solitude in her heart - chapter 2
chapter 1
a/n: i'm sorry for a very late update bur recently my life's been very difficut. Hope the wait was worth it though, thank you to every single one of you for reading <3
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The whole event was rather stressful. I was sitting on the small couch tucked into the corner of the room. It was cozy enough, but being surrounded by so many people had never been something I enjoyed. Still, I was here mainly for my sister. Watching her in her element made me feel that at least she was enjoying the life she had been given. She smiled easily, charming everyone around her without even trying.
She had always been a mystery to me.
After our parents’ death, her personality never seemed to change. I was twelve, and back then it felt as if my whole world had ended. I spent most of my time locked away in my room, doing nothing particularly meaningful - just staring at the ceiling for hours. Of course I was depressed; it wasn’t difficult to notice. The only thing that kept me from falling so far that I wanted to disappear completely was my sister.
She brought me breakfast even when I could barely force myself to eat. She sat beside my bed through long stretches of silence when I hadn’t spoken in days, and somehow she never once left my side. Even then, there was still a spark in her eyes. The same spark she shared with people on the stage now, the same spark that only seemed to grow brighter whenever Loli handed her flowers. It just… never disappeared. And maybe that was why I could never stop admiring her.
I used to wonder if she cried when no one was around. If she stayed awake at night the same way I did. But every morning she would step back into the world with that same warmth wrapped around her like armor, as if grief itself had failed to touch her.
Sometimes I envied her for that. Sometimes I feared her because of it. Because no one should have been able to survive what we did and still smile so genuinely. And yet there she was, laughing softly as strangers adored her, while I sat hidden in the corner wondering how two people raised in the same house could become so painfully different.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°
Now, as I sat scrolling through my phone, I noticed Alexia standing a few steps away, looking strangely nervous while talking to Rosi and asking her to sign a ball they've just used to record the ad. I absentmindedly chuckled to myself.
So that’s the football royalty my sister was talking about?
She seemed composed at first glance - jaw tight, posture straight, as if she had complete control over everything and everyone in the room. Even her style caught my attention. Comfortable, but classy. I liked it.
And I liked observing people.
Seeing a so-called football star this close was something new to me. Usually, I was surrounded by people from the music industry - loud personalities, dramatic, expensive perfume lingering in the air. Most of my sister’s friends were like that. Or maybe not even friends. She simply talked to everyone. Those people always seemed carefree, relaxed.
Alexia felt different.
Quieter. More reserved. There was something disciplined about the way she carried herself, something careful beneath the calm expression. Maybe that was just how footballers were. Or maybe that was just her.
For a brief moment, her eyes flickered around the room before settling back on Rosi, and I caught the smallest hint of uncertainty crossing her face. It disappeared almost immediately, but I had noticed it.
People fascinated me most when they slipped for half a second.
“Lost in thought, hermana?”
Rosi’s voice snapped me back to reality as she suddenly appeared beside me.
“No. Just bored,” I teased.
“Ayy, you’re coming to the afterparty with me. You’ll be much busier there.” She winked before walking away without giving me a chance to protest.
I let my head fall back against the couch dramatically.
Ah, shit.
And somehow, the first thing my eyes drifted back to was Alexia.
She was still standing near the edge of the room, though now she held the signed ball carefully under one arm like it was something fragile. A few people approached her, asking for photos or trying to start conversations. She answered politely each time, but there was a stiffness to her smile that made me think she would rather be anywhere else.
Funny.
Eventually she excused herself politely and drifted toward the quieter side of the room. She exhaled softly once she thought nobody was paying attention. Her eyes wandered around absentmindedly before landing on me for half a second.
And then she looked away just as quickly.
I looked back down at my phone immediately, pretending I had been deeply invested in whatever was on the screen. Which would have worked better if my brightness hadn’t been low enough to reveal absolutely nothing.
Smooth.
A few moments later, I heard movement near the couch.
