Chapter 8 – The Quiet After the Storm
The next morning, Clara woke up feeling heavy. Not sick… but weighed down by everything Ethan had said, everything he revealed, everything she didn't expect.
She moved around slowly, brushing her hair, avoiding the mirror because she knew her eyes looked swollen. Sara noticed immediately.
"Clara… you okay? You look like you didn't sleep."
Clara forced a small smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Sara leaned on the kitchen counter, watching her friend carefully. "You sure nothing happened at the shop yesterday? You and Ethan didn't argue again, right?"
Clara's spoon froze in midair. "We— we talked. That's all."
"Mmh." Sara didn't believe that for a second. "If you say so…"
But she didn't push further.
They decided to stay home that morning since there were no new tasks assigned. Snow fell softly outside, giving the town a calm, peaceful glow, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside Clara's chest.
She tried reading, then cleaning, then doing small chores — but her mind kept circling back.
*I loved you, Clara…*
Every time the words echoed in her head, her throat tightened. She didn't know whether to be angry, confused, or touched.
By noon, Sara went out to buy ingredients for lunch, leaving Clara alone with her thoughts. Clara moved to the living room window, hugging her knees as she stared outside.
Across town, Ethan wasn't doing any better.
He sat on a bench near the frozen fountain, elbows on his knees, staring at the snow-covered ground. His sister, May, sat beside him, shaking her head dramatically.
"So you confessed," she said, "and she didn't say anything back?"
Ethan sighed. "It wasn't supposed to come out like that. I didn't plan it. It just… happened."
"And now you're hiding?" May nudged him. "Real smooth."
"I just needed time," he muttered.
Time to calm down.
Time to breathe.
Time to figure out how to face Clara again.
May softened. "Ethan… maybe she was just shocked. You two have been dancing around each other for years."
Ethan looked away. "Maybe she still hates me."
May slapped the back of his head — gently, but enough to make him glare. "If she hated you, she wouldn't have looked that hurt yesterday. Trust me."
Ethan's expression shifted slightly.
Meanwhile, Sara returned home carrying bags of vegetables — and Clara's phone vibrated on the table.
Clara grabbed it.
A message.
From Ethan.
Her heart stuttered.
She hesitated before opening it.
> **Ethan:**
> "Can we talk… later today? Just talk. Nothing more."
Clara stared at the message for a long second before typing back.
> **Clara:**
> "Okay."
Her fingers trembled as she set the phone down.
Sara peeked from the kitchen. "Was that Ethan? Why do you look like the snow just slapped you?"
Clara gave a tiny nervous laugh. "We're… going to talk later."
"Ohooo," Sara grinned like a fox. "I knew something happened yesterday! Tell me everything. I want details, Clara. All of them."
Clara put her hands over her face. "Sara, stop…"
But Sara wiggled her eyebrows, already placing pots on the stove like this was a celebration.
As the hours passed, Clara felt her nerves twist tighter. Every tiny sound made her jump. By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky orange and purple, she was pacing the living room.
Sara sipped her tea dramatically. "Relax. He won't eat you."
"That's not the problem," Clara muttered.
Finally, a soft knock echoed through the house.
Clara froze.
Ethan.
She could feel it.
Sara whispered, "Go."
Clara inhaled slowly, gathering whatever courage she had left, and opened the door.
Ethan stood outside, snowflakes melting on his hair, breath visible in the cold air. When he saw her, his expression softened — cautiously, almost nervously.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hi…" she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, neither moved. Neither spoke.
Just stood there, suspended between yesterday's pain and today's fragile possibility.
"Can we walk?" Ethan finally asked.
Clara nodded, stepped outside, and closed the door behind her.
They walked slowly down the snowy path, silence between them — not cold, not angry, just… careful.
Ethan spoke first.
"About yesterday… I didn't want to shout. And I didn't want the confession to come out like that. But I couldn't stay quiet anymore. I just… needed you to know."
Clara swallowed hard. "Ethan… all these years… I thought you didn't care. You ignored me. You kept your distance."
"I kept my distance to stop myself from hoping," he admitted, breath fogging in the air. "I didn't want to ruin what we had."
Clara looked down at her feet, boots crunching softly in the snow. "Then everything happened that night… and it hurt. More than it should have."
Ethan's voice gentled. "You could have asked me."
"You could have told me," she whispered back.
A small, broken laugh escaped Ethan. "You're right… I should have."
Silence again.
But this time, it felt softer.
Warm, even in the cold.
They reached the frozen fountain and stopped.
Clara hugged her arms. Ethan hesitated, then slowly offered his coat — not forcing, not assuming, just offering.
And for the first time, Clara didn't refuse.
She wore it, and Ethan's eyes softened.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Ethan nodded. "We don't have to fix everything today. I just… want us to stop hurting."
Clara looked up at him, her heart fluttering painfully.
"Me too."
They stood there, silently agreeing that something was changing — slowly, gently — and neither was running this time.