Chapter 8: Parallel Lives

By the second year of college, the apartment had learned their rhythms.

The floorboard near the kitchen creaked beneath Aaron’s early-morning steps. The bathroom mirror was always fogged by Lily’s long showers. The couch bore the faint imprint of countless late nights—study sessions, exhaustion, moments that blurred together until they felt like a single, shared breath.

They lived together easily now.

Too easily.

That, Aaron thought, was the danger.

⸻

Lily’s life expanded outward.

She joined fashion circles, attended exhibitions, spoke with a confidence that drew people in. She learned how to command a room—not loudly, but with intention. Her laughter came more freely now, her smile less guarded.

Aaron watched it all from the edges.

He listened when she talked about classes and projects, about people whose names he recognized only because she repeated them often enough. He asked questions. He remembered details.

He always remembered.

When Lily started dating Mark, she didn’t announce it.

She simply came home later than usual one night, shoes in hand, her cheeks flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

“You’re up late,” Aaron said from the couch, laptop balanced on his knees.

She hesitated. “Yeah. Group meeting ran long.”

He nodded, already knowing the truth.

The shoes by the door the next morning confirmed it—unfamiliar, too polished for either of them.

Aaron said nothing.

⸻

Mark became a presence in their lives without ever truly belonging to it.

He laughed loudly, filled space easily, spoke with the casual confidence of someone unused to restraint. Lily seemed lighter around him, more playful, though sometimes her laughter came a beat too late.

Aaron noticed things others wouldn’t.

The way Mark interrupted Lily mid-sentence. The way her shoulders stiffened when he teased her too sharply. The way she glanced at Aaron sometimes, as if grounding herself.

One night, after Mark left, Lily lingered in the living room.

“He’s… intense,” she said.

Aaron closed his laptop. “Do you like him?”

She considered the question. “I think so.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She frowned, then sighed. “I don’t know yet.”

He nodded. “That’s okay.”

She smiled at him then—small, grateful. “You’re good at listening.”

He swallowed. “Someone should be.”

⸻

Their lives ran side by side, never quite intersecting the way they once had.

Lily spent weekends out—dates, events, late-night drives filled with music and promise. Aaron worked double shifts, his notebooks filling with code and ideas, sleep becoming something borrowed rather than owned.

Success came quietly for him.

A professor praised his work. A classmate asked for help on a project that turned into something bigger. A concept began to take shape—an app, an idea with potential.

He told Lily about it one night as she curled up on the couch, sketchbook in her lap.

“That’s incredible,” she said. “You could really go somewhere with that.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“You always say maybe,” she teased.

“Because nothing’s certain,” he replied.

She studied him, expression thoughtful. “You should believe in yourself more.”

He looked away. “I do. Just… privately.”

⸻

The strain showed in unexpected ways.

One evening, Lily came home upset, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Mark forgot,” she said flatly.

“Forgot what?”

“My presentation. He promised he’d be there.”

Aaron leaned against the counter. “Did you tell him it mattered?”

“I shouldn’t have to,” she snapped—then immediately softened. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently.

She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know why this bothers me so much.”

He hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Because you care.”

She laughed without humor. “That’s the problem.”

They stood there in silence, something heavy settling between them.

Aaron wanted to say more.

He didn’t.

⸻

There were nights he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to Lily’s door open and close, her laughter fading down the hallway.

He told himself this was the cost of loving someone quietly.

He told himself love wasn’t meant to be convenient.

Across the apartment, Lily lay awake too, staring at her phone, scrolling past messages she didn’t feel like answering.

She thought about Aaron’s steadiness. His patience. The way he never demanded more than she could give.

She pushed the thought aside.

⸻

The truth arrived slowly.

Not in a single moment, but in fragments—missed calls, vague explanations, the way Mark guarded his phone. Lily noticed, but she ignored the signs.

Aaron saw them all.

He didn’t want to.

One afternoon, while waiting outside a café after work, he saw Mark across the street, laughing with another girl, his hand resting too familiarly at her waist.

Aaron froze.

The world narrowed to that single, undeniable truth.

He left before Mark could see him.

⸻

That night, Aaron sat on the edge of his bed, hands clasped, heart racing.

He thought about telling Lily. About sparing her pain. About breaking a trust that wasn’t his to break.

He thought about his parents—about the night everything ended without warning.

He thought about Lily’s laughter. Her guarded heart.

He didn’t sleep.

⸻

The next morning, Lily hummed as she moved around the kitchen, unaware.

Aaron watched her, the weight of knowledge heavy on his chest.

He knew then that loving her meant standing at the edge of her pain, unsure whether stepping in would save her—or break something fragile between them.

Their lives continued in parallel.

But the distance between them had never felt so thin.

And something, he sensed, was about to change.