Chapter 19 – Where the Lights Can't Hide You
The stage smelled like sawdust and memory.
A day before the show, the drama room buzzed with last-minute chaos: sets being moved, lights tested, props checked and misplaced and rechecked. The tech crew was running on nerves and coffee. Ms. Parker hadn't sat down in two hours.
But for David, it all moved like slow motion.
He stood in the wings, script in hand, though he hadn't looked at it once.
His mind was somewhere else.
Somewhen else.
Flashing back to that night on Amelia's roof.
The rain.
The quiet.
The way she had looked at him like he was something worth staying alive for.
He hadn't told her the whole truth yet.
About the appointment.
About the test results.
About what the doctor had said when he leaned in, lowered his voice, and said something that had felt like a tombstone being lowered gently onto his chest.
He hadn't told her because she was smiling again. For him. For herself. He'd seen it.
And he couldn't take that away.
Not yet.
---
Amelia sat cross-legged on the auditorium floor, watching the chaos from a distance. Her hair was braided loosely, lips stained a soft rose from the cherry lollipop she hadn't even noticed she was holding.
She was trying to stay calm.
Trying not to look for David every time a door opened.
But the ache in her ribs kept flaring up.
It wasn't physical.
It was memory.
It was hope, blooming too fast in winter soil.
"Hey."
She turned.
David was standing behind her, hoodie half-zipped, stage shoes on, script tucked into his back pocket like he'd forgotten it was there.
"You okay?" he asked.
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. "You missed chaos hour."
"I came for the aftermath."
She tried to smirk.
It didn't fully land.
He sat beside her.
For a while, they said nothing. Just listened to the background noise of a dozen high schoolers trying to build something beautiful out of scraps.
Then he spoke, softly.
"Do you believe in goodbyes?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Like… the idea that they matter. Or that we can even say what we need to, when it counts."
She was quiet.
Then: "I think we rarely know it's the last time until after it's over."
David nodded slowly.
"Same."
A beat.
Then Amelia turned toward him, her voice low.
"Are you saying goodbye?"
His eyes widened slightly. "No. No, I—God, no. I just… I think about it. About how fragile everything is. How nothing stays."
She looked down. "I used to think that made everything pointless."
"And now?"
She hesitated.
"Now I think maybe that's what makes it worth it."
He stared at her like she was art.
Like she was something unfinished and more beautiful for it.
He didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
The silence between them said enough.
---
That night, David found himself in the dark of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling.
His journal lay open beside him.
He'd written half a sentence.
Then stopped.
Something had shifted inside him.
A fracture or a fuse.
He picked up the pen again.
> She smiled for the world. Then for me. Then for herself. That's all I ever wanted.
He underlined it twice.
Then turned to the next page and began again.
> If I don't wake up after the show, I want her to remember me this way. Not as the boy with the ticking clock. But the boy who waited until the very end just to hear her laugh again.
He didn't cry.
Not then.
But something inside him softened.
Folded in on itself.
A quiet acceptance.
---
Ms. Parker called an early rehearsal the next morning. Final polish. Line drills. Energy checks.
When Amelia arrived, David was already on stage, pacing slowly through the final monologue. It wasn't even his scene yet.
But he said the words anyway.
> "You don't have to love me forever. Just long enough to make the pain worth it."
Amelia stood in the wings, breath caught in her throat.
She knew those words.
They were hers.
Lines she'd written into her diary, never shared.
She didn't realize Ms. Parker had seen them.
Didn't realize they'd made it into the final rewrite.
When he looked up and saw her, he didn't flinch.
He just said the next line.
> "And if I forget who I was, promise me you'll remember who I tried to be."
It was like a blow to the chest.
Amelia walked slowly out onto the stage.
She stood in front of him.
"You scare me," she said quietly.
David blinked. "Why?"
"Because you keep giving me more reasons to stay."
He exhaled. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," she said. "It's just... harder to let go now."
David took her hands.
"Then don't."
She swallowed.
"David—"
"I know."
He stepped forward, rested his forehead against hers.
"But if this is all we get, let's make it the kind of goodbye people write plays about."
She nodded once.
Then closed her eyes.
And smiled.
---
Opening night.
The lights were brighter than usual.
The theater was packed. Families. Friends. Teachers. People who didn't know the story but had come for the drama.
The curtains trembled like a held breath.
Backstage, Ms. Parker stood before the cast, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp as ever.
"You're not just actors tonight," she said. "You're storytellers. You're believers. You're brave."
She looked at David. Then Amelia.
"And some stories only exist because people are willing to bleed for them."
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Then the lights dimmed.
The curtains opened.
And the story began.
---
It was electric.
Every line hit like thunder.
Every silence held weight.
The chemistry between Amelia and David wasn't just believable—it was real. It poured off the stage, flooded the audience, soaked every heart in the room.
By the time Amelia stepped into her final monologue, there were tears on more than a few faces.
She stood center stage.
Spotlight soft and golden.
And she began.
> "When I met you, I didn't believe in forever. I didn't even believe in tomorrow.
But then you laughed. And it sounded like something I wanted to live for."
David stood in the shadows, watching her.
His hand over his heart.
Not for drama.
But because it was aching.
She continued.
> "I used to think I was a candle burning from both ends. But you… you were the spark that made it worth it."
A pause.
Then, quieter:
> "If this is our last scene…
Know that I left smiling.
Because I got to love you."
The silence after was deafening.
Then applause.
Explosive.
Thunderous.
Real.
David walked out, took her hand in front of the whole audience.
And for the first time, the play ended not with a bow.
But with an embrace.
---
Backstage was chaos again.
Tears. Laughter. Balloons and selfies and bouquets.
But David and Amelia sat together on the old prop trunk near the exit door, away from the noise.
"I meant every word," she said quietly.
"So did I."
"I'm scared again," she added.
He looked at her.
"Me too."
They sat in silence.
Then Amelia pulled something from her bag.
His journal.
He blinked. "You… you brought it?"
"You gave it to me weeks ago," she said. "You just didn't know it."
She handed it to him.
He opened to the first page.
Read the line he'd written:
> She smiled for the world. Then for me. Then for herself.
He looked at her.
Tears in his eyes.
And she nodded.
"I'm still smiling," she whispered.
"And I still see you," he replied.
No more pretending.
No more fear.
Just a boy and a girl, sitting in the quiet aftermath of something beautiful.
Holding on.
Even if just for a little while longer.