Chapter Fifty One - What Could Be?

The stands were a cacophony of sound, a sea of parents, students, and teachers bundled up against the bitter chill, their breath swirling in the cold air like mist. Scarves were wrapped tightly around necks, hats pulled low over heads, and gloves clutched in mittened hands, while feet stamped in unison on the cold metal bleachers, a rhythmic drumming of anticipation. The noise was electric, and the energy infectious, but Harper felt strangely detached.

The girls' soccer team raced back and forth across the field, their movements sharp and fluid, the sound of cleats pounding the turf cutting through the noise of the crowd. The low-hanging sun bathed the field in a warm, golden hue, making the girls' jerseys gleam against the growing shadows. But Harper, sitting near the top of the stands, felt like she was looking at the world from a distance, a faint sense of disconnection buzzing just beneath her skin.

She had wrapped herself in a thick coat, her school uniform buried beneath it like a forgotten memory. Even so, she felt conspicuously out of place — a burst of bright red and gold amidst the muted sea of winter coats.

She hadn't meant to come. Not really. She told herself she was here for Aura, that it was about supporting her little sister and not about anyone else. But when Harper's eyes automatically found Leah — moving effortlessly across the field, commanding the game with a quiet confidence, barking directions to her teammates with that easy, mischievous grin — she knew she was lying to herself.

It wasn't about Aura. Not at all. It was about Leah.

Jealousy.

Harper's stomach twisted. It always did when Leah was near. Her pulse quickened whenever Leah's gaze flicked toward the stands, her eyes meeting Harper's for the briefest of seconds. That split moment sent a ripple of warmth through her chest, a sensation that made her ache and long for something she couldn't put into words.

Aura wasn't playing yet. She was sitting on the bench, still recovering, easing back into the sport after everything that had happened. Harper's gaze softened as she watched her younger sister, laughing and chatting with a teammate, her head thrown back in genuine joy. Harper couldn't help but feel a sharp, unfamiliar pang in her chest. Was it pride? Guilt? Longing? She couldn't decide.

But her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sneakers on the bleachers, the sudden weight of a shadow falling over her.

"Hey!" Leah's voice broke through the fog in Harper's mind. She was slightly out of breath, her forehead glistening with sweat as she wiped it away with the back of her sleeve. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Harper startled, nearly knocking over her water bottle in the process. She grabbed it quickly, holding it a little too tightly, her heart racing from the surprise.

"God, you scared me..." Harper muttered, her voice barely audible as she fumbled with the bottle in her hands.

Leah's grin was wide and infectious, her eyes bright with mischief. She nudged Harper's knee lightly with her own, the touch unexpected but welcome.

"Sorry. Didn't think I'd see you here.." Leah added, her gaze flicking to the field for a moment before returning to Harper, still playful.

Harper just shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on the game. "Just came to see Aura, to be honest."

Leah raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

There was a long pause, and for a brief second, Harper considered telling her the truth — that she wasn't here for Aura at all, that it had everything to do with Leah. But before she could find the words, Leah spoke again, her voice more direct, more searching.

"You didn't accept my friend request."

Harper's breath caught in her throat, the words sinking in like a cold stone. She felt a flush creep up her neck, her cheeks burning as she quickly put the water bottle down, as if trying to hide the discomfort that was bubbling to the surface.

"Uh... yeah, I... I saw it." Harper stammered, her voice faltering as she fumbled for an explanation. "I just, uh, didn't have the chance to..."

She trailed off, her words failing to match the truth of the situation. She hadn't expected to be confronted so directly, so unrelentingly, by Leah.

Leah's lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable for a moment. Her gaze flickered between Harper's face and her phone, as if searching for some hidden meaning behind the simple action.

"Is there a reason?" Leah asked quietly, her voice soft but insistent, as if she needed to understand.

Harper's heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the question heavy in the air between them. She couldn't explain. Not here. Not in front of everyone. She couldn't tell Leah about her grandmother's suffocating grip on her life, or about her parents' half-hearted approval. She couldn't tell her about the fear that gripped her every time she thought of being honest about who she really was.

She shook her head, the words tangled in her throat. "No reason." she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. "Just... I guess I wasn't ready."

Leah's eyes softened, her expression shifting from confusion to something gentler. She took a slow step closer to Harper, lowering her arms and leaning against the edge of the bleachers. Her gaze never left Harper's face, reading her like an open book.

"You don't have to explain yourself." Leah said quietly, the weight of her words sinking in. "But if you need a reason, I think you already know it's because..." Her voice faltered for just a moment, before becoming clear again. "...I'm not like them."

