LOGINShare
Chapter 7: More Than a Muse
Last Updated:
2025-05-03 01:24:07The day of the Winter Arts Showcase arrived with snow clinging to the edges of the sidewalks and breath visible in the air. Maple Hill High was buzzing with energy—twinkle lights strung across the ceiling beams, tables filled with clay sculptures and photography prints, and the auditorium transformed into a gallery of student possibility.
Layla stood near the back, fingers curled around a cup of lukewarm cider, stomach fluttering like it was trying to tell her something. Maybe it was nerves. Or maybe it was knowing that she had given away more of herself than she ever meant to.
Somewhere between painting and poetry, she’d let pieces of her past leak into color and ink—her disappointments, her hopes, her almosts. And now they were on display under bright lights, for everyone to see.
Jayden hadn’t said much since the night she told him she was falling. He hadn’t pulled away, but he hadn’t stepped closer either. He was... present. Warm. Quiet. As if he was waiting for the right moment to breathe out everything he’d been holding in.
She weaved through the displays of student work until she found the far wall of the gallery—the section reserved for “collaborative honors pieces.”
And there it was.
Their piece.
A large canvas, almost the size of a small door, framed in soft golden light. Ten panels of mixed-media brilliance, each one a fusion of Jayden’s brushstrokes and her poetry. Vibrant layers of color danced over every surface, and scattered between them were lines she’d written—some loud, some barely visible, like secrets whispering through the paint.
Layla stepped closer, heart suddenly racing.
At the bottom of the display was a small title card.
“When We Were Almost” — by Jayden Carter & Layla Reyes
Her chest tightened.
They had never agreed on a title.
And then she saw it—tucked into the bottom right-hand corner of the final panel. A new addition, one she hadn’t seen during their final session in the art room.
It was her.
Not the polished version she showed the world. Not even the shy girl Jayden had first met in the courtyard.
This was different.
Jayden had painted her sitting on the floor of the art room, cross-legged, charcoal smudges on her fingertips, hair pulled up in a loose, messy bun. Her expression wasn’t smiling—but it wasn’t guarded either. She looked up toward something out of the frame, as if waiting for a truth to land. A version of her captured mid-vulnerability, mid-becoming.
And beneath the image, in Jayden’s looping handwriting, it read:
“Not just my partner. Not just my muse. My beginning.”
Layla stared at it so long she forgot to blink.
She turned slowly—and there he was.
Jayden stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his gray coat, eyes unsure but steady.
“You changed the title card,” she whispered, her throat tightening.
“I changed the ending,” he said, stepping toward her. “Because I was tired of almosts.”
Her lips parted, and for a second she couldn’t speak. Her heart was doing that dangerous thing again—hoping.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Jayden nodded once. “I’m done second-guessing. You’re not my distraction. You’re my choice.”
Layla blinked away the moisture at the corner of her eyes. She didn’t hesitate this time. She walked toward him like she’d been heading in his direction all along.
And when their lips finally met, it wasn’t a firework moment.
It wasn’t loud.
It was steady. Sure. Quiet in that life-changing kind of way.
Like something you build—not something you fall into.
The rest of the world spun around them—families laughing, cameras clicking, Christmas music trickling from a nearby speaker. But in that breath, in that kiss, it was just them.
No past. No almost.
Just now.
Just yes.
