Chapter Forty - Aura's Return

Aura's fingers shook as she hesitated outside the cafeteria's entrance. The heavy door loomed before her, a gateway to a noisy world she had been away from for too long. Her breath caught in her throat—a fragile thread threatening to snap under the weight of every sound echoing behind that door: the laughter, the chatter, the scrape of trays and chairs, all buzzing like a swarm she couldn't escape.

Steeling herself, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and unrelenting, their cold glow making every shadow sharper, every movement more noticeable. Heads turned; eyes flicked in her direction, some curious, others sympathetic, many merely indifferent. But to Aura, every glance felt like a spotlight, every whisper a judgment.

Her chest tightened with the familiar surge of anxiety. She forced her feet forward through the throng of students, her heart pounding like a drumbeat in her ears.

There, in a small corner table near the window, sat her sanctuary—a place to hide and try.

She settled into the seat, trying to shrink beneath the weight of a thousand invisible stares. Her fingers trembled as she opened the lunchbox before her. The scent of fresh turkey and bread rose gently, comforting yet cruel. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the aroma remind her of something real and kind.

Inside the box was a folded note, neat and carefully written.

"For you. Hope it helps today. — Harper."

A bittersweet swell rose in her chest. Harper—the girl who carried scars as deep and jagged as her own, but who somehow found the strength to reach out. The same Harper who was moody, sharp-edged, and distant, yet beneath it all a quiet guardian.

Aura's trembling fingers unfolded the note fully, holding it like a lifeline.

Slowly, she picked up the sandwich, her hands shaking so violently she had to brace it against the table. Her lips parted, and she forced herself to take a tiny bite.

The moment the food touched her tongue, a wave of heat rushed up her throat, spreading like wildfire behind her eyes. Panic ignited, fierce and raw, tightening her chest until her ribs felt crushed by an invisible vice.

Her breath hitched, sharp and shallow. The chatter around her faded, replaced by a roaring tide of noise—her own heartbeat pounding thunderously, the lights above flashing with unbearable intensity.

Her hands clenched the edge of the table, nails digging deep into her skin as her vision blurred and swam. The relentless, merciless voice inside her head screamed:

You shouldn't have eaten that. You need to get it out.

She couldn't fight it.

"I... I need to go." she whispered hoarsely, rising so abruptly that the chair scraped loudly across the floor.

Her heart pounded as she stumbled toward the bathroom door, panic clawing at her throat, threatening to suffocate her.

Suddenly, a voice—low, firm, unmistakably sharp—stopped her in her tracks.

"Aura. Wait."

She froze, wide-eyed, breath ragged.

Harper stood just behind her, the cold mask she always wore in place—a sharp scowl, arms crossed tightly over her chest—but her dark eyes held something deeper, something fierce and protective. It was the kind of look that cut through any pretense, seeing straight into the truth without judgment.

Harper said quietly, but with an edge of command. "Come back. Sit down."

Aura's breath hitched again, panic surging, but the unexpected tenderness beneath Harper's sternness pulled at her like a tether.

Before she could respond, Leah appeared at her side, smiling gently like a soft light in the storm.

"Hey, Aura.." Leah said softly, her voice calm and inviting. "Mind if I join you? I could use some company too."

Aura blinked, caught off guard by Leah's warmth and ease. Leah's eyes were open, honest, and free of any pity or expectation—just kindness.

"Okay-.." Aura whispered, voice shaky but hopeful.

Leah slid into the seat beside her and unpacked her lunch, the simple act steadying in its normalcy.

"We have missed you at practice." Leah said after a moment, glancing sideways with a small smile. "It's nice to have you back at school.."

"Yeah.." she replied, swallowing hard.

Leah's smile widened, genuine and soft. "Well, I'm really glad we get to sit together. Lunch can be tough sometimes, huh?"

Aura nodded, the tension easing just a fraction.

"Yeah." she said quietly. "It's... hard. It's not just the food." Her eyes flicked to the sandwich, then back to Leah.

