Where The Fine Line Blurs

Solenne had always thought love was something loud.

She had seen it in the way her friends loved—messy, reckless in its intensity. She had watched love bloom in gestures so obvious they left no room for doubt: hands reaching across tables, whispered words spoken against temples, fingers entwined as if the very act of letting go would undo them. Love was a force, undeniable and immediate, something that burst into existence like a supernova, dazzling and impossible to ignore.

But love—her love—had been quiet.

It had settled in her bones long before she knew to call it by its name. It had woven itself into the spaces between moments, into the sound of laughter, the warmth of a familiar presence, the comfort of a gaze that always seemed to find her first. It had never announced itself, never demanded to be seen. Instead, it had existed in silence, waiting, lingering like the last traces of a dream upon waking.

And she might have never noticed it at all—might have let it stay unnamed, unexamined—if not for the absence.

Solenne had always believed there were things in life that remained constant. The sky would always stretch endlessly above her, the sun would always rise, and Aurelle would always be within reach—steady, certain, hers in the quiet way best friends belonged to each other.

But then Aurelle began to pull away, and Solenne felt the world slip off its axis.

It had been weeks now. Weeks of stolen glances that never quite met, of conversations that felt stilted and careful, of touches that used to be second nature now hesitated, aborted before they could land. At first, it had been subtle—so subtle that Solenne had convinced herself she was imagining things. But then it became undeniable. Aurelle, once an unshakable presence in her life, was slipping through her fingers like grains of sand, a missing limb she hadn’t realized she’d grown reliant on. A shift, barely perceptible to anyone else, but so stark and undeniable to her that it left her breathless. The more she tried to ignore it, the more it consumed her. And no matter how tightly she tried to hold on, she couldn’t stop it.

It was in the small things at first. The way Aurelle no longer met her eyes for too long, how she hesitated before speaking, how she flinched at even the most familiar touches. Solenne had spent years memorizing Aurelle’s mannerisms—how she ran a hand through her hair when she was thinking, the quiet huff she made when exasperated, the way her gaze softened when she was lost in thought. But now, every motion seems guarded, distant, like there was something fragile and breakable between them that Aurelle was terrified of shattering.

And Solenne didn’t understand why.

At first, she convinced herself it was nothing. A passing mood, stress from school, exhaustion that would fade. But then days stretched into weeks, and it didn’t fade. It only grew, curling between them like an unseen barrier that Solenne didn’t know how to break.

And it scared her.

She was terrified in a way she had never been before.

Aurelle had always been the quiet kind of warmth—like the night sky stretching vast and endless above, dark and cool, but always speckled with light. She was the steady pull of gravity, grounding Solenne when everything else felt uncertain. She had always been there, and Solenne had never considered a world where that might change.

But then she started to notice the absence of things. The absence of Aurelle’s voice drifting easily into her own, the absence of their shoulders brushing together as they walked, the absence of the way Aurelle would look at her—really look at her—like she was something to be seen.

Solenne hated it.

And the fear that came with it threatened to consume her.

It was a slow unraveling, the realization creeping into the corners of her mind, taking root in the spaces she had long ignored. It wasn’t just the fear of losing Aurelle’s presence that haunted her—it was the understanding of why that fear felt so much heavier than it should have.

She was sitting under their tree when the realization came. The sprawling oak stood at the far end of the school grounds, its branches twisting skyward like fingers reaching for something just out of grasp. It was their place, a sanctuary from the weight of expectations and noise, where the world slowed just enough for them to exist without pretense. They had spent countless afternoons here—Aurelle stretched out with a book in her lap, Solenne lying beside her, watching the way the light filtered through the leaves, painting Aurelle’s face in gold.

But today, she was alone.

Solenne pulled her knees to her chest, the rough bark of the tree pressing against her back. The wind carried the distant hum of students filtering through the courtyard, laughter bubbling over idle conversation. It was an ordinary afternoon, unremarkable in every way—except for the storm brewing beneath her skin.

She missed Aurelle.

She missed the way Aurelle made her feel like she was something precious, something held carefully in the palms of gentle hands. She missed the way Aurelle’s gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary, how her voice softened when she spoke Solenne’s name, and how it’s like a melody only the two of them knew. 

And then, beneath all of that, something else—something darker, something sharp with unspoken longing. She missed the certainty she once had, the assurance that Aurelle was hers in the way best friends were supposed to be.

