CHAPTER TWO: Almost and Always

By Monday morning, Riverbend Secondary felt smaller than ever.

Elara sat in her usual seat near the window, pretending to listen as her literature teacher talked about symbolism and themes, but her mind kept drifting—back to the bookshop, back to the way Kai had said her name like it still belonged to him.

She hadn’t told anyone she’d seen him. Not her friends, not even herself, really. Saying it out loud would make it real. And Elara wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

“Earth to Elara.”

She blinked and turned to her left. Jonah was grinning at her, chin resting on his hand. He’d been her seatmate for two years now—familiar in the comfortable way, like a song you didn’t notice until it stopped playing.

“You zoned out again,” he said. “That’s twice this week.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Did I miss anything?”

“Only the part where you were supposed to answer a question,” he teased. “But don’t worry. I saved you.”

Elara smiled, grateful despite herself. Jonah always did that—stepped in quietly, without making her feel small.

At lunch, rumors finally caught up with her.

“Is it true?” her best friend Mira asked, eyes bright with curiosity. “Kai’s back.”

Elara froze. “How do you—”

“Riverbend has eyes,” Mira said dramatically. “And mouths. Mostly mouths.”

Elara poked at her food. “Yeah. I saw him.”

Mira squealed softly. “The Kai? The river-boy Kai?”

“Don’t call him that,” Elara said too quickly.

Mira raised an eyebrow. “You still care.”

Elara didn’t deny it.

That afternoon, rain threatened again, clouds piling up like unspoken thoughts. Elara walked home slower than usual, half-hoping she’d see Kai again. She told herself it was coincidence when she stopped in front of the bookshop.

Inside, Kai looked up from unpacking boxes of old books.

“You came back,” he said.

“So did you,” she replied.

They smiled, something warm and fragile settling between them. Kai showed her around the shop, talking about how he was helping his dad reopen it, how strange it felt to be back in a place that still remembered him.

“I used to think leaving meant growing up,” he said quietly. “Turns out, it just meant missing things.”

Elara felt that land somewhere deep.

They talked until the rain started falling properly, drumming against the windows. Elara laughed more than she had in weeks. It felt easy—dangerously easy.

Outside, someone watched.

Jonah had been walking home when he saw the light in the bookshop, saw Elara through the window, her face lit with a smile he hadn’t seen in a long time. His chest tightened, an unfamiliar heat crawling up his spine.

So that was him.

The boy from her past.

The next day, Jonah tried harder.

He waited for Elara after class. Walked her home. Asked about her writing. Listened in that focused way that made people feel seen. Elara appreciated it—maybe too much.

“You’ve been different lately,” Jonah said as they reached her gate. “Just… don’t disappear on me, okay?”

She hesitated. “I won’t.”

But later that evening, her phone buzzed.

Kai: Do you still write by the river?

She stared at the message for a long time before replying.

Elara: Sometimes.

Kai: Can I join you tomorrow?

Her heart thudded.

Elara: Okay.

As she set her phone down, Elara felt it—that quiet pull between almosts and always. Between what felt safe and what felt unfinished.

And somewhere, Jonah stared at his ceiling, realizing for the first time that liking someone meant risking losing them.

Outside, the rain began again.