Latest chapter
When We Were Almost Epilogue: The Space Between Then and Now
Epilogue: Three months laterSpring in Maple HillThe courtyard was finally green again.The trees, once bare and brittle, had bloomed into soft promises. Pink buds peeked through budding branches, and blades of grass tickled the hems of students’ jeans as they sprawled across the lawn. The breeze smelled like fresh beginnings and something close to forgiveness.Layla sat under her favorite tree near the center of the quad, journal open on her lap, sunlight pooling on the pages like melted gold. Her fingers hovered over the pen for a moment before they moved.She hadn’t written in weeks—not since the Winter Showcase, not since Jayden kissed her under a canopy of fairy lights, quiet music, and quiet relief. That kiss had felt like punctuation, like the closing of a chapter she didn’t know she’d been writing.But today felt different.Not because something big had happened.Because something small had.Jayden sat across from her, cross-legged in the grass, sketchbook in his lap and his
When We Were Almost Chapter 9: Becoming the Story
Graduation was three months away, and already the air carried the scent of endings—fresh-cut grass, old library books, and the sharp breath of spring just waking up. Everything felt like a countdown: final essays, college deadlines, farewell letters passed in secret between lockers.Layla sat tucked into a corner of the school library, sunlight pouring through the tall windows. A college brochure rested in one hand, her final poem in the other. The lines had been written and rewritten more times than she could count—but now they felt complete.She’d submitted the poem to the state writing contest on a whim. Or maybe on a dare—Jayden’s voice echoing in her head, "Why not you?"The poem ended with a line she hadn’t been brave enough to write a year ago:We were almost a story. Now we are one.She reread it again, feeling the words settle inside her chest like they belonged there.The library door creaked, and footsteps approached.Jayden.He held two iced coffees—hers with cinnamon, his
When We Were Almost New Chapter 8: After the Gallery Lights Fade
A week after the Winter Arts Showcase, Layla found herself back in the art room—not for a project, not to escape lunch, not even to paint.Just… because.Because this was where she could breathe.Jayden was already there, spinning gently on a squeaky stool near the windows, sketchbook balanced on his knee, pencil dancing in that effortless way he had. He didn’t look up when she walked in, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.“You always come early now,” he teased, voice warm and familiar.“You’re always here first,” she replied, shaking the snow from her coat and draping it over the back of a chair.The room smelled like linseed oil and paper—messy and creative and real. It had become their unofficial place, the way some songs become your song without ever meaning to.They’d kissed. They’d labeled things. And now they were navigating the new space that came after almost.It was real. Honest. And a little terrifying.But Layla didn’t mind the fear as much anymore. Fear meant it
When We Were Almost Chapter 7: More Than a Muse
The day of the Winter Arts Showcase arrived with snow clinging to the edges of the sidewalks and breath visible in the air. Maple Hill High was buzzing with energy—twinkle lights strung across the ceiling beams, tables filled with clay sculptures and photography prints, and the auditorium transformed into a gallery of student possibility.Layla stood near the back, fingers curled around a cup of lukewarm cider, stomach fluttering like it was trying to tell her something. Maybe it was nerves. Or maybe it was knowing that she had given away more of herself than she ever meant to.Somewhere between painting and poetry, she’d let pieces of her past leak into color and ink—her disappointments, her hopes, her almosts. And now they were on display under bright lights, for everyone to see.Jayden hadn’t said much since the night she told him she was falling. He hadn’t pulled away, but he hadn’t stepped closer either. He was... present. Warm. Quiet. As if he was waiting for the right moment to
When We Were Almost Chapter 6: When We Were Almost
The air between them felt lighter after that conversation, like they had both put down something heavy they’d been carrying too long. But still—there was hesitation. Not because the feelings weren’t real, but because they were.Real was messy.Real was scary.And neither of them wanted to be the first to call it what it was.Jayden and Layla found each other again in the little moments.She waited for him by the art room steps with two coffees this time—one black, one cinnamon-dusted. He smiled without words when he took the right one, his fingers grazing hers just long enough to leave a trail of warmth.They worked late after school most days, buried in their final project—a mixed-media canvas that layered Jayden’s illustrations with fragments of Layla’s poetry. It was bold. Raw. Beautiful in a chaotic kind of way. A mirror of everything unspoken between them.Layla scribbled her verses across parchment in faded ink while Jayden outlined fractured wings, open hands, and eyes filled w