But now, Solenne wasn’t sure if ‘best friend’ was the right word anymore.

Because best friends weren’t supposed to want to memorize the way someone’s lips curved when they smiled. They weren’t supposed to hold their breath every time fingers grazed skin, weren’t supposed to feel the world shift when someone so much as glanced in their direction. Best friends weren’t supposed to feel this—this aching, this yearning, this thing that settled in Solenne’s chest and refused to be ignored any longer.

Because if that were true, then why did her heart ache every time Aurelle avoided her touch? Why did it feel like something inside her was cracking every time Aurelle looked away? Why did the thought of losing Aurelle feel like the kind of devastation she wasn’t sure she could survive?

Love, she realized, wasn’t always an explosion. Sometimes, it was a quiet thing, creeping in through the cracks, unnoticed until it was everywhere, until it was everything.

A breeze stirred the leaves above, and Solenne let her head fall back against the trunk, exhaling shakily. It was terrifying, how suddenly everything made sense. Terrifying, because it meant everything she had known before—everything she had told herself about what they were—had been wrong. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She wasn’t supposed to want to close the distance, to reach out and take Aurelle’s hand and never let go.

And yet, she did.

The realization settled heavily in her chest, as inevitable as the changing of the tides. She had fallen. Somewhere between laughter and quiet moments, between lingering stares and hands that never quite let go, she had fallen. And now that she knew, there was no undoing it.

A sound pulled her from her thoughts—the gentle chime of music drifting from a phone nearby. A soft melody, familiar, one of Aurelle’s favorite songs. Without thinking, Solenne closed her eyes, letting the lyrics wash over her.

And in the quiet of the night, I see you in every star.

Her breath hitched.

She opened her eyes, staring up at the sky peeking through the branches. And for the first time, she understood why the stars had always felt a little closer when Aurelle was near.

Aurelle, with a name that whispered of night and mystery. Solenne, named for the heavens above. They had always existed in tandem, the night and the stars, gravity tethering them together. And maybe—maybe they had been meant to fall into each other all along.

Then, as if summoned by thought alone, movement flickered in the corner of her vision.

She turned her head, and there was Aurelle, standing just beyond the reach of the tree’s shade. The sun was behind her, outlining her in gold, her dark hair illuminated like a halo. She wasn’t looking at Solenne yet, her gaze cast downward as if deep in thought, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

Solenne swallowed, heart hammering against her ribs. Even now, even with the weight of her realization settling into her very bones, Aurelle was breathtaking.

And as Aurelle finally looked up, their eyes meeting across the distance, Solenne knew—knew with a certainty that made her chest ache—that she had never stood a chance.

She had fallen.

And she wasn’t sure if she’d ever want to get back up. 

-

Solenne barely registered the distant laughter of students or the rustling leaves in the courtyard. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, unraveling in a way that felt both freeing and terrifying. She had spent so long holding onto something unnamed, something just beyond reach, only to have it burst into clarity in a moment she hadn’t been prepared for.

She was in love with Aurelle.

And now, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t. She couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t push it back into the quiet corners of her mind where all the dangerous thoughts lived.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt as she let out a slow, controlled breath. She needed time. Space. Something to steady herself. But then—

Footsteps.

Not hurried, not casual—measured, almost hesitant. As if each step was carefully considered, yet inevitable.

Aurelle.

Solenne’s breath hitched as she felt her approach, felt the familiar presence settle into the air around her, warm and grounding. It had always been like this—Aurelle never demanded space. She simply existed beside her, like the night wrapping itself around the stars. And wasn’t that the cruelest thing? That she had been so blind to the way their names had always spoken the truth before either of them had realized?

Aurelle stopped just a step away, and for a moment, Solenne thought she might turn back. There was hesitation in the air, a tension she had never felt before. But then—

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Solenne lifted her gaze, and the world tilted slightly.

Aurelle stood there, arms crossed loosely, her dark eyes unreadable beneath the golden light filtering through the branches. Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind, stray strands catching in the glow of the afternoon sun. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly beautiful she was. How easily she could make Solenne forget how to breathe.

For a fleeting second, she thought Aurelle might have noticed. There was something different in the way she was looking at her, something that sent a shiver down Solenne’s spine. But then, Aurelle exhaled softly, shifting her weight. “You left pretty fast after class.”

Solenne forced a smile. “Needed some air.”

