#6

Chloe entered the classroom, her footsteps echoing faintly. She spotted August sitting quietly by the window, her head bowed, sunlight casting a fiery orange glow on her hair. For the first time, Chloe felt that August seemed… ordinary. Distant. There was something unsettling about the way she sat, staring at her phone, as if waiting for something—or someone.

Chloe approached, forcing a small smile. "Who are you waiting for?"

August looked up, her expression unreadable. She hesitated, the words caught somewhere between her heart and her tongue. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she murmured, "Adams."

The name hit Chloe like a sudden gust of cold wind. Her smile faltered. She blinked, trying to mask her confusion. "Adams? But... he's with Autumn," she said, her voice low but edged with disbelief.

August shook her head, a faint quiver in her voice. "I asked him. He said they're not together… just close."

Chloe leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "Close doesn't mean nothing, August," she said, her tone sharpened by disappointment.

August's lips trembled, and tears began to gather in her eyes. "But I love him," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of those words.

Chloe's expression hardened, her brows knitting together. "And that's enough for you to hurt someone else?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

August's tears began to fall, and she looked up at Chloe with wide, pleading eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone," she said softly.

Chloe stared at her, her chest tightening. "August, crying won't make this right," she said, her voice flat. "It's disgusting when you try to use your tears to justify this."

The words stung both of them. August froze, her tear-streaked face twisting in shock. Chloe, equally stunned by her own harshness, turned away, unable to face her friend's broken expression. She stared out the window, watching as the sunlight disappeared, replaced by a curtain of snowflakes. The frost pressed against the glass felt like her own emotions—cold, relentless.

Without another word, Chloe walked out of the classroom, her steps quick and unsteady. Just outside, she locked eyes with Izzy, who had been listening from the hall. Izzy didn't say a word, didn't even frown. But her face held a quiet sorrow, as if she had just lost something precious.

---

Later that day, the classroom buzzed with the tension of exam time. Autumn walked among the rows of desks, handing out test papers. She was quiet, her movements methodical, her expression unreadable.

When she reached August's desk, she paused. August was staring out the window, her eyes glassy, her spirit seemingly lost in the falling snow. She looked no different from anyone else in the room now—cold, distant, and trapped in winter's unrelenting grip.

Autumn's gaze flickered to the open bag beside August's desk. A book caught her eye: The Language of Flowers. Memories surged to the surface—days spent in the flower club with August, laughter over petals and meanings. And then the daffodil. It wasn't a coincidence.

Her fingers tightened on the paper as she placed it on August's desk. She stared at her for a moment longer, a strange mix of anger and exhaustion swirling within her. What was the point of understanding anything now? Autumn thought.

She turned and continued down the aisle, her heart heavy. She was so tired. Tired of people, tired of pretending, tired of caring.

The stars spread like shards of broken glass across the dark winter sky. A group of students sat huddled around a fire pit, the flames crackling and casting flickering shadows over their faces. The biting chill of the night was kept at bay by the warmth of the fire and the hum of casual laughter. August sat among them, her orange hair reflecting the firelight like a halo. She wore a small smile, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she listened to the conversations swirling around her.

"August, you've been so quiet tonight!" one of the boys called out, leaning closer with a grin. "Why don't you tell us something about yourself? Something... interesting."

August blinked, startled by the sudden attention. The group fell silent, all eyes turning to her. She hesitated, her smile faltering. "I don't know what to say," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

"Come on," another student urged. "Where did you grow up? What was your family like?"

The question lingered in the air, weighty and intrusive. August's fingers tightened around her knees. For a moment, she stared into the flames, as if searching for an answer there.

"We used to sit like this," she said finally, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "My family and I... around a fire. We'd talk about silly things, laugh about nothing. It was…" Her voice cracked slightly, and she bit her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Chloe's words echoed in her mind: "Don't think that crying is the solution, that's disgusting." The memory hit her like ice water. She swallowed hard, quickly brushing at her eyes as if a stray spark had irritated them. "It was nice," she finished abruptly, her tone flat and distant.

Autumn, who had been sitting across from her, tilted her head slightly. Her sharp eyes caught the shift in August's demeanor—the tremor in her voice, the way she avoided eye contact. She's different because she's lived a happy life, Autumn thought, the realization striking her like a revelation. It wasn't just her family's warmth; it was the lightness of having something whole, something safe.

Before the silence could grow awkward, someone turned to Autumn. "What about you, Autumn?" they asked. "What's the most important thing you've learned?"

Autumn's gaze lingered on August for a moment before she turned to the group. She crossed her legs, leaning slightly forward, the firelight dancing in her dark blue eyes. "The most important thing I've learned," she began, her voice steady and thoughtful, "is that people are like seasons. We all go through change, through growth, through pain. And just like the seasons, we can't hold on to one version of ourselves forever."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. The group fell silent, captivated by the depth of her response. Even August looked up, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

"That's… beautiful," someone murmured, breaking the stillness.

Autumn offered a faint smile, but inside, her thoughts churned. She hadn't said it for admiration; she'd said it because she felt it—because in that moment, looking at August, she realized they were both trapped in different seasons of their lives, each battling storms the other couldn't fully see.