When We Were Almost Chapter 5: Breaking Walls
It took Layla two full days to realize that giving Jayden space wasn’t making things better—it was just giving her too much time to overthink. She replayed every detail of that hallway moment like a looped movie: Noah’s hand on her locker, Jayden’s eyes clouding over, the retreat before she could explain.And the silence?It was worse than any argument. It sat with her at lunch. Rode with her on the bus. Followed her into every class like a fog she couldn’t shake.By Monday, the sky had turned that pale, indifferent gray—the kind that made everything feel colder than it really was. The kind that whispered, say something before it’s too late.So she did.She waited until the final bell, watching the halls slowly empty. Then she walked straight to the art wing, her boots clacking against the linoleum like a heartbeat she couldn’t slow.The door creaked open. Jayden was there—alone—standing in front of a half-finished canvas, fingers streaked with crimson and cobalt, his usual sketchpad
When We Were Almost Chapter 4: Past Collides with the Present
Friday started like any other—cold air, heavy clouds, and Jayden waiting by the front steps of the art wing with two coffees in hand. Layla had grown used to the small rituals. How he always waited for her, how she never had to ask. How he never made her feel like she was the new girl anymore.“You remembered the cinnamon,” she said, taking the warm cup from his outstretched hand.“You remembered to smile,” he replied, soft and warm, like a favorite lyric.She nudged his shoulder as they walked inside. It had been almost a month since they’d been paired for the English Lit and Visual Interpretation project, and somewhere between planning sketches and quoting poetry, the awkwardness between them had melted into something... more. Something unspoken, but undeniable.Until fifth period.Layla was rifling through her locker, stuffing a crumpled worksheet into her binder, when she heard it.“Layla?”She froze.That voice didn’t belong in Maple Hill. That voice belonged to rooftops in Chica
When We Were Almost Chapter 3: The Paint Between Us
The art room had become their unspoken meeting spot.Even after the history project was over, Layla and Jayden found themselves back there after school—sometimes sketching, sometimes just sitting in silence as sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows on the paint-splattered floor. There was comfort in the quiet. I don't have to explain too much.One Tuesday afternoon, Jayden was bent over a canvas, his curls falling into his face as he worked. Layla perched on a stool beside him, watching the image unfold—soft outlines of a city skyline at sunset, the kind that looked like it might hum with secrets. His brush slowed when he realized she was watching.“Have you ever thought about showing your work?” she asked.Jayden froze, the question landing heavier than she intended. “Nah,” he muttered, dipping his brush in ochre. “It’s just for me.”“But it’s good,” she said. “Like... really good.”He gave her a quick glance, then looked away. “You don’t get it.”“Then help
When We Were Almost Chapter 2: Accidental Sparks
It happened in third period history class—Mr. Kessler’s monotone lectures on early American politics were enough to turn anyone’s brain into pudding. Layla sat in the middle row, propping her head on her hand and blinking slowly like that might trick her body into staying awake.Mr. Kessler adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and cleared his throat like it was a war horn. “We’ll be starting a group project today,” he announced. “You and your partner will create a visual or performative presentation on the Bill of Rights. Creative interpretations encouraged.”Layla groaned under her breath. Of course. The one day she forgot her earbuds, fate punished her with forced human interaction.Names were called, and groans echoed throughout the room like a low thunder. Then came the one that made Layla sit up straighter: “Layla Reyes and Jayden Carter.”She glanced across the room. Jayden, the quiet boy who always carried a sketchpad and sat near the window, looked up. Their eyes met. He smiled—ea
You may also like
To Tempt My Stepbrother
maramartha295.3K viewsBullied By The Badboy
maramartha167.1K viewsThe Bad Boy Has A Daughter
Chimdi Jane Samuel52.7K viewsSext Buddy
Akudo Maryann108.8K viewsWild Teenage Fantasies
AimenR9.6K viewsBlurred Lines
Susceptible4.8K viewsISSY (easy)
Amberdorn8.5K viewsNot Like Me
hchladybug12182.6K views