Aurelle hesitated. Just for a moment. “Mind if I sit?”

Solenne wanted to say no. She wanted to tell her to leave, to give her space to sort through this overwhelming, earth-shattering realization. But the words caught in her throat. Because the truth was, she didn’t want her to go. Not really. Even now, even with the chaos in her chest, she still wanted Aurelle close.

She nodded.

Aurelle lowered herself onto the grass beside her, close enough that their knees almost brushed. Almost. The space between them felt both too much and not enough. Solenne clenched her hands together, willing them not to shake.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that the simple weight of Aurelle’s presence—something that had always been a comfort—now felt like a storm pressing against her ribs, like she was balancing on the edge of something vast and terrifying. It wasn’t fair that Aurelle could just sit there, so effortlessly close, while Solenne was unraveling from the inside out.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The world continued around them, but Solenne couldn’t focus on any of it. The wind carrying the scent of early autumn, the distant chatter of their classmates—it all faded into the background. All she could feel was Aurelle beside her.

And it was unbearable.

Because suddenly, she could see every moment that had led to this. Every lingering touch, every glance that had lasted a second too long, every quiet night where they had laid beneath the sky and talked about things no one else would understand. She could see how easy it had been to love her. How terrifying it was to realize she had loved her all along.

Aurelle shifted, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Solenne felt the air catch in her lungs. The small, unconscious gesture should have been meaningless, but to her, it was everything. A quiet moment of familiarity, of tenderness, that she had taken for granted for far too long.

“Sol?”

Solenne startled. Her heart lurched at the sound of her name spoken so softly, like a secret only Aurelle knew. She turned, and there was concern in Aurelle’s gaze, her brows drawn slightly together.

“You sure you’re okay?”

No.

She was anything but okay.

But she nodded anyway. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Aurelle studied her for a moment longer, like she was searching for something she couldn’t quite name. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she let out a small hum and leaned back against the tree.

The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t comfortable. It was thick with something unnamed, something too fragile to touch.

She needed to say something. Anything. Before the silence stretched too long, before Aurelle noticed the way her hands had curled into the fabric of her skirt as if grounding herself.

“So,” she started, voice almost steady, “what brings you here?”

Aurelle huffed a soft laugh, resting her head back against the tree. “You. Obviously.”

Solenne’s stomach flipped.

Aurelle continued, oblivious to the war waging in Solenne’s chest. “You just disappeared after class. I figured you’d be here, but you looked so lost in thought I almost didn’t want to bother you.”

Solenne swallowed hard. “What if I was thinking about something important?”

Aurelle turned her head slightly. “Were you?”

Solenne’s mouth went dry.

Yes. You. Always you.

She forced a scoff instead. “Maybe.”

Aurelle hummed in response, and for a moment, there was only the distant chatter of students passing through the courtyard, the rustling of leaves, the quiet hum of the world continuing as if Solenne’s universe wasn’t collapsing in on itself.

And then, Aurelle shifted slightly, their knees brushing together, and Solenne felt it—a spark, a thrill, a sharp inhale of something she couldn’t name but was certain she couldn’t ignore.

She wanted to move. Wanted to pull away before her body betrayed her, before Aurelle could see the flush creeping up her neck. But she couldn’t. Because for all the terror coiling in her chest, there was something intoxicating about being this close, about sitting in this sliver of time where she could pretend nothing had changed, that she hadn’t fallen, that she wasn’t moments away from drowning in it.

Then—

“Oh? Having a secret moment without us?”

The teasing voice shattered the stillness, and Solenne felt herself jolt back into reality. She turned sharply to see their friends approaching, carefree and oblivious to the storm raging inside her.

Mavis led the group, her grin teasing as she took in the scene before her. Behind her, Soleil and Jamie exchanged knowing looks, while the rest of their friends followed, wrapped up in their own little world of inside jokes and fleeting touches.

Solenne could breathe again.

And yet—she almost wished they had stayed away just a little longer.

Jamie grinned, nudging Carson as she took in the scene before her. “Caught them.”

“You two looked cozy,” Soleil teased, dropping down onto the grass beside them. 

Mavis smirked and added. “Should we give them some privacy?”

Solenne felt her stomach twist. The teasing was normal, it was part of their routine. It had always been normal. But now—now it didn’t feel like a joke. Now it felt like they were peeling back something Solenne wasn’t ready to face.

