The morning was too bright, too normal for how broken I felt. Sunlight pushed through the curtains like nothing had happened, like the world hadn't split open just a few hours ago. I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, pretending the tightness in my chest was just from bad sleep.
The music box had wound down sometime in the night, but its song still echoed in the back of my mind, faint, like something humming behind a wall. I kept telling myself it was just a tune. Just a song. But the words still clung to me.
I dragged myself out of bed, moving through the motions: shower, coffee, pretending to study while my mind replayed everything that had happened in the woods. I told myself I'd stop thinking about it. I didn't.
Days slipped by in a haze.
The weekend came and went, leaving me restless. In a few days, it'll be my birthday. There's been no word from Will since that night in the forest. Guilt twists in my stomach every time I think about running from him, from the things he said, and from what he asked of me. But how could I have stayed?
How do you believe something that's impossible?
Still, I can't shake it. I've been on edge all weekend. I find myself snapping at people out of frustration and drifting off in class. I feel as though I have left a part of myself in those woods and am struggling to find it again.
How do I always end up falling for the weird ones? Seriously. There must be something in me that's drawn to guys with odd habits and impossible stories.
Will's eccentric, fairytale-level eccentric. Half the time I can't tell if he's serious or if he just lives in a world that makes more sense to him than to anyone else. Then there was James, who barely spoke and hated going anywhere with me. Total opposite of Will. Will's loud, confident, and magnetic in a way that makes it difficult to breathe when he looks at me.
My heart keeps whispering that I should trust him, that there's something real underneath all his madness. But my brain? My brain is waving every red flag it can find, screaming at me not to get involved.
The rest of the week blurred together. My mom stopped me more than once, telling me to stop moping around and "go live my life," like that was supposed to correct whatever was wrong with me. I dismissed it with a laugh, but the reality is that I feel immobilized, as if I am awaiting something.
It's been a week now. No calls. No texts. Nothing from Will.
And even though I keep telling myself I don't care, every time my phone lights up, my heart skips just for a second before it sinks all over again.
My phone buzzed.
My heart jumped before I could stop it—stupid reflex—but it wasn't Will. Just Shelby.
Shelby:"You alive? Or do I need to send a search party armed with caffeine and sarcasm?"
I couldn't help but smile. Leave it to her to check in like that. I typed back something halfhearted—"Barely alive. Surviving on caffeine."
A second later, another text popped up.
Shelby:"Good. Because we've got work to do. The Masquerade Ball is in two days, and your dress still looks like it lost a fight with a glue gun. Get over here."
I groaned but grabbed my bag anyway. Maybe a distraction was precisely what I needed.
Shelby and I sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by scraps of fabric, beads, and an unreasonable amount of glitter. We were supposed to be putting the finishing touches on our dresses for the Masquerade Ball, but mostly we were making a mess and pretending we had a plan.
She kept talking about my birthday—how Sunday after the ball we should all go to the lake house for swimming, hiking, and "mental health sunshine." Her words, not mine. I hadn't said yes yet, but I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd rather spend my mental health day wrapped in a blanket with takeout.
Still, something felt… off.
Shelby kept sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking—quick, sideways looks that said she wanted to ask something but wasn't sure how. After the fifth one, I finally set down my glue gun and sighed.
"Okay, spit it out," I said. "You're acting weird."
She froze mid-ribbon twist, then crossed her arms like I'd just caught her with a secret.
"Evan told me not to say anything," she said slowly, her tone full of exaggerated drama. "Apparently, it's not my business."
I raised an eyebrow. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"
"Exactly!" She threw her hands up, sending glitter into the air like confetti. "But he's saying things like 'don't get involved' and 'mind your own business,' which I find rude. I always get involved."
"Shelby…" I said, drawing out her name.
She smirked, eyes glinting. "Don't 'Shelby' me; I'm deciding if I want to risk the wrath of the Grudge King for your emotional well-being."
"Evan doesn't scare you," I said.
She grinned. "True. But his silent treatment is brutal. The man's like a statue with opinions."
