Chapter 12: Cracks in The Quiet
(Liyana's POV)
Roosevelt High always sounded like it was collapsing at the end of the day.
Lockers slamming, sneakers screeching across tile, someone yelling for no reason—just pure chaos, bottled and shaken loose the second the last bell rang.
Liyana stayed behind.
She leaned against the windowsill at the far end of the second-floor hallway, earbuds in but no music playing. A trick she'd perfected since middle school—people ignored you if you looked preoccupied.
From this angle, she had a clean view of the side yard. The crowd was already thinning, students peeling off in every direction like they couldn't run fast enough from everything they'd just sat through.
And then—there he was.
Aria.
Moving like a shadow. Hoodie up, steps even, like he wasn't walking so much as gliding past the world. Always the same routine: out the side exit, around the gym, then gone. Never lingered. Never looked back.
It would've been easy to say he was just shy.
But shy kids didn't make people step aside in the hallway like he was radioactive.
Shy kids didn't get whispered about between classes like a myth.
---
She wasn't sure when she started watching him this way.
Maybe it was the group project. Or maybe it was before that—the first time she caught him zoning out in math, staring at the window like he was somewhere else. Like he belonged somewhere else.
Or maybe it was the way he didn't flinch when someone called him a freak behind his back. Just kept walking like it didn't matter.
Like he'd heard worse.
Seen worse.
---
She didn't get it.
Didn't get why he made her curious. Why she kept running into his name in conversations that had nothing to do with school. Why people said things like he knows things, or don't mess with him unless you want to disappear like Ace did.
Rumors were cheap in high school.
But Aria didn't act like someone bluffing.
He acted like someone waiting.
---
She pulled away from the window, grabbed her bag, and started moving.
Not to chase him, exactly.
Just… to be nearby.
---
The back lot was empty by the time she got there.
The only sound was a busted AC unit humming above the boiler room and the soft flap of a loose poster on the fence.
Then movement caught her eye—two figures heading down the side street.
Aria.
And Jay Morales.
That surprised her.
Jay was noise wrapped in sneakers and sarcasm. All jokes and big energy. If Aria was a whisper, Jay was a car alarm. The two of them walking together made no sense.
But there it was.
Jay, talking too much.
Aria, listening too little.
And somehow, walking in step.
---
Liyana didn't follow.
She could've. Easily.
She knew how to move quiet. Years of navigating this city taught her which doors didn't squeak and which routes never got checked by hall monitors or bored cops.
But she stayed.
Just stood there at the edge of the alley, watching them disappear around the corner.
Wondering.
---
She hated this feeling.
This slow, gnawing ache in her chest like something important was slipping away and she didn't know how to grab it before it vanished completely.
She didn't want to care. Not like this. Not about him.
Not about someone who might be walking straight into something that couldn't be undone.
But she did.
She cared.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because Aria wasn't just hiding anymore.
He was changing.
And change always meant something was coming.
---
She didn't mean to follow him.
Really, she didn't.
She'd just wanted air—an excuse to walk without a destination, to clear her head from the math test that went sideways and the group project where she'd done all the work.
But then she saw him.
Aria.
Same as always: hood up, shoulders squared, walking like the pavement owed him space. He didn't look around. Didn't pause to tie a shoelace or glance at his phone. His steps had purpose. Quiet. Heavy.
She'd seen him leave school like that before. Once, twice… maybe more.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Jay Morales trotted next to him, laughing about something Liyana couldn't hear. His energy bounced off the walls like a rubber ball in a narrow hallway.
Aria said nothing.
Not cold. Not irritated.
Just… quiet.
Jay talked. Aria walked. And Liyana's feet moved before her brain gave permission.
---
She stayed behind them.
Just far enough not to be seen. Just close enough to feel the weight of something she wasn't supposed to know creeping in.
And with every step, her chest tightened.
It was stupid. It was none of her business. Aria didn't owe her anything. But watching him walk beside someone else—let someone in—it made something knot in her stomach.
Not jealousy. Not exactly.
More like… fear.
That he was slipping further away than she'd realized.
That maybe she'd already missed her chance to matter.
---
They turned down a quieter street. One of those half-forgotten blocks where the sidewalk was cracked and old flyers peeled from the brick like paper scars.
Liyana kept her head down, hoodie up, breathing slow.
Aria didn't glance back.
Jay still didn't shut up.
She ducked behind a rusted chain-link fence just in time to see them stop at the back of an old bodega. The one with the busted neon "OPEN" sign that buzzed like it hated its job.
The alley was narrow. Boxed in. Quiet in a way that made her breath catch.
Then a door creaked open.
The shopkeeper—middle-aged, eyes tired, body tense—peeked out. Not a word exchanged.