Alexia had settled into the armchair across from me, shoulders finally relaxing now that fewer people were around her. Up close, she somehow looked younger than before. Less intimidating.
For a second neither of us spoke.
''Aurora, right?'' she asked softly. I nodded not knowing what to say.
Then she glanced toward me briefly. “Not a fan of events like this either?”
I let out a quiet laugh through my nose. “Is it that obvious?”
“A little.” A faint smile appeared on her lips. “You’ve been hiding on that couch almost the entire time.”
“And you’ve been trying to escape conversations for the last twenty minutes.”
That actually made her laugh softly. Real this time.
“Okay,” she admitted, leaning back into the chair. “Maybe you got me there.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Surprisingly. It felt calm more than anything else, like sitting beside someone who understood the same kind of tiredness without needing it explained. From across the room, I could already hear Rosi laughing loudly at something, completely unaware that she had basically sentenced me to social interaction.
I sighed dramatically. “Your fault, by the way.”
Alexia blinked. “Mine?”
“You asked my sister for an autograph. Now she thinks I need to ‘socialize.’” I used air quotes with my fingers.
Alexia looked genuinely horrified for a second. “I’m so sorry.”
I stared at her before bursting into laughter.
And to my surprise, she laughed with me.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°
Our laughter slowly faded, though the small smile remained on Alexia’s face afterward, softer now, more natural. She adjusted the sleeves of her sweater absentmindedly before glancing toward the crowd gathered near the center of the room.
“Are you going to the afterparty?” she asked.
The question made me groan quietly. “Unfortunately, yes. Against my will.”
That earned another amused smile from her.
“Rosi?”
“Rosi,” I confirmed dramatically. “Apparently I need to stop ‘rotting on couches’ and interact with society.”
Alexia lowered her head slightly, hiding a laugh. It was strangely endearing seeing someone so composed crack so easily over something stupid.
“Well…” she hesitated for a moment before continuing, “if it helps, I probably won’t survive very long there either.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Football royalty gets socially tired too?”
“There it is again,” she sighed, though her smile betrayed her. “You know, people make footballers sound much cooler than we actually are.”
“I don’t know. The serious face is convincing.”
“My serious face?”
“The one you had earlier. Like you secretly owned the building and everyone in it.”
Alexia looked genuinely confused for a second before laughing softly. “I was nervous.”
“You were?”
She nodded once, eyes drifting briefly toward the floor. “I don’t really know many people here.”
I understood that feeling too well.
“Well,” I muttered, leaning back into the couch, “at least now there’ll be two miserable people at the afterparty instead of one.”
Alexia glanced at me again, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly.
“Sounds less terrible when you put it like that.”
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By the time we arrived at the afterparty, my social battery was already hanging by a thread. The place was louder than I expected. Someone was already dancing on a table for reasons unknown, and judging by Rosi’s excited scream somewhere in the distance, things would only get worse from here.
Fantastic.
The second we walked in, my sister disappeared into the crowd like she had been born for places like this. One moment she was beside me, the next she was laughing with three different people near the bar. I honestly envied how easy it all seemed for her.
Meanwhile, I stood near the entrance debating whether pretending to get kidnapped was a valid escape plan.
“You look terrified.”
I glanced beside me to see Alexia standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Compared to earlier, she looked more relaxed now but still quiet, still observant.
“I am terrified,” I admitted. “There are at least fifty people in here.”
She nodded seriously. “A true nightmare.”
I looked at her suspiciously. “You’re enjoying this conversation way too much.”
“Maybe a little''. A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
For a moment, we just stood there together watching the chaos unfold around us. Alexia’s gaze followed the crowd carefully, as if she was studying everything happening around her instead of actually participating in it. It reminded me a little too much of myself.
Then suddenly —
“SHOTSSS!”
Rosi appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm dramatically around both me and Alexia.
Absolutely not.
“No,” I answered immediately.
“Yes,” Alexia said at the exact same time.
I turned toward her so fast I nearly got whiplash. She looked equally surprised by her own answer.
