Chapter 18: A Sky Without Stars

—Because when you can’t stop the clock, you steal seconds and call them forever.

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The city doesn’t have stars.

It has light pretending to be them — neon constellations spelling out words like “EXIT” and “SALE” instead of anything worth wishing on.

So I drove. Past the concrete skeletons. Past the dying street lamps and the ghosts of gas stations.

Until the buildings fell away and the night stretched open like a wound.

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Yume sat in the passenger seat, head tilted toward the window, eyes closed. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t see the difference between darkness and anything else.

“Where are we going?” she asked, voice soft, carried by the hum of the engine.

“Somewhere better,” I said. Which was a lie. There is no “better.” There’s just “less bad.”

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We stopped at a hill off an empty road. The kind of place that feels like a secret, even though no one cares enough to keep it.

I killed the engine. Silence roared in its place.

“Come on,” I said, getting out.

She followed, her hand finding mine like it always does now — automatic, quiet, warm in a way that feels like a promise I have no right to keep.

The grass whispered under our shoes as we climbed. At the top, the sky unfolded above us. Wide. Black. Dusted with stars that looked too sharp for something so far away.

“Tell me,” she said, settling onto the cool ground.

“Tell you what?”

“What it looks like.”

---

I sat beside her, staring up. Words crowded my throat like traffic in a city that never moves.

“It’s… big,” I said. Genius-level poetry, right there. “Like someone spilled a box of silver dust on black silk.”

She laughed — small, tired, but real. “Describe them like I’m beautiful.”

The world tilted. My heart did something ugly and loud.

“Stars?”

“Yes.” Her voice dipped, almost shy. “Pretend I’m one.”

I should’ve said no. Should’ve laughed it off, changed the subject, thrown up every wall I’ve spent my life building.

Instead…

“They’re small,” I said slowly, “but when the dark comes, they fight anyway. They burn. Quiet. Fierce. Like they know they’re not going to last… so they shine harder.”

Silence. Then:

“That’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“No,” I said, and my voice cracked like ice breaking under weight. “It’s honest.”

---

She leaned her head against my shoulder. And for a second, I forgot the clock. Forgot the hospital bills hidden in her drawer. Forgot the blood she thinks I don’t know about.

For a second, it was just this: a blind girl, a broken fighter, and a sky that couldn’t save either of them.

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We stayed there until the wind turned cruel and the grass bit through our clothes. Neither of us moved.

Because moving meant time was still moving.

And I didn’t want this night to end.

Not yet.

Not ever.

---

When we finally walked back to the car, she slipped her fingers through mine again.

“Thank you,” she said, so soft it almost broke me.

“For what?”

“For making me feel like I could see.”

I didn’t answer. Just tightened my grip. Because words aren’t strong enough for moments like this.

And because if I opened my mouth, everything inside me would come spilling out like blood on a white floor.