He handed Aria a wad of folded cash.
Aria took it with one hand. Slipped it into his coat pocket like it meant nothing.
Jay stood off to the side, fidgeting, like a kid invited to an adult table without instructions.
No threats.
No talk.
Just a nod from Aria, and the door closed.
Business, finished.
---
Liyana didn't blink.
She just stood frozen, her back pressed against the fence, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.
This wasn't rumor.
This wasn't cafeteria gossip or half-heard locker room whispers.
This was real.
Aria wasn't just "in something."
He was something.
Not a thug. Not a dealer. Nothing loud or reckless.
No—he moved like someone who ran a machine with silent gears. Like someone who made the shadows work for him.
That realization hit harder than anything.
Because she'd trusted him.
Because deep down—maybe too deep to admit—she thought he trusted her too.
And now?
Now she didn't know what hurt more.
---
She didn't follow them after that.
Didn't need to.
She turned around.
Walked three blocks out of her way just to feel like she was putting distance between herself and whatever she'd just seen.
But it clung to her. The image of Aria standing there, calm and unreadable, like he'd done it a hundred times.
Maybe he had.
She didn't cry. She didn't rage. That wasn't her.
But her hands shook when she pulled them from her pockets.
And when she got home, she couldn't remember how she'd gotten there.
---
She lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling.
No music. No homework.
Just the quiet, and her thoughts.
She picked up her phone once.
Typed: What are you doing, Aria?
Deleted it.
Typed: Why didn't you tell me?
Deleted that too.
Eventually, she locked the screen and threw it across the blanket.
She wasn't sure if she was angry at him or at herself for expecting something different.
All she knew was that she couldn't sleep.
Because somewhere, above the city, Aria was moving pieces she couldn't see.
And Liyana couldn't tell if she wanted to stop him.
Or join him.
---
The city didn't make room for softness.
Not down there.
Not in the alleys. Not in the crowded hallways of Roosevelt. Not in the eyes of people who smiled with teeth and walked away with your secrets.
But up here—four stories above the noise, above the traffic and the shouting and the sirens—things slowed down.
They weren't quieter, exactly.
But they were realer.
Liyana pulled herself over the last rung of the fire escape, palms sore from rusted metal. The rooftop gravel shifted under her boots as she stood, hoodie drawn up, breath fogging in the cold.
There he was.
Sitting on the ledge like he belonged there.
Aria.
His back was to her, arms draped over his knees. He didn't flinch. Didn't turn.
He already knew she was there.
Of course he did.
She crossed the rooftop slowly, giving him space, unsure if she wanted him to speak first.
He didn't.
So she did.
"I saw you."
His voice came after a pause. Low. Worn. Not angry—just tired.
"You shouldn't have followed me."
Liyana stopped a few steps away, her hands tightening in her sleeves.
"You shouldn't have made me feel like I had to."
He exhaled, but it wasn't a sigh.
More like something he'd been holding for too long finally slipping out.
---
She sat beside him, not close enough to touch, but closer than most people dared to be with him lately.
The wind danced between them, sharp and restless.
"I didn't want to spy," she said. "I really didn't. I told myself to let you have your silence. Let you walk your path."
She looked straight ahead, eyes tracing the glow of the skyline.
"But then I saw you and Jay, and something in me said… this matters. What he's doing—who he's becoming—I need to know."
Aria didn't answer.
Didn't try to explain.
Didn't try to lie.
So she kept going.
"I saw you take the money."
Still, no reaction.
"And I saw the way that man looked at you—not like you were a kid. Not like you were a threat."
She turned to him.
"He looked at you like you were something permanent. Like the city had changed and no one told the rest of us."
---
His jaw tightened.
"I didn't ask for that."
"I know," she said softly. "But you're carrying it anyway."
A silence fell between them.
Not empty.
Not awkward.
Just full—of everything they hadn't said since the start.
---
"I didn't want this to happen," Aria said finally. "I didn't want people to look at me like I'm something to fear."
Liyana watched him. The side of his face was unreadable, but she could see it in his hands—the way his fingers curled and uncurled over his knees, like he was holding on to something he couldn't let go of.
"I just wanted control," he continued. "Just a little. Just enough so the world didn't swallow me whole."
"And now?" she asked.
He swallowed. "Now I don't know if I'm holding the line... or becoming the thing I used to run from."
Her chest ached hearing it. Not because of what he said—but because of how true it sounded.
He wasn't confessing.
He was unraveling.
And she didn't want to be a witness to it.
She wanted to be a hand in the dark reaching out, even if it got burned.
---
"You don't have to carry it alone," she said, voice barely above the wind.
Aria looked at her then.
Not just glanced.
Looked.
