Fractured Bonds

Chapter 1: Fractured Bonds

Ava stood at the edge of the school’s courtyard, the cold air biting at her cheeks. Her fingers gripped the straps of her backpack tightly, her nails pressing into the fabric until it hurt. She didn’t even notice. She was too busy watching the distant clouds, willing herself not to think about him.

Noah.

Her heart clenched at the thought. She hated the way his name still slipped into her mind like a whisper, no matter how much she tried to push it away. It had been two years since they had spoken—since he had left her. After her mother died, Noah had just… walked away.

She had never told him how much it hurt to see him disappear, how his silence after her mom’s funeral had been the loudest thing in her life. He hadn’t even tried to explain. Not once. He hadn’t been there when she needed him most. And now, after everything, he still had the power to occupy her thoughts.

“Ava?”

She turned quickly, startled by the sound of her name. It was Mr. Carter, the art teacher, standing by the door with a clipboard in hand. His expression was kind, but there was a slight edge of impatience in his tone. “I need you to go to the storeroom and grab some supplies for me. I’ll give you the list.”

Ava nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk with anyone, especially when her mind was so clouded by memories of Noah. She walked past him, heading toward the narrow hallway that led to the old storage closet at the back of the school.

It was quieter there, isolated—a place where she could lose herself in her thoughts without the constant buzz of people around her. She could do this. Just go in, grab the supplies, and leave. Simple.

But as she reached for the door, the faint scent of paint and old paper made her freeze. It was a smell that reminded her of the time Noah had taught her how to blend colors in their art class—before everything had fallen apart. They’d been so close then, two halves of the same whole.

Ava pushed the door open and stepped inside, the dim light flickering overhead as the cool air wrapped around her. She scanned the shelves for what she needed, her mind buzzing with unwanted memories. Her eyes landed on a stack of empty canvases and rolled tubes of paint. Her fingers brushed against them absently, and suddenly, the world seemed to shift.

She was back there—back in her room, in the days just after her mother’s death.

The hallway was quiet then, too, as she sat by the window, staring at the gray sky outside. She couldn’t find the words to explain how much it hurt. How much she wanted to scream, to just get rid of the hollow ache inside her chest. But Noah had been there, at first. He’d tried to comfort her, to pull her out of herself. But then—he left.

The image of him walking away from her—his back turned, shoulders stiff—flashed before her eyes. He hadn’t said a word. No explanation, no promises of coming back. Nothing. Just gone. She had been alone.

Ava sucked in a sharp breath, shaking her head to clear the thoughts. It wasn’t like she needed to think about it now. It didn’t matter anymore. She was fine. She had learned to be.

Her hands were trembling, and she quickly grabbed the supplies Mr. Carter had asked for, stuffing them into the bag with a little more force than necessary. But the memory wouldn’t leave. It never did.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke her from her trance, and before she could react, the door to the storeroom slammed open.

Noah.

She froze, her heart racing as her eyes met his.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice sharp and defensive. She could feel the old anger bubbling inside her, but she tried to keep it contained. After all this time, he had the audacity to show up? To just appear?

Noah stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His hair was messier than usual, and his jacket sleeves were rolled up, exposing the faint scars on his forearms—scars she had once known too well. His jaw was tight, and the way he looked at her made her stomach churn. He hadn’t changed at all. He still had that look of someone who was too afraid to let anyone get too close.

“I—” He hesitated, then stepped inside, his eyes flicking to the supplies she was holding. “I was told to grab the paint for the class.”

Ava blinked, suddenly aware of the awkwardness between them. “Right. Of course.” She tightened her grip on the bag. She couldn’t just stand here with him. Not after everything. “Well, I’m almost done here, so—”

“Ava.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. The way he said her name—it made her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t explain. There was something about it that felt so familiar, and yet so wrong. She hated the way her heart clenched at the sound. She hated that he still had that power over her.

“What do you want, Noah?” she spat, her anger slipping through despite her best efforts. “You left. You just left and—”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he interrupted quietly, his voice low. “I thought it would be better if I stayed away.”

Ava’s breath caught in her throat. She laughed bitterly. “You thought that leaving me alone would be better? After everything?”

He looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t strong enough to be there for you. I thought—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I thought you’d hate me if I stayed.”

Ava stared at him, her chest tight. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to make him feel every ounce of the pain she had carried since the day he left. But instead, she just stood there, silent. The anger that had fueled her for so long suddenly felt hollow, like something she had been carrying for too long and couldn’t keep anymore.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I don’t need your explanations.”

Without waiting for his response, Ava turned and walked out of the storeroom, not looking back. She could hear Noah calling her name behind her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when everything was still so broken between them.

As she walked through the hallway, she didn’t know what she was running from anymore. The memories. The pain. Or the possibility of something worse—letting him back in.

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