Chapter III : Aria

The next day, I found myself roaming in the same café with my little confidence , a quiet, internal promise not to break anything this time. I collected 'The Bell Jar,' a novel by Sylvia Plath, from the shelves , a title that felt far too reflective of my recent headspace—and set myself near the window. The view here always leaves me mesmerized: the people walking by, the leaves rustling, the quiet sense of belonging here. Maybe this town has finally started to welcome me.

As I was lost in thought , I heard a voice, sweet and slightly dry. "You might want to grab a broom. The owner looks like he's about to spontaneously combust.”

I looked over and saw a girl . She was sitting alone, completely immersed in a hefty law textbook.She was wearing a thick, cable-knit sweater that looked too warm , but it gave her a grounded, practical look. Her hair was a warm, dark brown, pulled back in a loose, purposeful knot that still let a few soft waves fall around her temples. She had a fine dusting of blush across the bridge of her nose, and her lips were pressed into a thin, focused line. However, her eyes were undeniably kind.

I mumbled an apology .

" Aria , Law student," she introduced herself with a small, genuine smile . She simply closed her laptop and walked over, handing me a napkin .Her presence was solid and reassuring.

"Elena," I said, my cheeks cooling slightly. "I did. Is it that obvious?”

"Only to those of us who also started here in the dead of winter," she conceded. "Come sit down. The owner had been glancing at your direction murderously since the time you walked in from that wood door .”

The joke wasn't hilarious, but it was an invitation, a lifeline. Taking a deep breath , a difficult, conscious effort to shed the mantle of an outsider .. I walked over to her table and found myself sitting across from Aria.

"So, you're the one who caused the ruckus here yesterday ," Aria said with a small, genuine smile.

"That's exactly it," I confessed while laughing , a sound I hadn't realized I was missing. "Terrified, and just a little bit tired of living out of boxes."

Aria nodded with an efficient tap of her index finger on the table , "It's the worst. My first few weeks, I felt like a tourist in my own life." She sipped her tea, the spoon clinking softly against the mug.Then, she pushed the other mug slightly toward me, a silent offering of shared warmth.

"A tourist in your own life," I repeated, tasting the words like a truth I hadn't been able to name.. They were perfect. "That's exactly it. You feel like you're watching everything from a distance, waiting for the person in the scene to be you."

"Exactly!" she said, her smile widening fully this time, and I realized how beautiful her face was when she wasn't concentrating on torts. "You're just waiting for the 'real' part to start."

She paused, her eyes softening. "But it's okay. It feels like this is the part where it starts to feel real."

The conversation felt a gentle ebb and flow… like the easy comfort , where someone is giving you a warm hug in deadass coldness . . She didn't pry; she simply shared space. She asked about my studies; I asked about her commute. The more we talked, the more I felt my shoulders, which I realized had been hunched against the cold all week, relax. I noticed the hissing sound of the old espresso machine, the soft glow of her laptop screen illuminating her face, and the quiet comfort of her being there .For the first time , my mind stopped cataloging reasons to panic and simply focused on the conversation.

As the afternoon wore on, the cold in my bones began to thaw. It wasn't just a physical change; it was a release deep inside me. I wasn't just a new girl in a new town anymore. I was a girl with a new friend, and for the first time since I had left home, the world felt a little less overwhelming .

......♡... ...

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