Episode 14: The Words We Wait For
I thought publishing a book would feel like crossing a finish line.
But here I was, hours before the launch event, and all I felt was... exposed.
Like every version of me—broken, guarded, uncertain—was now sitting on a shelf for strangers to analyze.
The bookstore was small, cozy. Just enough space for a modest crowd and a makeshift podium. Copies of Between Us, the Silence were neatly stacked in the front display. My name in bold. My title in ink.
I should've been proud.
But something was missing.
Clara hadn't responded to any of my texts in two days.
She was always quick to reply. Even when busy. Even from another timezone. Our little ritual of daily voice notes had become an anchor.
Now, silence.
And silence, after everything, made my chest tighten in that old, familiar way.
I tried not to spiral. I reminded myself: time difference. Spotty Wi-Fi. Maybe she was just overwhelmed with the mural.
But still...
I checked my phone one last time before stepping up to speak.
Nothing.
The event began.
A handful of chairs filled with familiar faces—friends from college, Lila the editor, even our old neighbor who used to babysit us.
Lila introduced me. Said kind words I barely processed.
Then it was my turn.
I walked to the front, heart racing.
I looked out into the room. So many people. And yet, the empty space beside the display table haunted me.
I cleared my throat.
"Hi. I'm Elena Hart. And this is the scariest thing I've done since I learned to feel again."
A ripple of laughter softened the nerves.
I continued.
"This book began as an accident. It was just me trying to understand the silence between two sisters who loved each other... but didn't know how to show it."
I paused.
"When I started writing, I didn't think anyone would read it. I didn't even think my sister would. But she did. And she reminded me that truth isn't something to fear."
My voice cracked.
I didn't cry. But I almost did.
Because how do you honor someone who helped you find your voice—when she might not even hear it?
After the reading, people lined up to buy signed copies.
Smiles. Congratulations. Questions.
But I kept glancing at the door.
Still nothing.
And then—
A voice behind me, low and breathless:
"Can I get mine signed by the author and the sister?"
I turned.
And there she was.
Clara.
In a red coat, cheeks flushed from the cold, a duffel bag over her shoulder—and tears brimming in her eyes.
I froze.
"You—what? How?"
She smiled. "Early flight. Red-eye. Surprise?"
I hugged her so tightly I couldn't speak.
When I finally pulled back, my voice wobbled. "You're insane."
"I know. But I couldn't miss this."
I handed her a book, and she placed it between us.
We signed it together, side by side.
The same way we rebuilt everything else.
Later that night, back in the apartment, we sat on the floor eating pizza out of the box.
Clara flipped through a copy of the book, stopping at the dedication.
"For Clara. For all the words we once held in silence.
Now we speak. Now we live."
She didn't say anything for a moment.
Then: "You know... I always thought I was the one who needed saving."
I looked at her.
"But reading this—I realized we saved each other."
And there it was.
The truth.
Not just between us.
But beyond us.
In print. In ink. In hearts that might read our story and feel less alone.
Somewhere between fear and hope, we found each other again.
Not just as sisters.
But as two whole people—
Choosing love over silence.
Choosing voice over shadows.
Choosing life.
Together.