Page 13

smoke and mirrors

ELLIE

N aomi’s kitchen looks like a war zone. Textbooks, notebooks, and loose papers cover every available surface on the island.

Our carefully curated plan for a productive study day long since gone to shit—derailed somewhere between the second glass of wine and the realisation that we’re both too emotionally fried to care about academic success right now.

Naomi slides the wine bottle toward me with the seriousness of a professor delivering a lecture. “You know,” she says, arching an eyebrow as she tops up my glass, “I’m almost certain this wasn’t in the study plan.”

She takes an exaggerated sip, swirling the liquid like a wine-taster judging a vintage. The fact we picked the bottle purely because it was under a tenner and had a vaguely romantic label is irrelevant.

I lean against the worktop, studying my glass and twirling it between my fingertips like the pro I’m not.

“Who says studying and Thirsty Thursday can’t coexist?

” I gesture at the open textbook in front of me.

“Besides, this is all nonsense. The hospital’s where the real learning happens.

Three years of this shit and I’m ready to throw the towel in. ”

Naomi lets out a theatrical sigh and flicks through a stack of papers with the same enthusiasm most people reserve for tax returns.

“Right? But at least I now have a deep and spiritual understanding that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. That’s gonna be super fucking helpful when I’m elbows-deep in shit and ward rounds one day. ”

I snort-chuckle so hard I nearly aspirate my last sip of wine, which would be a tragic way to go.

“Girl, preach.” I raise my glass in mock solidarity, shooting the textbook another look of betrayal.

It just sits there, taunting me with its perfectly highlighted margins and colour-coded tabs that no longer mean anything.

The truth is, my brain checked out over an hour ago.

Perceptive as always, Naomi leans back on her stool, stretching her arms behind her head. “Alright,” she says, with that devilish glint in her eye, “spill. How are you really feeling about the gig on Saturday? Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve still got that post-concert glow.”

She pauses for a beat, then grins. “Or…” she sing-songs, “is there something else keeping you all, what’s the word, distracted?” She wiggles her eyebrows, looking far too pleased with herself.

I down the rest of my wine, staring into the empty glass like it might give me answers. “It’s Kieran,” I admit. “ Fuuuuck , Nay. That man still does something to me. He did back then, and he still does now.”

Just saying his name makes my chest tighten. His face, his voice, the way his eyes found mine in the crowd. It’s all on a loop in my head, no matter how hard I try to shake it.

Naomi’s grin widens like a cat who’s just found the cream. “Ohhh, we’re talking about the moment , huh? Eyes lock across the room, violins swell, angels sing, and all that?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I mutter.

“Come on, Ellie,” she presses. “Admit it. He looked at you like the rest of the world didn’t exist.”

A quiet laugh escaped me as I shook my head. “It’s embarrassing. The second he looked at me, I was just… gone. It was like I was sucked back into that summer all over again.”

Naomi’s smile softens. She swirls her glass lazily, watching me. “That’s not embarrassing, Ellie. That’s something most people would kill to feel. But let’s not pretend it was just nostalgia. You don’t look at someone like that unless the connection is still there.”

With a sigh, I run a hand through my hair. “There is no connection. I’ve got Mia. And David is…” I pause, the words sticking. “He’s trying.”

Naomi lets out a sharp snort. “Babe, you say that like he’s a puppy learning to sit. He’s trying . That’s how low your bar is now?”

I shoot her a look, but she doesn’t flinch. That’s the thing about Naomi, she never sugar-coats. Never lets me off the hook when I talk in circles.

“You know what I mean,” I say, quieter now. “He’s… present. For the most part. And I can’t just throw that away because my heart did a pirouette the second Kieran showed up.”

The words sit between us, raw and unfiltered. Naomi doesn’t speak right away. She just sips her wine, tilts her head, and studies me.

“Okay,” she says eventually. “No one’s asking you to throw anything away. But maybe… just ask yourself the real question.”

I glance at her warily. “Which is?”

She leans forward, elbows on the table. “Do you want Kieran in your life? Not in a sweeping, cue-the-dramatic-music kind of way. Just… as a friend. Do you want that?”

The question drops like a stone straight into my stomach. Because the answer’s already there. Quiet. Certain.

Yes, of course, yes.

But reality has a way of raining on clarity, so instead, I sigh and drop my gaze to the half-read page in front of me.