Rosi pointed at her excitedly. “See? Football royalty knows how to live!”
Alexia groaned quietly while I stared at her in betrayal.
“You were supposed to be my ally.”
“I panicked,” she admitted under her breath, already being dragged toward the bar with me.
Honestly? That was probably the first time all night I saw her look completely unguarded.
The night unfolded slowly after that. Music humming in the background, people getting progressively drunker, bursts of laughter echoing from different corners of the room. At some point, my sister disappeared into the crowd entirely, probably dancing on another table somewhere while my sister encouraged her like the menace she was.
Meanwhile, Alexia and I stayed at the bar. Neither of us seemed particularly interested in forcing conversation, which somehow made talking even easier. There were comfortable silences between us, moments where we just sat there nursing our drinks while watching the chaos around us unfold.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me.
“So…” I turned slightly toward her, resting my elbow against the counter. “I know literally nothing about football.”
Alexia looked at me with mock seriousness. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“You know the rules at least, right?”
I hesitated.
Her eyes widened dramatically. “Oh my god.”
“I know there’s a ball?”
She laughed so suddenly she almost choked on her drink.
“That’s actually tragic.”
“Listen, my entire life revolves around musicians and emotionally unstable artists. Sports were never part of the curriculum.”
Alexia was still smiling when she shook her head. “Okay, then ask your questions.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “You’re not going to judge me?”
“I definitely am,” she admitted. “But only internally.”
I snorted softly before thinking for a second.
“Do footballers actually enjoy training?”
“No.” Her answer came instantly.
“That fast?”
“We like winning. Training is just suffering with benefits.”
That made me laugh. “See, that already sounds more human than what people online say about athletes.”
“What do people online say?”
“That you wake up at four in the morning and consume protein powder instead of emotions.”
Alexia looked horrified. “That’s offensive.”
“So you do experience emotions?”
“Rarely.”
“Thought so.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth again. I kept asking questions after that. How matches actually worked. Why everyone acted like rival teams were blood enemies. Whether footballers truly noticed fans screaming in giant stadiums.
And Alexia answered every single one patiently. Not in the arrogant way famous people sometimes explained things either. She spoke carefully, occasionally laughing at my terrible assumptions, but never making me feel stupid for asking.
When she talked about football, something shifted in her expression.
She became lighter somehow. Less guarded. Her eyes carried that same spark I always noticed in my sister whenever music was involved - that quiet passion people had when they spoke about the thing that made them feel alive.
It was strange watching someone transform just by talking about what they loved.
Stranger still that I found myself listening so carefully.
“At this point,” Alexia said after another one of my painfully bad guesses about offsides, “I genuinely think you’ve never watched a single match in your life.”
“I watched one once.”
“And?”
“I thought everyone was being very dramatic over a ball.”
She stared at me in betrayal before laughing again, head dropping forward slightly.
And for some reason, I realized then that hearing her laugh had quietly become my favorite part of the night.
“What about you?” she asked gently.
“What about me?” I raised an eyebrow.
“What do you do? What do you like…”
I looked down at my drink for a second before shrugging lightly. “I’m not very interesting.”
Alexia immediately frowned at that, sitting up straighter like she physically refused to let me get away with saying it. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if you weren’t interesting.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh. “You’re just hiding from the crowd.”
“I can multitask.”
I smiled despite myself, shaking my head slightly before taking another sip of my drink.
For a moment she didn’t push further. She just watched me patiently, elbow resting against the bar, her big, veiny hands loosely wrapped around her glass. There was something unusually attentive about the way she listened, like she actually cared about the answers instead of simply asking questions to fill silence.
Most people didn’t do that. At least I haven't ever met any.
“I don’t know,” I admitted eventually. “I mostly keep to myself.”
“Doing what?”
“Reading. Music sometimes. Overthinking professionally.”
That earned a soft laugh from her. “Professionally?”
“I’m very talented at it.”
“I can tell.”
I glanced toward her suspiciously. “Was that an insult?”