Harper's eyes widened, the words taking her by surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She stared at Leah, confused.

"Like who?" she asked, the question more desperate than she intended.

Leah glanced away briefly, her eyes shadowed before they locked back onto Harper's. "Like the people who hide." she replied, her voice quieter now, but firm. "Like the people who want to make us invisible."

Harper's heart skipped a beat, her chest tightening with a mixture of guilt and relief. Leah was speaking the truth — the one Harper didn't want to face, the one that made her feel like a coward.

But she wasn't ready to face it. Not yet. Not here.

Leah seemed to sense the hesitation, the confusion. She studied Harper for a beat longer, her expression softening before she gave her a sad, almost wistful smile.

"It's okay." she said, standing up straight again. "I just wanted to ask. I'll leave you to it."

Before Harper could respond, Leah turned and jogged back onto the field, her figure blending with the others in a sea of motion. Harper's mind was still reeling, the weight of Leah's words pressing down on her like a storm cloud. She felt guilty. She felt small. And she felt something else, something that burned in her chest — longing.

Later that evening, Harper sat on Millie's bed, her hands folded nervously in her lap as she glanced at Millie. The soft hum of music filled the room, an undercurrent of normalcy in a day that had been anything but. Millie was sorting through her things, packing for her much needed weekend getaway with Cody, her movements quick but methodical.

Harper watched her, but it was hard to focus. The tension in the air was palpable, a thick silence that weighed on her. She had wanted to talk to Millie about this — about Leah, about how she was feeling — for days now. But the words had been stuck, lodged in her throat like a splinter she couldn't pull out.

Millie glanced over, sensing the unease that had been building all evening. She paused for a moment, her eyes flicking from her suitcase to Harper.

"Hey..." Millie said, her voice light but edged with curiosity. "What's going on? You've been quiet all day."

Harper hesitated, her mouth dry as she searched for the right words. She wasn't sure why it was so hard to talk to Millie now, when she had always felt so comfortable around her. But today felt different. Today, everything felt so much heavier.

"I... I don't know, Mills." Harper muttered, her voice small, unsure. "It's just... Leah."

Millie raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of concern mixed with curiosity. "Leah? Sophie's sister, Leah?"

Harper nodded, her fingers twisting in her lap as she gathered her thoughts. "Yeah. It's just... she's so open, you know? She doesn't care what people think. She posts pictures with her girlfriend. She talks about her relationships. She's... herself. And I can't do that."

Millie remained silent, her eyes soft as she waited for Harper to continue. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was just the space Harper needed to untangle her feelings, to find the right words.

"You want to be able to post about your relationships..." Millie said gently, her voice full of understanding.

Harper nodded, swallowing hard. "But I can't. Not with everything with my grandma, with my parents. I can't even post pictures of me and Josie without worrying about what they'll think. But Leah... she doesn't care. She just... doesn't hide who she is. And I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending."

Millie's expression softened even more, her gaze becoming intense with empathy. She leaned forward, placing a hand gently on Harper's.

"I get it, Harp." she said quietly, her voice steady. "You're jealous of her. You're jealous because she's living the life you want. The life you feel like you can't have."

Harper nodded, the lump in her throat growing as she fought to hold back tears. She hated feeling this way, hated feeling small, hated being trapped.

But Millie's words gave her permission — permission to feel what she was feeling, to not have to pretend.

"You're allowed to feel frustrated and angry, Harper." Millie continued. "You don't have to hide who you are. You know that, right?"

Harper glanced up at Millie, searching her face for answers. Millie wasn't like anyone else in her family. Millie understood her in a way no one else did.

"I just don't know what to do, I'm in a fake fucking relationship so my own family leave me alone!" Harper confessed, her voice cracking slightly. "I don't know how to keep pretending."

Millie didn't say anything right away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Harper, pulling her into a tight hug. Harper let herself collapse into the warmth of her embrace, letting the weight of her emotions pour out in silent tears.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Harper." Millie whispered, her voice firm but gentle. "You never have to. But just... take your time. Figure out what you want, who you want to be. Don't let anyone — not even your family — tell YOU how to live YOUR life."

Harper closed her eyes, soaking in the comfort of Millie's arms around her. For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe again, even if just for a moment.

Tonight she was going to tell them.

Tell them she didn't want to pretend.

"Thank you." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Millie pulled back slightly, her hands still on Harper's shoulders as she gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"You don't have to thank me, Harper. I'm here for you. Always."