Chapter 23: Echoes of the Same Sky
Jay's POV
The next few days passed like a blur of classes, new faces, and the smell of unfamiliar hallways.
Everything here was different — the walls weren't painted the same color as my old school, the cafeteria food actually tasted edible, and people didn't whisper about me. It should've felt like peace. But peace is loud when you've lived through chaos.
I woke up that morning to my alarm, same tone as always, but it felt emptier somehow. Aries was already downstairs, yelling like clockwork.
Aries: "Jay! Breakfast is getting cold!"
Jay: "Coming!"
I pulled on my uniform, tied my hair, and looked at my reflection. Same face. Same necklace — the one with the letter "J." I never took it off. Maybe part of me was still waiting for him to come find me and say it was all a misunderstanding.
At school, things were normal. Marcus waved when he saw me, flashing that easy grin he always had.
"Morning, Jay-Jay," he said, handing me a juice box. "You looked like you needed this."
I laughed softly. "How did you know?"
"Because that's the same face you had yesterday when you were zoning out in History."
We walked to class together, and it felt… nice. He wasn't Keifer — not even close — but he listened when I spoke. He didn't interrupt. He didn't judge. For the first time since the move, I didn't feel completely alone.
During lunch, we sat under the same tree as before. A gentle breeze brushed my face, and the sunlight filtered through the leaves like it was painting the world in fragments of gold.
Marcus leaned back, sipping his drink.
"So… where were we in the story?"
I smiled faintly. "The letter. The one Keifer wrote to Aries."
"Oh yeah," he chuckled. "Brother-in-law… the guy really had guts."
"Yeah," I whispered, the word catching in my throat. "He did."
For a second, the silence between us wasn't awkward — it was heavy with memories I didn't want to unpack. The laughter, the rain, the first kiss, the way he looked at me like I was the only person who existed.
Marcus looked at me carefully. "You still love him, don't you?"
I didn't answer. I just looked at the sky — blue, endless, familiar.
"I don't know what love even means anymore," I murmured. "If he loved me, why didn't he trust me? Why did he let rumors speak louder than I did?"
Marcus didn't reply. He just sat beside me quietly — and maybe that was enough.
The bell rang. We got up, walked back, and for a few hours I lost myself in classwork and noise. But when I got home that evening, all of it came back like a storm I couldn't outrun.
I sat by the window, pulling my knees to my chest. The sunset stretched across the sky — soft orange fading into pink, the same colors as that evening on the rooftop with Keifer.
Without thinking, I took out my phone and opened the old texts. The chat was still there — the last thing he'd ever sent:
> "I need to understand everything first. Please don't go."
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I typed slowly, fingers trembling.
> "You said you loved me, Keifer. But love without trust isn't love at all."
Then I added,
"I still love you. But maybe that's the problem."
And for the last time, I hit send.
Then I turned off my phone and let myself cry. Quietly. Silently. Because some goodbyes are never said out loud — they just fade between messages and memories.
---
Keifer's POV
I don't know why I still wait for her messages. Maybe because part of me still believes she'll come back — or maybe because I know I drove her away.
Her name flashes on my screen. My heart stops.
I open the text, and the words hit harder than I expect.
Each one feels like a door closing, like a light going out.
I stare at her message for a long time before replying, but I don't hit send. What could I even say? "I'm sorry" feels too small for what I broke.
Instead, I look out the window. The same sunset stretches over my town — the same orange, the same sky. Somewhere far away, she's probably looking at it too.
> "Maybe we're still under the same sky," I whisper. "Maybe that's enough."