Laughter erupted around them, the conversation shifting, the moment passing—but Solenne was stuck in it, drowning in it. She forced herself to stand when the others did, to move when they did. But as they walked toward the gates, she was hyper-aware of the girl beside her.

Aurelle, who was walking just a little closer than before.

Aurelle, who had hesitated before sitting beside her, as if she, too, was starting to feel the shift between them.

Aurelle, who had been looking at her differently.

And for the first time, Solenne was truly, utterly terrified.

Because she wasn’t sure she could pretend anymore.

-

Solenne hadn’t meant to pull away.

But ever since the realization hit her, it felt impossible to exist beside Aurelle the way she used to. Like trying to stand in the eye of a storm, knowing the winds could tear her apart if she so much as took a step in the wrong direction. She had spent years orbiting Aurelle, steady and constant, like the quiet pull of the moon on the tides. And now, she was adrift—no longer sure of the rules, no longer sure how to simply be without giving herself away.

So, she did the only thing she could. She created distance.

It was subtle at first. A second too long to respond to a message. A turned head when Aurelle met her gaze. A careful shift of her hands so they wouldn’t accidentally brush against Aurelle’s anymore. It was instinctive, an attempt to create a buffer between herself and the dangerous, consuming tenderness that threatened to swallow her whole.

She laughed when she needed to, joined in on conversations when prompted, but there was a weight in her chest that made it all feel distant, hollow. She made sure to avoid looking too long when Aurelle spoke. To suppress the way her hands itched to reach out, to fix the stray strands of dark hair that always fell across Aurelle’s face when she was deep in thought.

It was agonizing.

Because Aurelle was still Aurelle. Still sharp-witted and calm, still the kind of person whose presence alone could make Solenne feel safe in a way nothing else ever had. And now, that safety felt like a trap. Because how could she let herself be comforted by the very thing causing her heartache?

She hated it. Hated the way she hesitated before speaking. The way she second-guessed every touch, every glance. The way her body ached with the absence of something she used to have so freely.

But what choice did she have?

But the thing about distance is that it never remains subtle for long.

Solenne could feel it—how the air between them was no longer easy, how there was an echoing quiet in spaces that used to be filled with effortless conversation. She still smiled, still laughed at the right moments, still played her role well enough that their friends didn’t notice.

But Aurelle did.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Because Aurelle saw her. Always had. And Solenne knew that if she wasn’t careful, Aurelle would begin to ask. And if Aurelle asked—if she looked at her with those steady, piercing eyes and asked what was wrong—Solenne wouldn’t have the strength to lie.

So she kept running. Even when it hurt.

Like now.

Aurelle was speaking—something about an upcoming assignment, something she should be paying attention to—but Solenne couldn’t focus. Not when every part of her was wound so tightly she thought she might snap. She gave vague responses, nodding at the right times, hoping Aurelle wouldn’t notice the way she kept shifting, the way she kept retreating into herself.

She should say something. Act normal. Close the distance before it became something unbearable. But she couldn’t. Because every time she tried, her throat closed up, and all she could think about was the terrifying depth of what she felt.

Aurelle was home. Her anchor, her constant, her person. And yet, Solenne couldn’t bring herself to reach out. Because if she did—if she let herself fall—there would be no coming back from it.

She heard her name, soft but firm, and her body went rigid before she could stop it.

“Solenne.”

Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to look at Aurelle. Big mistake. Because Aurelle was watching her, brow slightly furrowed, eyes dark with something unreadable. Something searching.

And for a single, excruciating moment, Solenne thought she might ask.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she let the moment pass, exhaling slowly as she turned her gaze forward, resting her arms on her knees. “You’ve been quiet,” she said, a note of something unreadable laced in her tone.

Solenne swallowed. “Just tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. She was tired—exhausted from holding this weight inside her, from trying to pretend like nothing had changed when everything had.

Aurelle didn’t respond right away, and for a second, Solenne thought she might push. Might pry. But then, with a quiet sigh, she nodded, looking away as well.

And Solenne should’ve felt relieved. Should’ve been grateful that Aurelle hadn’t pressed further.

But all she felt was the aching space between them.

-

Aurelle wasn’t blind.

She knew Solenne better than she knew herself. Knew the way she chewed on the inside of her cheek when she was nervous, knew the way her fingers curled into fabric when she was holding something back. Knew the way she avoided things that scared her until she couldn’t anymore.

