“Art is beautiful.”
---
—- Cecile —-
“Do you believe in second-chance mates, Cecile?”
The question came out of nowhere, jolting me from my thoughts. I turned to face Eli, my classmate and friend, who sat beside me, her curious eyes fixed on me.
“What?”
She pointed at the board, where the words Second-Chance Mates were written in bold letters. Beneath them, instructions stretched across the board: Write a short story of under five thousand words on the theme.
“Well…” My gaze lingered on the words, my mind drawing a blank. Second-chance mates? How was I supposed to write about something I didn’t believe in, let alone understand?
I’d always thought signing up for creative writing was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. But right now, staring at the impossible prompt, I wasn’t so sure.
“Unexpected,” I finally said, giving Eli an answer to appease her waiting eyes.
She smiled knowingly, like she always did when she thought I was overthinking.
---
“So, what’s your plan?” Bernie’s voice cut through the quiet of my room as she leaned against the doorway. Her eyes, as sharp as ever, took in my pensive mood.
“I don’t know…” I sighed, spinning in my rolling chair to face her.
She raised an eyebrow at my matching outfit—a pink crop top and brown shorts. She wore the exact same thing.
“Are we this in sync?” she teased, stepping further into the room and closing the door. She made her way to the plush brown loveseat, more a decorative luxury than a necessity.
“Have you tried reading a romance novel?” she asked, settling into her usual position—head propped on her hands, elbows digging into the pillow.
“You know I avoid those now,” I said flatly, glancing at her.
Her look told me she didn’t buy my indifference. Once upon a time, I’d been obsessed with romance novels, devouring every story I could find. But after Joel, I couldn’t stomach them.
“You need to move on, Cecile,” Bernie said, her voice soft but firm.
I sighed again, leaning back in my chair.
“It starts with realizing the world doesn’t revolve around him,” she continued. “You can’t keep letting him dictate your choices—what you do or don’t do. That’s giving him way too much power over your life.”
“Yeah…” I muttered, unable to refute her words. Bernie was annoyingly good at being right.
“I got a comment from him the other night,” I admitted after a moment of silence.
Bernie shot up from her seat, her eyes wide with shock.
“What?”
“He read my poem on healing,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Apparently, he’s been… following me this whole time.”
“What did he say?” she asked, leaning forward as if my answer was the key to unraveling the mystery of Joel.
I hesitated, the memory of his words playing in my mind like a broken record:
“Your words are beautiful, Cecile. They embody you and your journey in a way that’s inspiringly profound.”
Hearing Bernie read them aloud made the weight of his words hit me all over again. Tears pricked at my eyes, and before I could stop them, they spilled over.
Bernie handed me a tissue, wiping away the tears with the gentleness of someone who’d done this far too many times.
“He was my muse,” I whispered, the confession tasting bittersweet on my tongue.
Joel had meant everything to me once. Our time together was brief but intense, far more profound than the long, empty years spent apart.
“He taught me to write poetry that felt like someone’s inner thoughts spilling onto paper,” I said, the tears flowing freely now.
I could almost hear his voice again, guiding me: “You need to add rhymes, Cecile. They’ll give your poems rhythm and make them irresistible.”
Bernie wrapped her arms around me, holding me as if I might break apart at any moment.
“I remember a poem he wrote about life,” I said. “It was so deep, so wise. It’s stayed with me all this time.”
“Do you remember it?” Bernie asked.
I nodded. Of course, I did. Joel’s words were etched into my heart.
---
“Some people are lighthouses, guiding you through the dark.
Others hold umbrellas for you on rainy days.
Some motivate you when you’re down.
Some hold you until the pain subsides.
People come and go—seasons, times, places.
Most are fleeting, but a rare few stay longer than you expect.
Recognize them before it’s too late.”
---
“Wow,” Bernie whispered, her voice reverent.
“It’s amazing,” I said, wiping a stray tear.
“What inspired it?”
I shook my head. “I never knew much about him… just fragments.”
“Tell me,” she urged, her tone gentle but insistent.
Instead of explaining, I recited another of Joel’s poems:
---
“Imagine a life without waiting for phone calls from your lover.
Imagine living your dreams without delay.
Imagine a life without trauma, without loneliness, without depression.
Imagine never grieving lost bonds or moving on from someone you loved deeply.
It would be peaceful, wouldn’t it?
But it would also be boring.
Without pain, there is no growth, no risk, no adventure.
Don’t you think?”
---
Bernie paced the room, her movements restless and her gaze intense.
“Joel seems… interesting,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, he is,” I admitted, my voice trailing off.
“I’d love to meet him,” she said.
“What?” I stared at her, my heart racing.
What was going on? And why was Bernie—my best friend—suddenly so interested in Joel?
---
A/N: This chapter was a rollercoaster to write! What do you think of Cecile’s and Joel’s story so far? Let me know your thoughts!