conversation, Abigail felt something unexpected: she felt at ease.

Abigail adjusted her gloves, trying not to let her awe show as she glanced around the lab. It felt like a secret tucked within the grandiosity of the house-a space dedicated to precision and creativity amid a sea of indulgence.

Ethan leaned over the table, arranging the materials with an efficiency that surprised her. His earlier casual demeanour gave way to a focus she hadn't seen before, and she couldn't help but admire the ease with which he moved, as if the room was an extension of him.

"So, first," Ethan began, sliding a jar of fine white powder toward her, "we dissolve the alum in water. The trick is to heat the water enough to make it supersaturated but not so much that it boils over."

Abigail raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Supersaturated? Is that just a fancy way of saying 'extra salty'?"

Ethan laughed, his smile breaking the seriousness of the moment. "Something like that. But trust me, it's a lot cooler than it sounds. Watch."

He demonstrated, carefully pouring the powder into a beaker of steaming water. The solution swirled, catching the overhead lights and shimmering like liquid silver. Abigail leaned closer, her curiosity piqued.

"You're kind of good at this," she admitted, tilting her head. "Is this what you do for fun?"

"Maybe," Ethan said with a shrug, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. "I like experiments. There's something satisfying about taking raw materials and turning them into something beautiful."

She watched as he stirred the mixture with a glass rod, his expression thoughtful. There was a calmness in his movements, a quiet confidence that made her wonder how much of Ethan she truly knew.

When it was her turn, Abigail hesitated. "You're sure I won't mess this up?"

Ethan smiled, his tone encouraging. "You'll do fine. Just remember: steady hands and a little patience."

As she followed his instructions, she found herself relaxing into the process. The soft clinking of glass against glass, the faint warmth of the beaker in her hands, and Ethan's calm voice guiding her-all of it combined into something unexpectedly soothing.

"So," she said after a moment, "is this your dad's way of leaving a piece of himself here? This lab?"

Ethan glanced up, surprised by the question. "I guess you could say that. My dad has a way of... collecting hobbies. This was one of his phases. He used to talk about how crystals were nature's art. But now?" He shrugged, his smile faint. "It's just another room in a big, empty house."

Abigail nodded, sensing the undercurrent of loneliness in his words. "Still, it's pretty amazing. I mean, most people wouldn't have something like this just lying around."

Ethan's grin returned, lighter this time. "True. But it's even better when it's actually used."

As they set their jars aside to cool and begin crystallizing, Ethan leaned back, gesturing to a nearby shelf. "See those?" he asked, pointing to a series of jars filled with glittering structures in various colours.

"Those are crystals you grew?" Abigail asked, her voice tinged with awe.

"Yeah. It's kind of addicting once you start."

She studied him for a moment, the easy way he spoke, the spark in his eyes. He was more than the quiet, observant classmate she'd always thought he was. There was depth here-a passion she hadn't noticed before.

"Maybe you're not as boring as I thought, Sanders," she said, teasing but genuine.

He laughed, leaning against the table. "And maybe you're not as intimidating as everyone says."

The comment caught her off guard, and she blinked. "Intimidating?"

"Yeah," Ethan said, meeting her gaze. "You have this way of carrying yourself, like nothing can touch you. But here? You seem... different."

Abigail's breath hitched, but she quickly recovered, smirking. "Don't get used to it. I'm still way out of your league."

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head. "Noted."

As they cleaned up the table, the air between them felt lighter, more familiar. Abigail couldn't help but feel a small tug of something unspoken-a connection she hadn't expected.

And as she stepped out of the lab, glancing back at the sparkling jars they'd left behind, she couldn't help but wonder what else Ethan might surprise her with.

A Weekend to Remember

Abigail stood at the doorway of the guest room Ethan had shown her to, her mouth slightly ajar as she took in the sight. The room was nearly as grand as the rest of the house, with a four-poster bed draped in white linens, a plush armchair by the window, and a vanity adorned with intricate carvings. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, and a pair of French doors opened onto a small balcony overlooking the manicured gardens.

"Hope this is okay," Ethan said, his hands shoved into his pockets. "It's one of the smaller rooms."

Abigail turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "This is small?"

He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah. You should see the master suite."

She shook her head in disbelief, stepping further into the room. It felt surreal, like she'd stepped into a fairy tale. "It's more than okay, Ethan. Thank you."

A soft knock interrupted them, and a maid entered, her uniform crisp and her demeanor polished. "Miss Abigail, my name is Clara. I'll be assisting you during your stay."

"Assisting me?" Abigail echoed, feeling out of her depth.

Clara smiled kindly. "Yes, miss. Shall I prepare your bath?"

Ethan smirked, clearly amused by her wide-eyed reaction. "Don't worry. Clara's the best."

Before Abigail could respond, Clara gestured toward an adjoining door. "This way, miss."