And right now, Solenne was avoiding her.

She didn’t know why. And that was the part that bothered her.

For weeks now, something had been off. Small things—things that most people wouldn’t notice. The way Solenne hesitated before responding. The way she subtly moved away whenever they were too close. The way she kept her hands to herself when, before, it had always been so easy to reach for Aurelle without thought.

She could hear the words unsaid between them, and could feel the shift in every silence that stretched too long. But every time she tried to name it, it slipped between her fingers like smoke.

So she stayed quiet.

Because the truth was, she was terrified, too.

Something had changed between them. That much was undeniable. And deep down, a part of her thought she might know what it was. But if she was right—if the thing thrumming between them was what she feared it was—then acknowledging it would be like tipping the first domino in a line she wasn’t ready to see fall.

So instead, she let the moment pass. Let Solenne’s distance remain unspoken.

Even as it hollowed something inside her.

Even as she longed to close the gap but didn’t know how.

Because sometimes, silence was easier than facing the truth.

And Aurelle wasn’t sure she was ready for the truth yet.

-

At first glance, nothing had changed.

Aurelle and Solenne still walked the same paths, still sat in their usual places—like the universe itself had arranged them to always be near, still moved through the routines they had built over the years. Their conversations were the same, their friends' teasing still ever-present, the world spinning just as it always had.

But beneath the surface, something was unraveling.

It was like an imperceptible shift in the air before a storm, a pause in the ocean’s rhythm before the waves crash. It was in the silence that stretched just a little too long. In the glances that were cut too short, the touches that were no longer careless. In the way their conversations carried a weight neither of them dared to acknowledge, as if speaking too freely might set off an avalanche neither of them was ready to face.

Solenne told herself it was nothing, that she wasn’t avoiding her.

She still saw her every day. They still spoke, still laughed, still existed within the same orbit. And yet, there was a caution in the way she moved around her now, as if every step required careful navigation.

She wasn’t avoiding Aurelle.

But then why did she feel her pulse quicken whenever Aurelle came too close? Why did she find herself noticing every accidental touch, every stolen glance, every silence that stretched just a second too long? Why did her fingers clench every time Aurelle got too close? Why did she hold her breath when their shoulders brushed, as if the smallest touch might set fire to something neither of them was ready to name?

She laughed at their friends' teasing, but the sound felt too practiced, too deliberate. She nodded along, played her part, but never let herself look at Aurelle for too long. Because looking—really looking—felt dangerous now.

Because the moment she let herself slip, let her guard lower even slightly, she knew she would get caught in it again. In her.

Aurelle.

Aurelle, with the way she tilted her head when she was listening, as if nothing else in the world mattered more than the words Solenne hadn’t even said yet. Aurelle, with the way she laughed, something deep and full that always managed to settle in Solenne’s chest, like an echo that refused to fade.

Aurelle, with the way she always reached for her—subtle, instinctive, like gravity itself pulled her closer.

But she hesitated now.

Solenne noticed it. The way Aurelle would lift her hand slightly before curling her fingers into a fist, like she had thought to reach for Solenne but decided against it at the last second. The way her eyes would find her across a room, only to flicker away too quickly, like she had been caught staring.

Aurelle, who had always been so steady, now seemed uncertain. She still walked beside Solenne, still leaned in close when their friends spoke too loudly, still matched her step for step, breath for breath.

But there was hesitation now.

A flicker of something unspoken in the way Aurelle’s gaze would linger a second too long before darting away. In the way her hand would twitch at her side, as if caught between reaching out and holding back.

Aurelle didn’t hesitate before.

But now she did.

And maybe Solenne was imagining it, but—

Had their friends always teased them this much?

Or had they always done it, and she was only now realizing that their laughter carried something dangerously close to the truth?

Maybe this was nothing.

Maybe everything was fine.

Maybe she was overthinking, maybe they were just tired, maybe it was just the season changing, the wind shifting, the earth tilting ever so slightly on its axis—

But then why did it feel like they were standing at the edge of something vast and endless?

Why did it feel like the ground beneath them had split, just enough that they weren’t quite standing in the same place anymore?

Where the fine line blurs—between friendship and something more, between the past and whatever came next.

And what would happen if one of them finally dared to reach across that widening space?

Would they fall?

Or would they find that they had been meant to leap all along?