“It’s not that simple,” I murmur.

Naomi snorts and gestures vaguely around us. “Ellie. Nothing in your life is simple. Simplicity left the chat a long time ago. So maybe just… choose what makes you feel good for once?”

I manage a weak smile, but the ache under it won’t let go. My fingers trace the rim of my wine glass, stalling.

“It’s just weird that after all these years he was just…

there,” I admit. “Like it’s meant to mean something.

But, I’m engaged. And Kieran and I -” I stop, swallowing down the weight in my throat.

“We have a past. A beautiful, unfinished moment in time kind of past. But could we be friends?” I pause again.

“I mean, fuck , he might not even want that.”

I stare at my textbook again and pour myself another large glass of wine.

Naomi watches me carefully now, her voice softer. “You’re allowed to want things, Ellie. You get to have people in your life that you choose to put there.”

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. Because going for what I want has worked so well for me in the past.”

She clinks her glass against mine, all sass and affection. “There’s a first time for everything, boo. Besides,” she adds with a smirk, “if anyone deserves a win, it’s you.”

I sit on Naomi’s words, swirling my wine and taking a long sip. But all I can see is Kieran, eyes locked with mine. That feeling hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s worse now. Because I remember what I walked away from.

That night, sleep refuses to come easily.

My mind’s too full. Spinning with questions I don’t know how to ask and answers I’m too afraid to name. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. That look. That voice. That pull. Like the universe has planted him back in my life just to fuck me over.

And I hate it. I hate how easily the memory of him slips in. How a part of me wants to feel it again, just for a second. And I feel guilty for it. For the way my thoughts keep drifting back to him, like I’m wired for it.

I think of David, of how he’s been lately. Saying and doing all the right things. But still, it doesn’t quiet the noise. It doesn’t stop this… pull.

I shouldn’t be thinking about Kieran. Not like this. Not when I belong to someone else. But the lines are blurry tonight. There’s an ache I can’t seem to shake. A low, gnawing feeling that something’s been missing for a long time, and maybe I’ve just been too scared to admit it.

When I finally drift off, it’s not into rest. It’s into memory.

And there he is.

Leaning against the metal frame of the Ferris wheel like he owns the place.

Arms folded. One boot crossed over the other.

That smirk tugging at his mouth like he knows exactly the effect he has on me.

His eyes catch mine, and for a beat—just one long, suspended beat—the world tilts. Everything else fades. It’s just him.

He pushes off the frame and strolls toward me, slow and easy. Faded tee clinging just enough. Hair a mess. Boots scuffed to hell. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t know it’s beautiful, which only makes it worse.

My breath hitches before I can stop it.

“You’ve got this look,” he murmurs, close enough that I feel the heat of him. “Like you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

“It’s the festival,” I tease. “It makes everything feel a little… brighter.”

Kieran leans in closer, the lights from the Ferris wheel catching along his jaw, casting golden fire across his skin. “Nah,” he says. “Pretty sure it’s just you.”

My pulse skips. There’s a flutter, low in my stomach, sharp and sweet—the kind I haven’t felt in years. Not like this.

“You always this charming?”

He grins. “Only when I’m trying to impress someone.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

He lifts a brow, all mock offence. “Are you?”

I pretend to think it over, dragging it out. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” he echoes, clutching his chest like I’ve stabbed him. “You wound me, Ellie.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. I don’t stop him when his hand brushes against mine. My breath catches, and the space between us folds in, as if it was always meant to be.

My breath catches, and the space between us folds in, like the universe is quietly nudging us closer. Like it wants this to happen.

He looks at me like I’m the only thing left in the world worth seeing. And for a moment, I want it. I want him. The closeness, the warmth, the pull of something I’ve been pretending I don’t need.

His fingers skim up, barely grazing my jaw, a touch so feather-light it makes my skin hum. My lips part, a yes hovering, a heartbeat from breaking free. His breath mingles with mine, close enough to count the flecks of grey in his eyes. Could fall into them if I’m not careful.

Time stretches, tightens, holds its breath with us.

And I see it—just for a second.

His mouth brushing mine.

The soft hitch of breath.

A kiss I haven’t tasted in four years, but somehow still know the shape of.

But then, something sharp slices through the glow.

A whisper.

The flicker of a ring.

Mia’s laugh—distant but clear—like a song I’d forgotten was still playing in the background.