NOVA
I sit in the coffee shop, the low murmur of voices buzzing around me as I sip my coffee in small, slow gulps.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and stare at the glowing screen for a second.
No message notifications. No missed calls. Nothing.
That's normal for a regular teenager's phone, right? Kids who actually have people waiting on the other side.
But I am not a regular teenager.
I lock the screen and shove the phone back into my pocket, swallowing the last of the lukewarm coffee in one hard gulp before pushing my chair back to leave.
I step back out onto the street, the door closing behind me with a soft click.
The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in tired shades of orange and pink.
There are more people outside now than before, shoes slapping against the pavement, voices overlapping in a low, familiar noise.
They all look like they're on their way home from work or school or somewhere they actually belong.
I walk down the street in silence, with absolutely no intention of going home yet.
The sky is darker now, the sunset bleeding out behind the buildings as the crowd thins into smaller clusters of tired faces and hurried footsteps.
I keep my eyes on the ground, weaving past people, letting their conversations blur into background noise.
It happens in a blink.
Out of the corner of my eye, a figure steps into my path, and I almost crash into him, stopping short so fast I almost stumble.
"Sorry," I mumble automatically, already ready to move around him, but then my gaze snags on his face.
Something in my chest stutters. I know that jawline, that messy hair, that almost-smile—but my brain refuses to attach a name to it.
I stare a second too long, frowning.
Have I seen him at school? At the coffee shop before? Somewhere further back.
His mouth curves into a smug little half-smile. "You are well aware of how much you're staring, baby girl?" he says, his voice annoyingly deep and amused.
Heat rushes to my face. I blink hard and clear my throat, suddenly very interested in the pavement between us.
I open my mouth to say something but close it as fast, I nod silently and move around him to leave, determined to keep walking like he is just another stranger on a busy street.
I turn away and force myself not to look back at him, every step feeling heavier than it should.
I shake my head, as if I can rattle his voice out of my ears, and keep walking in silence. I suddenly decide to go back home, I've had enough for today.
***
I open the front door and step into the living room, the familiar smell of home wrapping around me.
Drew spots me and bolts across the room, small feet thudding against the floor as he throws himself into my arms with a squeal. "Novaaa!"
I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips as I catch him and lift him up.
"Hey, Drew," I murmur, resting my chin lightly on his shoulder for a second longer than usual.
"Where's Dad?" I ask, looking at him as he beams at me with his bright, radiant smile.
"He's in the kitchen making dinner."
I nod slowly and set Drew down, making my way to our very small, portable kitchen. The counters are a chaos of open jars and stained spoons, sauces splattered near the stove while Dad stirs like this is this is the best moment of his life.
Dad glances back at me and smiles as he continues stirring whatever he has on the stove.
"I'm making your favorite, creamy pasta with lots of cheese."
I smile softly and watch him in silence as he continues to cook. The knot in my shoulders loosens a little. Same tiny kitchen, same sauce, same man who made sure to learn how to cook every meal I ever wanted.
"Earlier, you..." he begins after a brief moment of silence.
"I am going to my room now." I say quickly, cutting him off as I turn to leave the kitchen.
"You didn't change out of your school uniform before leaving." He calls after me.
"You should fold it into the laundry basket so I can help you clean it."
"oh...right" I stutter as I leave the kitchen.
I make my way to my room and freshen up before laying face down on my bed. I bury my face in my pillow, the quiet pressing in around me as I breathe in the faint scent of my perfume.
"Nova, food is ready. Eat now so it doesn't get cold," Dad calls from the other side of the door.
"I'll eat when I'm ready," I grumble into the pillow, the words muffled by cotton and fabric.
I don't know what I was thinking; I just wasn't ready to face whatever the reality actually was yet.
The whole idea of it made my skin crawl, and somewhere inside, I already knew Dad would bring it up sooner or later, whether I was ready or not.