I laughed, the first real laugh I'd had in days. It came out shaky, but it felt good.
Shelby softened then, her smirk fading into something gentler. "Hey," she said quietly, reaching over to squeeze my knee. "You've been off all week. I get it, but something's messing with you. You don't have to tell me everything, but you also don't have to carry it by yourself, okay?"
My chest tightened. For a second, I almost told her everything. The woods. The storm. Will. The way my reality had started to crack.
But before I could speak, she tilted her head and smiled again, lighter now. "Besides," she said, "if I tell you what I'm not supposed to, you can't freak out." Promise?"
I met her gaze, unsure whether to be nervous or grateful for her. "I can't promise that," I said.
"Fair enough," she said, grinning again. "At least you're honest."
I raised an eyebrow at her. Shelby, of all people, is keeping a secret? Please. For as long as I've known her, she hasn't kept anything to herself. The moment anyone tells her something, she's calling or texting me within five minutes—sometimes mid-conversation with the person she's supposed to be keeping the secret for.
I gave her a look, the one that said, You're going to tell me anyway, so just do it.
She groaned dramatically. "Okay, jeez, you're so bossy sometimes, Ang." She tugged at a loose thread on her dress, avoiding my stare for exactly three seconds before caving. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
I tilted my head, waiting.
She took a breath. "Evan told me that his cousin Will said he thinks he might already be in love with you," she pouted for emphasis. It's the kind of situation where someone falls in love at first sight, reminiscent of a scene from a sappy movie.
I blinked. "What?"
"Right?" she said, eyes wide, hands flailing. "Apparently he's been trying to avoid you because he thinks you'll freak out, or I don't know, deny him his feelings"—she made dramatic air quotes—"and he wants to give you space to, you know, 'deal with your issues.'"
That made me snort despite myself. The air quotes were killing me.
Shelby looked over at me with that smirk—the one that always meant she'd meddled in something she shouldn't have. The exact same look she had when Evan tried to hook me up with his friend Tony because "we'd be awesome together." We dated for a while until Tony got back with his ex.
When I told Shel I wasn't mad, she laughed and said, "You can't be mad at me; you love me."
We'd all stayed friends, somehow.
I looked back at her now, half amused, half mortified. "Shelby… you didn't—"
She raised a finger. "Hey, I might have said something to Evan. But in my defense, you've been moping for days, and I thought maybe some perspective would help."
"Perspective," I repeated, flatly.
"Yep," she said cheerfully. "You're welcome."
I stared at her, trying to process everything she'd just said. My brain felt like it had short-circuited halfway through the words in love with you.
Will… in love with me?
That didn't make sense. None of this did.
A week ago, he was this confusing, infuriating guy who appeared out of nowhere, talked about gods and fate, and somehow knew things he shouldn't. Now Shelby was sitting here in her leggings and glitter-streaked hoodie, telling me that he had gone full Greek tragedy over me.
My pulse picked up, and I hated that it did.
"Shel," I said slowly, "you can't just drop something like that and expect me not to have a meltdown."
She smirked, leaning back on her hands. "You? A meltdown? Please. You're too stubborn for that."
I groaned. "You realize that makes zero sense, right? He disappears for a week, doesn't call, doesn't text, and that's his reason? Because he's in love with me?"
"Apparently."
I threw my hands up. "Men are insane."
"Now that's something we agree on."
She grinned, clearly proud of herself. Then she added, all casual, "So, I told Evan that he should tell his cousin to shove it, because my best friend doesn't need somebody who's afraid of his feelings. I said, "You're an independent, emotionally in-tune woman who deserves somebody that'll stand by you through hell or high water."
She paused, smirking. "Then I called him a twerp. And maybe a few other names. But that was the gist of it."
I shook my head, laughter spilling out before I could stop it. "Shelby, you're unbelievable."
She shrugged, smiling wide. "I know. I'm your knight in shining armor. Someone's got to look out for you."
I smiled back, the warmth in my chest cutting through the static that had been there all week. For the first time in days, the world felt a little less heavy.