Under the Stars

The crackle of the campfire was a familiar sound, a melody that used to fill my summers with a warm, comforting hum. Tonight, though, it felt different. It was a raw, exposed sound, mirroring the way I felt inside, stripped bare under the vast, indifferent canvas of the night sky. Around the fire, faces glowed with the flickering light, a mosaic of campers drawn together by the shared ritual of s’mores and stories. I sat on the periphery, a solitary island in a sea of chatter, the sticky sweetness of melted marshmallow doing little to soothe the knot of grief in my stomach.

Autumn was nearby, her dark hair catching the firelight like spun obsidian. She was talking animatedly with Damarcus, their laughter a soft counterpoint to the louder bursts from other groups. I watched them, a strange mix of longing and detachment swirling within me. They were a world away from the suffocating silence that had become my constant companion since Grace left.

“Hey,” a voice, soft and hesitant, broke through my reverie. It was Autumn. She’d drifted over, a half-eaten s’more in her hand, her blue eyes curious and kind. Damarcus followed, a friendly, easy smile on his face.