Starlight in My Heart

Unit 2, 401.

The key slid into the lock but refused to turn, the mechanism seized with rust.

"Let me."

Gregory took it from my hand. He was stronger. After a few moments of jiggling, a sharp *click* finally sounded, and the door—sealed for seven years—swung inward.

A thick wave of dust and stale air, the scent of forgotten time, washed over us.

Frowning, Gregory flicked on the living room light. In the dim yellow glow, everything lay blanketed under a heavy layer of grey.

The furniture stood exactly as I’d left it. My throw blanket, never folded, still draped over the sofa. The book I’d been halfway through rested on the coffee table.

Here, time had simply stopped.

Gregory set the suitcase down in the entryway and turned to me, hesitating, words caught in his throat.

"Thank you. You can go now."

I gave him his dismissal.

I couldn’t stand sharing this space with him. Every object here was a hook, pulling at memories that still twisted in my chest.

"Dorothy." He used my childhood name, his voice rough. "You... how have you been, all these years?"

*How have I been?*

I almost laughed out loud.

My father, wrongfully accused, jumped to his death. My mother lost her mind. And I’m dying of cancer, alone, shuttling between hospital wards and rented rooms just to survive.

*How have I been?*

Lifting my eyes, I met his gaze calmly. "Thanks to you, I’m not dead yet."

The color drained from his face. His lips moved, soundlessly.

After a long moment, he forced the words out, thick and heavy. "I’m sorry."

Three words. Seven years too late.

If he’d said them seven years ago, I might have screamed, demanding to know why.

Now, they just felt hollow. A bitter joke.

"Save your apologies for Laura."

I pulled the door wider, a clear gesture for him to leave. "Gregory. I’m tired. I need to rest."

He stood rooted to the spot, his tall frame rigid. Finally, without another word, he gave me one last, deep look, turned, and walked out.

The moment the door clicked shut, all the strength left my body. I slid down its length until I was sitting on the floor.

I didn’t cry.

My tears had run dry seven years ago.

My eyes traveled around this home—both achingly familiar and utterly foreign—finally landing on the yellowed family portrait on the wall.

In the photo, my father was young and vigorous, my mother gentle and beautiful. I wore my hair in pigtails, grinning without a care in the world.

Back then, our family was the envy of the whole Redbrick Compound.

My father served as deputy factory director, a man of integrity with an impeccable reputation. My mother worked as a clerk in the factory office, gentle and capable. And I was their cherished only child.

Back then, Gregory was just the poor boy next door.

His parents died young; he lived with his frail grandmother.

Our families were close. My parents practically raised him as a second son.

Always top of his class, sensible, with delicate, handsome features—he was the "model child" all the compound’s aunties talked about.

As for him and me? We were the golden couple in everyone’s eyes. Childhood sweethearts.

From elementary school through high school, we were inseparable.

He tutored me in math; I brought him water during basketball games.

I thought we’d just... naturally walk that path together for the rest of our lives.

After the college entrance exams, he won a place at a prestigious law school in the Capital. I only made it into a local teachers’ college here in Rivermouth.

The night before he left, he held my hand by the riverbank, his eyes shining like the stars above.

"Dorothy, wait for me," he said. "I’ll come back and marry you as soon as I graduate. In this life, the next, and the one after that, I’ll only ever be good to you."

I believed him.

Like every foolish girl drowning in first love, I believed every word.