UNTIL THE STARS ALIGN
Chapter 13 — lost in silence and sorrow
The night air was cold against Luka's skin as he ran, his shoes pounding against the pavement, his lungs burning with each breath. The world around him blurred — the dim glow of streetlamps, the hum of distant traffic, the muted chatter of the city that never seemed to sleep. None of it mattered.
All that existed was Aria.
He didn't think about what he'd say. Didn't think about what waited for him when he reached her. The only thing in his mind, looping over and over like a cruel mantra, was the message on his phone.
Aria's father passed away earlier tonight… please take care of her.
His grip tightened around his phone as if crushing it would somehow change the words. It didn't.
By the time Luka reached her street, his legs felt like lead, but adrenaline pushed him forward. The quiet neighborhood seemed wrong — too still, too silent. When he turned the corner and saw the soft glow from the second-story window of her house, his chest twisted.
She was awake. She was hurting.
He didn't bother knocking. Luka slipped through the front gate, taking the steps two at a time. When the door opened — whether by her hand or someone else's — he wasn't sure. What he saw froze him where he stood.
Aria was there, framed by the dim light of the hallway, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes swollen and red.
"Luka…" Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.
Something in him broke at the sound.
He stepped inside without asking, closing the door gently behind him. Neither spoke. They didn't need to. Luka crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms.
She crumbled.
Her hands clutched his shirt, trembling, as sobs tore silently through her body. Luka held her tighter, his chin resting lightly atop her head, his own throat tight with everything he couldn't find the words to say.
"I'm here," he murmured, voice low and steady despite the storm inside him. "I've got you, Aria. Always."
Her reply was muffled against his chest, broken by hiccuping breaths. "He's… he's gone, Luka… I didn't even… I—"
"Don't," Luka whispered, his voice rough but gentle. "Don't blame yourself. None of this… none of this is your fault."
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the house silent except for her quiet sobs and the rhythmic hum of the refrigerator in the distance. The weight of the moment was crushing, but Luka bore it without hesitation. For her, he would bear anything.
Later, when the tears slowed, she led him upstairs to her room without a word. It was dark except for the faint light of the moon streaming through the window, casting silver across the floor. She sat on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and Luka sat beside her.
For a long time, neither spoke.
It was Aria who broke the silence, her voice raw and small. "He wasn't… supposed to go like this. One moment, he was here, and now…" She swallowed hard, her eyes unfocused. "What do you do when the person you thought would always be there just… isn't?"
Luka stared down at his hands, flexing them once before answering. "You hold on to the pieces they left behind. The memories, the lessons… the love. You let those things remind you that they were real. That what you had… mattered."
Aria's lips trembled. She turned toward him, her eyes shining in the dim light. "And what if I can't? What if I break, Luka?"
His heart clenched at the fear in her voice. Slowly, carefully, he reached out, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand.
"Then I'll be here," he said, voice quiet but fierce. "I'll hold you together. As many times as it takes. Even if I have to do it for the rest of my life."
Something unspoken passed between them in that moment — something heavier than grief, deeper than words.
Hours blurred together. Luka stayed with her through the night, never leaving her side. When her mother finally emerged from her room — eyes swollen, her steps unsteady — Luka was there to steady her, too, guiding her gently to the couch, helping her sit, brewing tea without being asked.
Mrs. Fenton looked at him, really looked at him, and something in her gaze softened despite the weight of her loss. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.
Luka shook his head. "You don't have to thank me. She's… she's everything to me."
That night, and the days that followed, Luka became more than just a friend to the Fenton family. He was the quiet presence at the kitchen counter helping with meals, the steady hand taking phone calls when Aria couldn't, the anchor when the storm threatened to pull them all under.
And through it all, Aria stayed close. She didn't speak much — words seemed too heavy to carry — but her silence was different when Luka was there. Less hollow. Less alone.
The funeral came three days later.
The church was quiet, filled with the muted murmurs of family, friends, and strangers offering condolences. Luka stood by Aria's side through every moment — through the procession, through the tears, through the aching silence that followed each hymn.
When it was over, when the world had gone still again and the crowd dispersed, Luka found her by the grave. She stood motionless, her arms wrapped around herself, staring down at the freshly turned soil.
He stepped closer, the crunch of gravel under his shoes the only sound.
"Aria," he said softly.
She didn't look up. "Do you think… he's watching? Wherever he is now?"
Luka hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I think… I think he's proud of you. Of the strength you don't even know you have."
A tear slipped down her cheek. "I just… I wish I'd told him I loved him. One more time."
Luka's chest ached. He reached out, gently intertwining his fingers with hers. "He knew, Aria. Some things… they don't need to be said to be real."
She turned then, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The weight of her grief, her vulnerability, and her quiet strength collided in that gaze — and Luka knew, without doubt or hesitation, that he would spend his entire life protecting her if he could.
That night, when he walked her home, the city felt unbearably quiet. Aria didn't let go of his hand the entire way, her grip small but firm, as if afraid that letting go would make the world collapse again.
When they reached her house, she paused by the gate, her voice trembling as she spoke.
"Stay?"
Luka didn't even hesitate. "Always."
And so, he stayed.
Not as a savior. Not as a hero. But as Luka — the boy who had promised her quiet places, who had sworn to marry her someday, who now carried her pain as if it were his own.
And though the night was heavy with loss, there was also something fragile and unspoken blooming in the quiet — a love forged not in grand gestures or confessions, but in presence. In the way he held her when the world fell apart.
In the way, even in the darkest moments, Luka refused to let her be alone.
TO BE CONTINUED...