Abigail shot Ethan a look that said Seriously? but he just waved her off, disappearing down the hall.

The bathroom was as lavish as the bedroom, with marble countertops, gold fixtures, and a clawfoot tub that looked big enough to swim in. Abigail sank into the warm, fragrant water Clara had drawn for her, letting the tension of the day melt away. She couldn't help but feel like a princess in a storybook, pampered and cared for in a way she'd never experienced.

By the time she returned to her room, wrapped in a soft robe Clara had laid out, dinner was waiting for her on the small table by the window. It was a beautifully arranged tray with a steaming bowl of soup, a plate of fresh bread, and a glass of sparkling water.

"Is there anything else you need, miss?" Clara asked, hovering by the door.

"No, this is perfect. Thank you," Abigail said, her voice soft.

Clara nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Later that evening, Ethan knocked on her door. He stood there holding two steaming mugs, his expression easygoing but thoughtful. "I figured you might want some tea," he said.

Abigail accepted the mug, her fingers brushing his briefly. "Thanks. You didn't have to."

He shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "I figured you might be overwhelmed. This house can be... a lot."

She smiled, taking a sip of the tea. It was chamomile, warm and soothing. "That's one way to put it. I feel like I've stepped into another world."

Ethan hesitated for a moment, then said, "It doesn't always feel like that when you live here. Sometimes it just feels... empty."

Abigail glanced up at him, her smile fading. There was a vulnerability in his voice that caught her off guard. "Empty?"

He nodded, his gaze drifting past her to the room behind her. "My parents are always away, chasing their next big find. They send postcards, call once in a while, but... it's not the same. The staff keeps the place running, but it's not really a home, you know?"

Abigail felt a pang in her chest, his words hitting closer to home than she cared to admit. She wanted to say something, to share her own experiences with loneliness and abandonment, but the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she said softly, "That sounds... hard."

Ethan gave her a small smile, his usual bravado slipping for a moment. "It is, sometimes. But hey, at least I've got company for the weekend, right?"

She chuckled, appreciating his effort to lighten the mood. "Right."

As he pushed off the doorframe and started to leave, he paused and glanced back. "If you need anything, I'm just down the hall."

"Thanks, Ethan," she said, her voice sincere.

When the door closed behind him, Abigail sat on the edge of the bed, the mug of tea warming her hands. His words lingered in her mind, stirring something deep within her. For the first time, she realized they weren't so different. Behind the grand walls of his mansion and the barriers she'd built around herself, they were both just two people trying to navigate a world that often felt too big and too empty.

And in that quiet moment, she allowed herself to feel something unexpected-a flicker of connection, fragile but undeniable.

Saturday Morning: The Garden and the Confession

Abigail woke early, sunlight streaming through the delicate lace curtains of her guest room. The stillness of the house was almost soothing, a rare moment of peace that she wasn't accustomed to. She reached for her journal, tucked safely in her bag, and settled into the armchair by the window.

The words flowed easily as she recounted the events of the previous day: Ethan's grand house, the crystal experiment, the quiet tea he'd brought her, and the way his voice had softened when he spoke about loneliness.

But as her pen moved across the page, her writing shifted. Abigail admitted to herself something she hadn't dared say out loud: Ethan made her feel seen. Not as the girl with the perfect face or the high school wallflower trying to stay out of the spotlight, but as someone worth knowing. She scribbled the thought quickly, almost as if putting it on paper would make it too real.

I think I'm starting to like him.

Her hand paused, hovering over the page. Then she closed the journal, sliding it back into her bag.

A soft knock on her door startled her. Ethan's voice followed, cheerful and inviting. "Abigail? You awake? I want to show you something."

She opened the door to find him dressed casually in jeans and a light sweater, a playful grin on his face. "Hope you're up for a little walk."

Curious, she nodded, following him down the grand staircase and through the sprawling halls. Ethan led her out the back door into a garden that looked like it belonged in a storybook.

Flowers of every color bloomed in neat beds, their petals glistening with dew. Roses climbed trellises, hydrangeas formed pastel clouds along the paths, and lilacs added their sweet scent to the morning air.

"This is incredible," Abigail said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's my mom's garden," Ethan said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She's not here much, but this is her pride and joy. I thought you might like it."

She turned to him, her heart warming at the thoughtfulness of his gesture. "I do. Thank you for showing me."

They strolled through the garden, stopping occasionally for Ethan to name a flower or share a memory tied to the space. As they rounded a corner, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

"I, uh, wrote something," he said, suddenly looking bashful. "Thought you might like it."

Abigail took the paper, unfolding it carefully. It was a poem, written in elegant, looping handwriting.

In a garden full of blossoms,

One bloom stands apart.

A quiet strength, a gentle grace,

A beauty born of heart.

