ARIA'S pov...
I didn't notice the echoes at first.
They came quietly—small reminders I pretended not to hear. A song playing from someone's open window. A laugh that sounded almost like his. A familiar cologne lingering in the hallway long after its owner had passed.
I told myself it meant nothing.
Being in my own space didn't mean I was immune to memories. It just meant they didn't knock me off balance anymore.
Or so I thought.
I was leaving the library one evening when I saw Ethan again—this time closer than I'd expected. He stood near the steps, his hands shoved into his pockets, his posture uncertain. Not confident. Not charming.
Human.
I slowed instinctively, then stopped. Running had never really solved anything.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
The word sat between us, heavy but calm. No sparks. No explosion. Just awareness.
"I'm not here to pressure you," he said quickly, as if afraid I might turn away. "I just… wanted to ask how you've been."
I studied his face, searching for the version of him that used to undo me. I found traces of it—but also something new. Distance.
"I'm okay," I said honestly. "I'm learning."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "You look like it."
That surprised me. Compliments from him used to feel like oxygen. Now they felt like passing air—noticed, but unnecessary.
"I heard you've been hanging out with new people," he added carefully.
I raised an eyebrow. "Campus is big, Ethan. People do that."
He chuckled softly, then sobered. "I miss you."
There it was.
Not a confession. Not a plea. Just truth.
My chest tightened—not painfully, but thoughtfully. "I know," I said. "And I think that's okay."
His eyes flickered, confusion crossing his face. "Okay?"
"Yes," I said gently. "Missing someone doesn't always mean you should go back."
Silence followed. Not awkward. Respectful.
"I'm glad you're finding yourself," he finally said.
"So am I."
When I walked away this time, my steps were steady. No racing heart. No urge to look back.
Later that night, I met Lucas again—by accident or fate, we spoke about nothing in particular. He listened when I spoke. Really listened.
"You seem… present," he said at one point.
"I'm trying to be," I replied.
He nodded. "That's rare."
As I lay in bed afterward, staring into the dark, I realized something important.
Ethan was no longer the loudest echo in my head.
He was just one of many sounds fading into the background as I learned to listen to myself instead.
And for the first time, the future didn't scare me.
It felt open..