Chapter 13 — THE BRIDGE BENEATH THE MOON
The moon rose early that evening, hanging low over Elaris City like a silver lantern. The glass bridge shimmered beneath it, catching reflections of passing cars and scattered footsteps. It had been a month since Cathy had last crossed it. She avoided it out of habit, maybe fear. But that night, the air carried a strange pull — a whisper of something unfinished.
Her mother had fallen asleep early, and Luna was away visiting her cousin. Cathy sat by the window, watching the night move gently outside. The streets below were quieter than usual. The city, usually a constant hum of motion, seemed to pause.
She took her scarf, wrapped it around her neck, and stepped out.
The autumn air greeted her like a memory. It was cool, laced with the scent of rain and street jasmine. Her steps were slow, measured, almost unsure, like she was walking through a dream she wasn’t certain she wanted to remember.
By the time she reached the riverfront, the moon had brightened, washing everything in silver light. The bridge stretched before her, silent and glistening.
Cathy hesitated. Her heart fluttered softly, as if it recognized the place before her mind did. She had met him here, smiled here, begun to believe again here.
She walked forward.
Each step echoed faintly against the glass. She looked down at her reflection — a quiet girl with eyes that had learned to hide pain behind gentleness.
When she reached the middle, she stopped. The city lights reflected in the water below, a thousand trembling stars. She leaned against the railing and closed her eyes.
The night breeze lifted her hair. For a moment, she imagined a familiar voice — deep, careful, and kind, saying her name.
Across the river, Adrian was driving back from a late meeting. He had signed the last contract with the board, his father’s words still replaying in his head like static.
“Stay focused. Your heart is a liability.”
But all through the meeting, something had been tugging at him, a feeling he couldn’t name. When he passed the river road, he slowed the car.
There it was.
The bridge.
He hadn’t been there since that night she walked away.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. For a moment, he almost kept driving. But something deep in him whispered otherwise.
He parked by the side and stepped out.
The air was cool, carrying the scent of rain-soaked steel and night flowers. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, unsure what he was doing, only that he couldn’t not be there.
When he stepped onto the bridge, the sound of his shoes against glass felt too loud. Then he saw her.
At first, he thought it was a memory, the way she stood, her scarf moving gently in the wind. But when she turned slightly, the moonlight touched her face, and his heart stopped.
Cathy.
She didn’t see him at first. She was looking at the water, her expression calm but distant. He took a slow step forward, then another.
When the sound reached her, she turned.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped moving.
He saw the surprise in her gaze, followed by a thousand emotions she didn’t say — sorrow, longing, hesitation, hope. He felt every one of them like an echo.
He took another step closer.
“Cathy.”
Her name came out as a whisper, softer than the wind.
She didn’t move, but her eyes glistened under the moonlight.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. “I wrote to you,” he said. “A hundred times. But I never sent them.”
She blinked, her breath catching.
He smiled faintly. “You always said silence could speak louder than words. But I was too afraid to listen.”
Cathy swallowed hard, then slowly reached for her notepad. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrote.
Why are you here?
Adrian’s answer was quiet. “Because I couldn’t stay away anymore.”
She lowered her eyes. The moonlight glowed on her hair, the wind brushing it softly across her cheek. She tucked a strand behind her ear and wrote again.
Your father won’t like this.
He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “He already doesn’t like everything about me. I can live with that.”
Cathy looked up then. Her eyes met his, uncertain but soft.
Adrian took another step closer, until only a few feet separated them. “I don’t want to change what you are, Cathy. I just… want to be near you. Even if we only stand here and say nothing.”
Her hand hesitated over the notepad. Then, very slowly, she turned a page and wrote.
You hurt me.
The words hit him like truth always does — clean and painful.
“I know,” he said, his voice low. “And I hate myself for it every day. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just protecting my fear.”
He took one more step, close enough that the scent of her perfume — soft jasmine and rain — filled the air between them.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness tonight,” he said. “Just… let me stand here. With you.”
She looked at him for a long moment. The night hummed quietly around them — distant waves, faint traffic, the sound of a city breathing.
Finally, she nodded once.
He smiled, barely, and leaned against the railing beside her. For a while, neither spoke. The moonlight wrapped around them like silk.
The silence between them was different now. Not full of anger or confusion, but something fragile and alive — the beginning of healing.
After a few minutes, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded note. She hesitated before handing it to him.
He took it carefully, his hands trembling slightly.
It read:
I still care. But I don’t know if I can trust yet. Don’t rush me. Just be kind.
He looked up at her, eyes shining. “I can do that.”
For the first time in weeks, Cathy smiled — faintly, shyly, but real.
They stood together in silence beneath the moon, the river below shimmering with light.
Somewhere, the city clock chimed midnight.
For both of them, it felt like a beginning again — not loud or dramatic, but gentle. Like the sound of forgiveness arriving quietly after too many nights of rain.
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