“A little.” She smiled into her drink.
The music shifted somewhere behind us, bass vibrating through the floor while people near the dance floor screamed lyrics completely off-key. Neither of us moved from our spot.
“I like observing people,” I continued after a moment. “Probably because I don’t really know how to talk to them most of the time.”
Alexia tilted her head slightly. “You’re talking to me just fine.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped.
Because somehow it was different.
Talking to her didn’t feel draining the way conversations usually did. I wasn’t forcing myself to maintain eye contact or mentally counting down until I could leave. Sitting beside her felt easy in a way I wasn’t used to. Quiet without being awkward.
“I don’t know,” I muttered honestly. “You’re easier to talk to than most people.”
For a second, Alexia looked genuinely caught off guard by that. Her eyes softened slightly before she looked down, hiding the small smile forming on her lips.
“That’s funny,” she said quietly. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
And annoyingly enough, I felt my chest tighten a little at that.
Or whatever.
“What do you read?” she asked after a moment, turning slightly toward me.
“Poetry, mostly.”
I expected the conversation to die there. Usually when I mentioned poetry, people either pretended to care or immediately acted like I had confessed to living in a forest speaking to birds.
But Alexia’s expression lit up with genuine curiosity instead.
“Really?”
I blinked at her reaction. “That sounded way too excited.”
“No, I just…” She smiled softly. “I don’t meet many people who actually read poetry.”
“That’s because everyone thinks it’s depressing.”
“Isn’t it?” she teased lightly.
“Most good things are.”
She laughed quietly at that before resting her chin against her hand again, eyes staying on me instead of drifting back toward the crowd this time.
“What kind?” she asked. “Like classic poetry or modern?”
The fact she was asking actual follow-up questions caught me off guard a little.
“Both, I guess. Depends on the mood.” I traced the edge of my glass absentmindedly. “II actually fell in love with it when i started feeling very depressed. It was my escape - both writing and reading. Now I can't live without it. It's easier to express my emotions on the paper.”
Alexia stayed quiet, listening carefully.
She nudged gently. “Tell me more.”
I let out a quiet laugh through my nose. “You’re persistent.”
“A little.”
I shook my head, smiling faintly into my drink before speaking again.
“I like Thoreau. He was a transcendentalist.”
Alexia looked at me with immediate confusion. “A what?”
I chuckled softly. “Okay, very broad explanation... sooo transcendentalism is basically the idea that everyone has an inner voice, and by listening to it, people stay connected to what’s good and true. Nature, individuality, intuition… things like that.”
She hummed thoughtfully, still listening carefully. “So he had an inner voice? What was it?”
“Mostly loneliness,” I answered almost instantly. “There’s this poem - Solitude - and he wrote a lot of things around the time he isolated himself from society.”
I paused abruptly before pointing at her slightly. “Oh God, wait, I didn’t even explain the important part.”
Alexia laughed quietly as I straightened in my seat, suddenly far more awake than I had been all night.
“So basically, Thoreau was really close friends with Emerson. Emerson was kind of his mentor, and also his neighbor, which is honestly very funny to me.”
I grinned. “And Emerson basically created American transcendentalism. Thoreau took those ideas and actually LIVED them. Like fully committed to the lifestyle.”
Alexia rested her chin against her hand again, eyes fixed on me with open amusement while I kept talking.
“So Thoreau moved to this little cabin near Walden Pond - on Emerson’s land, by the way - and lived there mostly alone for two years because he wanted to connect with nature and solitude and all those deeper ideas about existence.”
“Two years?” Alexia repeated, clearly entertained now.
“Yes!” I laughed. “Can you imagine? No social media. No parties. Barely any people. Just him, nature, and his thoughts.”
“That sounds like your dream life, actually.”
I pointed at her immediately. “See? You understand me.”
She smiled warmly at that, and somehow that only encouraged me more.
