Olivia's Gaze

The campfire crackled, spitting embers into the inky sky like tiny, defiant stars. Laughter, a sound I’d almost forgotten how to make, bubbled up around me, but it felt distant, belonging to a world I was still trying to re-enter. It was the third night at Camp Hemlock, and while the initial fog of overwhelming sadness had begun to lift, a persistent ache remained, a dull throb beneath the surface of every activity, every conversation.

Autumn was across the fire from me, her dark hair catching the firelight, making it gleam like polished obsidian. She was animatedly describing a scene from an anime I’d never heard of, her hands sketching impossible shapes in the air. Damarcus, ever the steadfast anchor, was nodding along, a half-smile playing on his lips. I should have been fully present, absorbing their energy, their easy camaraderie. Instead, my gaze kept drifting.

It was then I saw her. Olivia. She was perched on a log a little distance away, surrounded by a constellation of her own friends, their voices a little too loud, their laughter a little too sharp. She had that effortless glow about her, the kind that seemed to emanate from within, amplified by the perfect tan of her skin and the cascade of black curls that framed her face. She was talking to someone, but her eyes, dark and assessing, kept flicking towards our group. Specifically, towards me.