Aura and I were best friends. But at this point, who didnât know? We ran a blog called The Fourth Bell, where weâd document everything supernatural, from mystery spell books to vending machines that eat up your coins. It was fun. We belonged, and thatâs something I havenât felt in a long time, since my mum disappeared.
It started as a joke â What DID the fourth bell mean? After Fire, Tornado, and Lockdown?
In the blog, Aura did the writing, and her captions were to die for. One post was simple â Locker 218 is leaking. Marcus touched it. He now understands algebra and mortality. Some posts just got ten likes. Maybe twelve. We couldnât care. If we did, this wouldnât be US.
I was the drawing guy, or as Aura would say, âThe Drawing King.â Sheâd probably be the queen.
Sometimes I drew Aura without telling her. Whether it be sheâs tying her laces or biting into a cookie she never liked but ate anyways. I never showed her those. She just saw them once when she flipped too far in my sketchbook. I pretended to not notice. She did too.
Sometimes Aura saved her blog posts in drafts instead of publishing.
Little moments she wasnât ready to share. Conversations she didnât want anyone else to read.
I noticed.
But I never asked why.
I didnât want to push anything on her.
Her mum usually hints at Aura and I, saying weâd be a cute couple. I donât want to force Aura to do anything. Plus, our friendship is really precious.
But we had rules.
Unspoken ones.
Only we could make fun of each other.
Everything ghost-related had to be investigated together.
And if one of us was quiet longer than five seconds, the other had to ask what was wrong.
It worked. We never had to discuss rules. It was just a part of us, like brushing your teeth in the morning and the night.
One Tuesday, I brought Aura a scarf. She raised it like a prize, her dark green eyes sparkling, âWhatâs this?â
âProtection,â I said, âAgainst ghosts and math tests. Guaranteed.â It was true.
She wore it on her wrist every day after that.
Even when it messed with her uniform.
Even when people asked if it meant something.
Or I asked her why she wears it.
Sheâd just shrug.
Sheâd just smile and say, âIt looks niceâ.
But it meant something. She told me.
Even if she didnât know what.
I just hoped she wouldnât forget.
Over time, I started realising things that donât usually happen in a friendship. Stares that happen longer than necessary. The look she gives me when I draw. But this isnât friendship. Itâs a bond.
Late on a quiet Tuesday night, Aura texted me, âIâm coming over.â
We didnât need to plan for a visit. Sheâd just climb in through the window.
I texted her back a while later, âIâll prepare the room,â but there was nothing to be prepared. Just myself. And maybe the fort.
Something changed within the past year.
We both knew. We both felt it. We just didnât address it. We couldnât.
Friendships are precious. They take years to build up but can be destroyed with nothing less than a word. A conversation. Even nothing.
Just like a domino contraption; it can take weeks to build and plan it, but then with something as simple as wrong place wrong time, or a whisper, or a breath, it will collapse. Sooner or later. And thereâs no going back.
Thatâs like our friendship. Childhood friends donât come easily, and most of us donât have them. And this one is worth it.
I heard two soft knocks on my window. I slid the window open after a click, and my head popped out, and thatâs where my smile of joy appeared. Her smile faded. Aura climbed in and her smile came and grew. Marcus had set up a fort. Just like the one when we were 5. The same blanket. The same chair. The same blue teddy bear that we (mainly Aura. I was cheering her on) had stitched the arm onto a million times.
I slid the window down, the breeze subsiding, with a click. I charged at her, picking her up and chucking her in the fort. I jumped in after her, âlike it?â
She looked me with fake hurt on her face, her hand on her chest, âMate, you think I, âlike,â this? Man, we grew up with this fort! AndâŚâ she crawled to the mini fridge I managed to stuff in the fort (with a lot of frustration), ââŚyou brought the fridge. Did you expect me to be going through some breakup? I love it, Marcus.â
My smile just grew. It never does that unless Iâm with her, âYou seemed half depressed, and you NEVER send short messages.â
âYeah, well,â Aura opens the fridge with a great reveal, âyou got the Pepsi,â she finishes the sentence simply but artistically, and I havenât been able to tell how sheâs able to do it perfectly every time.
I sigh and drop back onto the pillows. Aura lays next to me. âWhat happens when things change?â She asks me, her eyes full of hope.
I look into her deep green eyes, âThen Iâll protect you.â Itâs true
But she doesnât take this seriously, âIâm not a damsel in distress, knight. I mean YOU. US. What happens to us?â
Auraâs question caught me off guard, âI donât think anything will change,â I nudge her, reassuring her, âBut if anything does, Iâll always be there for US, and we will fight through it together.â
Aura wasnât like Aura today. Her questions. They seem, out of place. The night concluded with some shared cookies and drinks. Then Aura reluctantly pushed the fact that it was getting late and there was school the next day, and we finally parted ways as she wondered into the night. I waved. She didnât see. I smiled. I hope she knows.
I only hoped that sheâd stay safe.
I hope she will be fine by herself.
Hope she doesnât miss me.