“And the thing is,” I continued, softer now, “his writing doesn’t romanticize loneliness in a dramatic way. It feels… peaceful. Like being alone isn’t automatically something sad. Sometimes it’s necessary.”
Alexia’s expression shifted slightly at that. More thoughtful.
“Maybe that’s why you like him so much,” she said quietly.
The way she said it made my chest tighten a little, because it didn’t sound judgmental at all.
It sounded like she understood.
I looked down at my glass for a second, turning it slowly between my fingers.
“Maybe,” I admitted quietly. “I think being alone always felt easier for me than trying to be understood.”
The words lingered between us for a moment, softer than the music surrounding us. I stared down at my drink, thumb tracing the condensation on the glass before I spoke again.
“There’s this poem by Emily Dickinson,” I murmured. “I’m Nobody I believe. It’s really short, but I always loved the main idea behind it.”
Alexia tilted her head slightly, listening carefully. “What idea?”
“That it’s better to be nobody than somebody.”
Her brows furrowed almost immediately. “Why?”
I smiled faintly, though there wasn’t much amusement in it.
“Because when you’re somebody, you’re exposed.”
She stayed quiet, so I continued.
“She writes about it almost mockingly. Like being ‘somebody’ means constantly announcing yourself to the world, always being perceived, always being seen.” I glanced around the crowded party instinctively. “And honestly? That sounds exhausting.”
Alexia’s expression softened with understanding.
“I think some people are more comfortable existing quietly,” I said. “Watching instead of performing.”
A small laugh escaped me. “Which is ironic considering who my sister is.”
“And considering who I am,” Alexia added softly.
That made me look at her again.
For the first time since meeting her, there was no distance in her expression. No carefully maintained composure. Just something tired and honest sitting quietly behind her eyes.
“You don’t like the attention?” I asked gently.
She hesitated before answering.
“I like football,” she corrected quietly. “The attention just comes with it.”
Something about that answer settled heavily in my chest.
People loved the version of her they could see.
But being seen all the time was probably its own kind of loneliness.
Alexia looked down briefly before smiling to herself. “You know,” she said softly, “I think you explain poetry the same way people explain religion.”
I laughed quietly. “That bad?”
“No.” Her eyes lifted back to mine. “That passionate.”
For a moment we drifted back into comfortable silence, the noise of the party carrying on around us. Someone near the dance floor screamed lyrics completely off-key again. Glasses clinked somewhere behind the bar. Rosi was now dancing with at least four strangers like she had known them her entire life.
Alexia followed my gaze before laughing under her breath. “Your sister has endless energy.”
“She was probably born caffeinated.”
“That explains a lot.”
I smiled faintly before glancing back at her. “What about you?”
“Hm?”
“You talk about football the way I talk about poetry.”
That seemed to catch her off guard for a second. She leaned back slightly against the bar stool, thinking.
“I guess…” she paused softly, “football was always the one place where my head went quiet.”
The honesty in her voice surprised me.
“When I play, I don’t overthink things. I don’t think about expectations or pressure or people watching me.” She gave a small shrug. “I just know what to do.”
I watched her carefully while she spoke.
It was strange hearing someone so admired talk about herself so simply. No ego. No performance. Just sincerity.
“That sounds nice,” I murmured.
“It is.” Her smile softened slightly. “But it can also become your entire life without you noticing.”
There was something heavier underneath those words. Something tired.
Before I could ask anything else, the music suddenly changed into something louder, faster, and Rosi appeared beside us like an unavoidable force of nature.
“There you two are!” she exclaimed dramatically. “You’ve been sitting here flirting philosophically for like an hour.”
I nearly choked on my drink.
Alexia looked equally startled. “We were not-”
“Oh my God,” Rosi interrupted, grabbing both our hands. “No more depressing intellectual conversations. Dance floor. Now.”
“Rosi,” I warned immediately.
“Nope.” She grinned wickedly. “The introvert protection program has ended.”
I looked toward Alexia for support.
Traitorously, she was laughing.
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forgive me the amount of literature <3
a.
