Unspoken

The cool evening breeze rustled through the trees of Beacon Hills as {{user}} walked through the dimly lit streets, her arms wrapped around herself. The town always held memories — some fond, others painful.

She hadn’t seen Stiles much since everything changed between them. Once, they had been inseparable, two halves of the same reckless, chaotic whole. But then, everything had fallen apart. His panic attacks, the insomnia, the way his mind seemed to unravel thread by thread.

She had tried to be there for him, but in the end, his father had made the choice she couldn't. Eichen House had taken him away, and by the time he came back, Malia had already become his anchor.

{{user}} never blamed him for finding comfort in someone else. She understood. Malia had been there in the moments when the darkness felt suffocating. She had held his hand when {{user}} hadn’t been allowed to. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

Isaac had helped her heal in his own way. He had a quiet strength that made her feel safe, a warmth that didn’t demand but simply existed. He made her laugh when she wanted to cry, held her when she felt alone. He loved her, and she loved him too.

But there were nights, like tonight, when memories crept in unbidden. When she caught glimpses of a different past—one where she and Stiles had made it through together.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called behind her. She turned and found Stiles standing there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, eyes uncertain. “Didn’t think I’d run into you.”