Chapter 4: A New Kind of Quiet

I seemed to be murmuring and woke from the dream.

My mouth was dry, the sheets tangled around my legs. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. The scent of lemon laundry detergent and the softness of the comforter slowly brought me back to myself.

I wasn't leaning against a cold, hard wall, but nestled in a soft down comforter.

It took a while to recognize the familiar posters on the wall, the string lights, my favorite throw pillow. Relief washed over me like sunshine after a storm.

It took me a few seconds to realize this was my own room.

The faint hum of the heating vent and the distant clatter of dishes in the kitchen told me I was safe, at least for now.

"Maddie, you're finally awake!" Mrs. Carter sighed in relief, surprised. "Good, you had a fever for three days. I'll go make you some chicken noodle soup."

She hovered in the doorway, hands on her hips, before bustling off to the kitchen. Mrs. Carter poured me a mug of Folgers, the kitchen radio playing country oldies, the scent of cinnamon rolls filling the air. The smell of onions and carrots soon drifted down the hall—a promise of comfort in a bowl.

After Mrs. Carter left, Ethan, who had been standing silently by my bedside, asked softly,

He lingered just inside the door, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking smaller than usual. There was something hesitant in the way he spoke, like he was afraid to break the fragile peace.

"What did you dream about?"

He added, "You called my name in your sleep."

His voice softened, carrying a note of longing I hadn’t heard in months. It made my chest ache.

I didn't want to talk about those old memories, so I said, "I don't remember."

My words sounded hollow, the lie clinging to the air between us.

My voice was so hoarse, even I was startled.

I coughed, clearing my throat, the rasp making it obvious I’d barely spoken in days.

Ethan didn't ask any further. He handed me a glass of water.

He pressed the cold rim into my palm, his fingers lingering just a little too long.

I took it. "Thank you."

The water soothed the burn in my throat, and I managed a small nod of gratitude.

He paused, raising an eyebrow slightly.

He looked at me as if searching for something familiar. It was the first time in a while he seemed unsure of himself.

"Being polite with me? It's been a long time since you said that."

His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of sadness beneath it.

Ethan was so calm, as if nothing had happened.

He fiddled with the drawstring on his hoodie, avoiding my eyes. It was as if last night had never happened, as if kindness could erase cruelty.

I didn't know what to say, just stared blankly at the comforter.

I studied the quilted squares, tracing the stitches with my fingertips, unwilling to meet his gaze.

It felt like I'd lost all feelings for Ethan.

The realization landed with a quiet certainty. The warmth I once felt for him had cooled into something distant and gray.

I no longer wanted to ask why he favored Rachel. No more jealousy, anxiety, or panic. And of course, I wouldn't feel wronged or swayed by his sudden concern.

For the first time in years, my chest was quiet. There was nothing left to fight for.

That one night in the rain seemed to have extinguished all my hopes for Ethan.

Whatever had once flickered between us had been snuffed out, leaving only ashes.

I don't like him anymore.

The thought should’ve hurt more than it did, but all I felt was relief.

The crush I’d carried since middle school felt like someone else’s story. I was just tired—tired of hoping, tired of hurting.