Leah's gaze was gentle, patient. "I get that. I've had my own battles, too. Maybe not the same ones, but I know what it's like to feel like everything's too much."

Aura felt a fragile thread of connection start to weave between them.

Leah talked then—about school, silly moments in class, a ridiculous drama rehearsal where someone forgot their lines. Her voice was light and easy, a calm current pulling Aura back from the edge of panic.

Harper stayed nearby alongside Blake, rigid and watchful, the usual sharp frown in place, but Aura caught a rare flicker of softness in her eyes—a quiet promise that she would stand guard no matter what.

With Leah's warmth beside her and Harper's steady presence close by, Aura took a slow, cautious bite.

The panic hadn't vanished; it whispered still in the shadows of her mind, but the unbearable weight had lightened.

Later that day, the headteacher's office was a small sanctuary from the noisy corridors outside. Soft afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the neat desk where Mrs. Calvert sat, her posture calm and open. The faint scent of polished wood and old books gave the room a quiet warmth.

Aura perched on the edge of her chair, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. The usual heaviness weighed on her chest — a mix of anxiety and the raw vulnerability she'd been carrying since she returned to school.

Mrs. Calvert's eyes, kind but steady, met hers. "Thank you for coming in today, Aura. I wanted to check in and see how you're doing since you came back."

Aura took a deep breath, trying to steady the flutter in her stomach. "It's been... difficult." she admitted quietly. "Some days are okay, but most days, it feels like this constant fight."

Mrs. Calvert nodded slowly, encouraging her to continue.

"It's not just about school.." Aura said, voice catching. "At home, things are better than before. My parents try to help... but the hardest part is inside my head. The bulimia — it's still there. The urges. The fear. Sometimes I can push it away, but other times... it feels like I'm drowning."

She paused, eyes flicking down. "I think the hardest thing is feeling trapped. Like no matter how much I want to get better, my body and my mind keep fighting me. I want to eat, but then the guilt and panic come right after. It's like I'm stuck between needing food to live and needing control to feel safe."

Mrs. Calvert's face softened with understanding, but her voice remained steady and warm. "Thank you for trusting me with that, Aura. It takes a lot of courage to share what you're feeling."

Aura swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. "Some days, I feel exhausted — like my own thoughts are against me. The urge to throw up is always there, and even when I don't, I replay every bite I eat, every moment I lose control. It's exhausting, and it makes it hard to focus on school or even enjoy things."

"I can only imagine how hard that must be.." Mrs. Calvert said gently. "It's a heavy burden to carry alone."

Aura nodded. "Yeah... and sometimes I feel guilty for needing help, like I should be able to fix this myself. But I can't."

"Recovery isn't about doing it alone." Mrs. Calvert reminded her kindly. "It's okay to ask for support, and it's okay to have bad days. What matters is that you keep trying."

The conversation shifted then, as Mrs. Calvert asked about schoolwork and how Aura was managing academically.

"It's been tough to keep up." Aura admitted. "Concentration is hard, and some subjects feel overwhelming. I'm trying to catch up with the help of my teachers, but it's slow."

"That's understandable." Mrs. Calvert said thoughtfully. "We can arrange extra support if you need it, and we can be flexible with deadlines. Your wellbeing comes first."

Aura's shoulders relaxed a little, relief softening the tightness inside her.

"Is there anything else you think we should know? Or anything you need from us?" Mrs. Calvert asked.

Aura hesitated, then spoke softly. "Sometimes I just want someone to check in on me — to know I'm not alone when it feels like everything is falling apart."

Mrs. Calvert smiled gently. "We can definitely do that. You're not alone here, Aura. We want to help you feel safe and supported at school."

Aura stood slowly, a small, hopeful spark flickering in her chest. "Thank you, Mrs. Calvert. It means a lot."

As she left the office, the heavy cloud inside her seemed a little lighter. The path ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time, she felt the strength to keep moving forward — one step, one breath, one day at a time.