Like he was searching for proof that she meant it. That this wasn't pity. That this wasn't a goodbye wrapped in soft words.
"I'm not asking for help."
"I know," she whispered. "You never do."
He turned away again, but slower this time. Like the mask didn't fit so tight tonight.
"I've already dragged Jay into this. I'm not doing that to you."
"You didn't drag him," she said. "He followed. Same as me."
She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. Her voice dropped, steady but shaking at the edges.
"You think you're protecting us by shutting us out. But you're not. You're just giving us front row seats to watch you tear yourself apart."
That made him wince.
The truth always stung more than any threat.
---
Liyana bit her lip.
Then said the part that scared her most.
"I care about you, Aria. Not the quiet kid. Not the street ghost. Just... you."
She didn't expect him to respond.
Didn't expect him to believe it.
But after a moment—slow, uncertain—Aria moved.
He shifted closer.
Turned just enough to face her.
And then, without a word, he leaned in.
His arms wrapped around her like he was still learning how.
Like this was something new.
And it was.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was human.
It was a boy trying to hold something real before the city could steal it.
Liyana froze for half a second, breath caught in her chest.
Then she hugged him back.
Tight.
Warm.
Safe.
The wind howled above them, but neither of them let go.
Because for the first time in too long, neither of them felt alone on that rooftop.
(Aria's POV – Earlier That Day)
---
He didn't like attention.
Didn't trust it, didn't seek it, didn't owe it anything.
So when the final bell rang and the students of Roosevelt High flooded the halls like they were being chased out of a burning building, Aria moved the other way. Slipped out the side exit, past the gym, down the alley where the trash bins stank like old grease and rainwater.
Same path. Every day.
Predictable.
He hated that about himself.
---
"Yo! Aria!"
He didn't stop walking.
Jay Morales caught up anyway, all limbs and breathlessness, like a dog that didn't know when to quit.
"Man, you walk like you're late to something illegal."
"I am."
Jay blinked, tripped over his own step, then laughed like it was a joke.
Aria didn't correct him.
He rarely did.
---
They walked in silence for a minute. Jay didn't seem to know what to do with it. He kept checking his phone, then putting it away, then starting to say something and stopping himself.
Aria didn't care.
He had other things on his mind.
The envelope in his pocket, the numbers running in his head, the bodega up ahead.
And the feeling.
That tingle at the base of his neck that wasn't wind or nerves. That old street instinct—the one that said, someone's watching.
Not the cops.
Not an enemy.
Something softer.
He didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
Liyana.
He couldn't explain how he knew. He just… did. Her presence didn't feel like a threat. It felt like a question hanging in the air, waiting for an answer he didn't want to give.
---
The alley behind the bodega was narrow. Dim. The kind of place you only walked through if you were sure of yourself—or stupid.
Jay looked like he belonged to the second group.
He kept glancing around, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie, shifting from foot to foot.
"You ever smile?" he asked.
Aria knocked on the metal door.
Two short raps. One pause. One more.
The shopkeeper opened it without a word.
Middle-aged. Thin. Eyes sunk deep like they were trying to escape his own skull.
He handed over the cash. Rubber-banded. Counted already. Aria took it with one hand and slid it into his coat.
No threats.
No smiles.
Just business.
The man closed the door without another word.
Jay shifted again.
"So... that's it?"
"That's it."
Jay squinted. "That's not scary. That's boring."
Aria didn't respond.
Because he knew what boring looked like.
And this?
This was control.
---
As they walked away, Jay opened his mouth again.
Aria cut him off.
"You fidget too much."
"Huh?"
"In front of people. You bounce. Look nervous. It makes them nervous."
Jay blinked. "You want me to stand still while someone hands you cash like we're in a mob movie?"
"Yes."
Jay laughed again, but quieter this time. "You're intense, man."
"I'm alive."
"Yeah, well. For now."
---
They walked on, and Aria let his mind drift.
He didn't look back, but he knew Liyana was still there.
Not close. But watching.
Carefully.
He could almost feel her breathing behind the corners. She didn't step loud. Didn't slip up.
She was smart.
Too smart.
---
She wasn't supposed to see this part of him.
Not the ledgers in his head. Not the names. Not the pressure that came with knowing too many people relied on the idea of him, and not the real thing.
The idea was safer.
She wasn't supposed to see him as the guy who took money from tired men behind locked doors.
She was supposed to see him as Aria.
Just... Aria.
The one who sat behind her in U.S. History. The one who never talked but somehow always noticed when she was having a bad day.
But now?
Now she saw too much.
And he didn't know if that ruined everything—or saved something.
---
"You good?" Jay asked suddenly.
Aria blinked.
They were already at the end of the block.
He'd been walking on autopilot.