-

Aurelle felt it too.

The space that hadn’t been there before. The weight of something unspoken pressing against her ribs, heavy and suffocating.

She didn’t know when it started—this distance that wasn’t really distance at all.

Solenne was still there, still beside her, still close enough to touch. But it wasn’t the same, was it?

Before, Aurelle never thought twice about throwing an arm around her, never hesitated before pulling her closer, never second-guessed the way her body naturally leaned toward Solenne’s warmth.

Now, she found herself hesitating.

Now, she found herself thinking about it too much.

Now, she found herself wondering if Solenne noticed the way she stopped herself, if she noticed the way Aurelle’s hands hovered before dropping back to her sides.

And worse—Aurelle had noticed the same hesitation in Solenne.

Solenne, who used to meet her gaze with unwavering steadiness, now looked away just a fraction too quickly. Solenne, who always teased back effortlessly, now took an extra second before responding. Solenne, who used to push into her space without a second thought, now seemed almost… careful.

Careful in a way that sent warning bells ringing in Aurelle’s head.

Because if Solenne was being careful, then that meant she felt it too.

And if she felt it too, then what did that mean for them?

Aurelle swallowed hard, watching as Solenne laughed at something their friends said, the sound too bright, too perfect—too deliberate.

She knew that kind of laughter. Knew it because she had used it herself, too many times to count.

She should ask.

She should say something.

But the words sat heavy on her tongue, unmoving, unwilling.

Because if she asked, if she dared to open that door, then there would be no going back.

And she wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

So instead, she pretended.

Pretended not to notice the way Solenne’s fingers twitched when their hands almost brushed. Pretended not to hear the slight hitch in her breath when Aurelle got too close. Pretended that nothing had changed.

But something had.

And if neither of them dared to name it—

Then what would happen next?

-

Night had fallen, stretching over the city in a hush of silver and shadow. Beneath the same sky, beneath the same stars, two hearts lay restless in separate rooms, lost in the weight of the same silence.

Aurelle stared at her ceiling, the soft glow of her bedside lamp casting faint shapes across the walls. The silence pressed against her skin, heavy, suffocating. It hadn’t always felt this way. Silence between her and Solenne used to be comforting, something gentle, something known. Now it was a void filled with too many questions, too many what-ifs that curled in the corners of her mind like ghosts. When had it changed? She had spent weeks trying to trace it back, trying to find the exact moment the shift occurred. 

She had always known how to read Solenne, how to understand her even when no words were spoken. But now, there were too many things left unsaid, too many glances that stretched just a little too long, too many moments teetering on the edge of something unnamed. And maybe that was the problem. Because if she named it—if she let the realization settle fully, let it take shape in her chest—then what?

On the other side of the city, Solenne lay curled on her side, fingers gripping the sheets as if holding on to something unseen. She had always been good at understanding emotions, unraveling them until they made sense. But this—this feeling that clawed at her ribs, that sent tremors through her hands whenever Aurelle was close—this, she didn’t know what to do with.

She had seen it in stories, had heard it in love songs, had laughed at their friends when they tumbled headfirst into it. But she had never thought to recognize it in herself—not until Aurelle’s distance became unbearable, not until the absence of her touch felt like a wound, not until the thought of losing her felt like a catastrophe she couldn’t recover from. The feelings had been there all along, hadn’t they? Waiting in the quiet spaces between them, in the way she memorized the curve of Aurelle’s smile, the way her world stilled whenever Aurelle’s gaze found hers.

And now, it was too late. They had spent weeks orbiting around the truth, too afraid to speak, too afraid to break the delicate balance they had always known. Instead, they danced around the distance, filling it with small hesitations and unspoken words, ignoring the way it grew like an ocean between them. They were still Solenne and Aurelle. Still walking the same paths, still exchanging the same conversations, still existing in the same spaces. But now, there was a crack in the foundation. A silence that neither of them knew how to break. A question that neither of them dared to ask.

Neither of them dared to acknowledge it.

Instead, they wove around the truth like dancers tracing a pattern they didn’t remember learning. Careful. Cautious. Afraid.

But how long could they ignore it?

How long could they pretend they hadn’t already crossed a threshold they could never return from?

Because somewhere between the quiet glances and lingering silences, between the warmth that felt too much like longing and the fear that settled heavy in their bones—somewhere between friendship and something more—was the place where the fine line blurs.