“Joy comes running in the morning.”
---
— Joel —
The sky looks darker tonight, doesn’t it?
The thought came unbidden, a quiet whisper in my subconscious as my brush hovered above the canvas.
But did you notice the shining light of the stars?
The words seemed to float out of nowhere, breaking through the haze in my mind. I blinked at the streaks of black and blue I had painted—trees standing stark against a heavy, midnight sky.
They make it look not so dark, to be honest.
Maybe that’s how our dark days are, I mused. They seem so endless, so hopeless, don’t they? But they’re not entirely devoid of light. There’s always a glimmer—little sprinkles of hope hiding in the corners, waiting to be found.
It’s just that we’re often too blinded by the weight of the darkness to notice them. We fixate on how overwhelming it feels, how suffocating.
I dipped the brush in white paint and carefully dotted the sky, as though bringing those unseen stars to life. My hands moved with purpose, lightening the inky shadows I’d created between the trees.
As the hours slipped by, the painting began to shift. Morning crept into the edges of the canvas. The black faded into softer hues of gray and gold, and with one final brushstroke, I finished it—a portrait of darkness surrendering to dawn.
“Morning always comes,” I whispered to no one in particular.
A buzz on my phone snapped me out of my thoughts.
“Cecilewrites posted an update.”
I smiled. Cecile hadn’t posted in weeks, and though I’d tried not to think too much about it, I had noticed. Writer’s block, maybe? Or had life simply gotten in the way?
Curiosity tugged at me, and I tapped the notification.
— Second Chances —
The title caught me off guard. Second chances? Like redemption for what’s been lost? Like the possibility of brighter tomorrows after the storms have passed?
Her words were simple but piercing.
> I believe everyone deserves
a second chance,
regardless of their social status,
race, or language.
> I believe everyone deserves
a second chance at love,
regardless of their age,
gender, or belief.
> I believe everyone deserves
a second chance at becoming
someone better,
no matter how notorious
they once were.
> I believe everyone deserves
a second chance at life,
because life isn’t about
how long you lived,
but how well you lived
and how much you made
it count.
I read it again, and then again, the words sinking into me like stones dropped into still water.
The inner demons I’d been grappling with stirred.
Do I deserve a second chance?
I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until Raphael’s voice broke through the quiet.
“We both know you do, Joel.”
I turned to him, startled. His expression was steady, kind, but unflinching. “You messed up. You shouldn’t have treated her the way you did. But you were hurting, and as they say, ‘Hurt people hurt people.’”
I looked away, but he continued.
“You had a choice, yes. And maybe you didn’t choose right. But that doesn’t mean you’re beyond redemption. Everyone stumbles, Joel. What matters is whether you get back up.”
He paused, his gaze piercing. “You love her, don’t you?”
The question hit me like a blow. I had been dodging it for years, hiding behind half-truths and excuses. But now, there was nowhere to run.
“I do,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been years, but I… I still love her.”
“Then start there,” Raphael said simply. He tapped his chest, right over his heart. “Listen to this, Joel. It already knows what you need to do.”
He left me alone with my thoughts, his words echoing long after he was gone.
My phone was still in my hand, Cecile’s post glowing on the screen. Without overthinking it, I typed:
“It’s beautiful, Cecile. Keep it up.”
---
— Cecile —
Had I been expecting his comment?
Yes.
Was I still surprised when it came?
Also yes.
It was just a few words, nothing overtly special. And yet, they had my heart doing somersaults.
Why does his presence—his words, his attention—still affect me like this?
Bernie’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You’re blushing. Again.”
I glanced over at her. She was sprawled on her bed, surrounded by research papers, her pen tapping absently against her notebook.
“I’m not,” I lied, instinctively raising a hand to my cheeks.
Bernie smirked. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I hesitated. She always knew when I was hiding something, and I wasn’t sure I could keep this one to myself.
“He commented on my post again,” I confessed.
I didn’t have to say his name. She already knew.
“Hmm,” Bernie mused, her tone teasing. “Sounds like someone’s trying to win his girl back.”
I rolled my eyes, though her words sent an involuntary blush creeping up my neck. “I was never his girl.”
“No,” Bernie agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t be.”
Her words hit harder than I expected. I stared at her, wondering if she knew something I didn’t.
“Do you know something?”
Bernie shrugged, her expression maddeningly calm. “Call it intuition. I just have a feeling you two aren’t done yet.”
I wanted to dismiss her, to tell her she was wrong. But a small part of me—a foolish, hopeful part—couldn’t help but wonder:
Could she be right?
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A/N: What do you think of the chapter, guys? I would love to hear your thoughts!