Her breath caught as she read further. The words were simple yet poignant, echoing sentiments that felt almost... familiar. She glanced at Ethan, who was watching her nervously, and her heart began to race.

"This... this handwriting," she said slowly, her gaze dropping back to the poem. "It looks just like the letters I've been getting."

Ethan's eyes widened slightly before he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was wondering when you'd figure it out."

Abigail stared at him, her emotions swirling-confusion, surprise, and something else she couldn't quite name. "You wrote those?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I wanted to tell you, but I wasn't sure how. It started as a way to express how I felt without putting you on the spot, but... well, here we are."

Her heart thudded in her chest as the weight of his words sank in. "Ethan, I-"

He held up a hand, stopping her. "Before you say anything, I need to be honest about something else. I know Jane likes me. A lot. And I don't want to hurt her."

Abigail felt her stomach twist. The reality of the situation hit her like a wave. Jane, her closest friend, had been open about her crush on Ethan, and now here he was, confessing feelings for her.

"I don't want to come between you and your friend," Ethan continued, his voice quiet. "But I can't pretend I don't feel something for you. So... if you feel the same, we need to figure this out. Together."

Abigail looked away, her mind racing. Ethan's confession stirred something deep inside her, something undeniable. But the thought of Jane, of her laughter and the way her face lit up whenever Ethan's name was mentioned, made her chest ache with guilt.

"I... I don't know," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan stepped closer, his expression gentle. "Take your time, Abigail. I just needed you to know how I feel."

As they stood there in the garden, surrounded by blooming flowers and unspoken emotions, Abigail realized that this was a moment that could change everything-her friendship, her heart, and maybe even herself.

Monday Morning: The Crystal Success

The morning began with Abigail and Ethan presenting their crystals in chemistry class. The teacher, clearly impressed, held up their carefully formed specimens for the class to admire.

"Excellent work, you two," Miss Wilson said, her eyes gleaming with approval. "This level of precision is rare. You've set the bar high."

Abigail managed a small smile, though her thoughts were elsewhere. Ethan's confession lingered in her mind, and every glance they exchanged felt heavy with unspoken words.

The rest of the school day passed in a blur. Abigail felt disconnected, as though she were walking through someone else's life. She caught herself glancing at Ethan more than usual, wondering how things might shift if Jane confessed her feelings for him.

Monday Evening: Jane's Return

Abigail was in her room, staring blankly at her open journal, when she heard a knock on the door. She opened it to find Jane standing there, her expression softer than Abigail expected.

"Jane!" Abigail exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. "You're back."

Jane hugged her tightly, the warmth in her embrace surprising Abigail. When they pulled apart, Abigail noticed something different about her friend. Jane looked tired, yes, but there was a spark in her eyes-a quiet determination that hadn't been there before.

"How are you?" Abigail asked tentatively.

Jane offered a small, bittersweet smile. "Better. It was hard, but it gave me perspective. My brother's death... it made me realize how fragile life is. One moment, he was there, laughing and planning his future. The next..." She trailed off, taking a shaky breath before continuing. "It made me see that I can't wait around. If there's something I want to do, I have to do it. Now."

Abigail nodded, her throat tightening. "I'm glad you're finding strength in this."

Jane reached for her bag, pulling out a small keepsake-an old photo of her and her brother as children. "He always told me to go for what I wanted, to be fearless." She set the photo on Abigail's desk before turning to her with an expression that made Abigail's heart sink.

"I've decided," Jane said, her voice steady. "I'm going to tell Ethan how I feel about him."

The words hit Abigail like a punch to the gut. "What?" she managed to whisper.

Jane's face lit up, more animated now than Abigail had seen her in weeks. "It's time, Abigail. Life is too short to keep things bottled up. I've liked Ethan for so long, and if I don't tell him now, I might never get the chance. What's the worst that could happen? He says no? At least I'll know I tried."

Abigail's mouth opened, but no words came out. Her mind raced with everything that had happened over the weekend: Ethan's confession, the way he'd looked at her, the poem he'd written.

Jane noticed her hesitation. "You don't think it's a bad idea, do you?"

"N-no," Abigail stammered, forcing a smile. "I think it's brave."

Jane beamed, mistaking Abigail's turmoil for encouragement. "Thanks, Abby. I needed that. Tomorrow, I'm doing it."

She hugged Abigail again, her energy contagious, before leaving the room with a bounce in her step. Abigail stood frozen, her heart a chaotic mess of emotions.

Ethan's words from the garden replayed in her mind.

"I don't want to come between you and your friend... But I can't pretend I don't feel something for you."

And now, her best friend-the one person who'd always been there for her-was about to put her heart on the line for him.

Abigail sat down heavily on her bed, staring at her journal. The pages, once a refuge for her thoughts, now felt like they held secrets she wasn't ready to face.

What would she do? And more importantly, what would Ethan do?