Jay raised an eyebrow. "You kinda zoned out."
"I'm fine."
"Sure. You look like you're thinking about the meaning of life or which bones break the easiest."
Aria didn't answer.
Jay snorted. "Right. Classic you."
---
They split at the next street. Jay wandered off toward the subway, still humming something off-key.
Aria turned the other way.
Cut down a quieter road.
Let the wind hit his face full force.
It didn't wake him up.
Nothing did, these days.
---
He climbed the fire escape slowly, dragging one hand along the cold railing. The city stretched wide beneath him—lights, horns, the hum of life that never really shut up.
He stepped onto the rooftop.
Sat.
And waited.
He knew she'd come.
Because she had every reason not to now.
And that's exactly why she would.
---
The rooftop was colder than usual.
Wind slid between the buildings in short, sharp gusts, biting through his hoodie like it wasn't even there. But Aria didn't move. Didn't shift. He stayed seated on the ledge, staring out over Queens like the whole city was a board game, and he was too tired to play anymore.
The fire escape creaked.
She was coming.
Of course she was.
He didn't turn. Didn't need to.
Every part of him already knew what Liyana would say before she said it.
---
"I saw you."
Her voice was steady. No anger. Just clarity. That made it worse somehow.
He didn't look back. Just spoke the truth.
"You shouldn't have followed me."
"You shouldn't have given me a reason to."
That one stung more than he expected. He swallowed it, kept his posture still. Cold. Safe.
He heard her walk closer. Her steps were always soft. Not out of fear—just precision. She knew how to exist without disturbing the world around her.
She sat beside him. Not too close.
She knew better.
He hated that she had to.
---
"I thought we were past pretending," she said.
He stared straight ahead. The skyline blinked back like it had nothing to say.
"Pretending what?"
"That you weren't dragging yourself into something you might not come back from."
He didn't respond. Because deep down, he knew she was right.
But if he said that out loud, it would make it real.
"You think I have a choice?"
Her reply came fast. Firm. "You do. You always did. You just stopped telling anyone what you were choosing."
His fingers curled loosely over the edge of the rooftop.
He'd forgotten what it was like to be called out without venom.
It hurt more this way.
---
She turned to him. "I followed you because I was scared."
Not angry. Not disgusted. Scared.
That made something twist in his chest.
He thought she'd look at him differently after what she saw.
Colder. Smaller.
Instead… she still sounded like her.
"Not of you," she added. "Of not knowing who you were anymore."
He looked at her then.
Couldn't help it.
Her eyes were steady. No pity. Just truth.
And he didn't feel like a ghost.
He felt like a kid caught with blood on his hands and no idea how to wash it off.
---
"I didn't want this," he said.
He meant it.
He didn't wake up one day and decide to build a shadow operation between classes. Didn't ask to carry people's fear like a badge.
But nobody else was doing it.
"I didn't choose to be this thing people whisper about. But I'm the only one doing something real. Something that keeps the wolves out."
"And what happens when you become one?"
He flinched.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
He knew she did.
Because that was the question he'd been trying not to ask himself for weeks.
---
She stood up.
He almost told her to stay seated.
Almost.
But he stayed quiet. Always quiet.
"I don't want to lose you either," she said softly.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
Because that voice—her voice—said something no one else dared to say to him anymore:
That he still mattered.
As a person.
Not a leader. Not a name. Not a rumor.
Just… Aria.
---
He didn't plan to do it.
He didn't think it through.
He just stood. Turned. Stepped forward.
And pulled her into a hug.
It wasn't clean. Wasn't practiced. His arms wrapped around her awkwardly, like he was still waiting for her to disappear.
But she didn't.
She hugged him back—gentle, but solid.
And that's when it hit him.
She wasn't trying to fix him.
She was just staying.
And for someone like him, that was everything.
They stood there for a long time. No words. Just wind, breathing, and warmth where there usually wasn't any.
Aria didn't let go first.
Neither did she.
Because in a city that taught them to move fast, stay sharp, and never trust anything that looked soft—this moment was a rebellion.
Quiet.
Small.
But real.
And that, somehow, was enough.
---
Author's Note:
So... that chapter hit different.
This was the slowest, softest, most emotionally loaded scene in the story so far—and I loved writing every second of it. Aria's been moving like a shadow for a while now, building power in silence, but this is the first time we really see what that silence is costing him.
And Liyana? She just cemented her place not as a "love interest," but as someone who sees him. No superpowers. No rescue missions. Just a girl who climbed a rooftop to tell the truth.
I hope you felt the weight of this moment as much as I did.
If you did—please drop a comment, scream in all caps, or just throw this fic into your collection so we can keep growing it together.
Because from here on out?
It only gets messier.
– With vibes and chaos