Chapter 4: Luna, Leashes, and Unspoken Words

On the weekend, after dance class, I was waiting for the driver when a white Samoyed came out of nowhere. The dog circled me nonstop, tail wagging.

The dog’s fur was so fluffy it looked like a walking cloud. I knelt down, laughing as she pressed her head into my hand, tongue lolling, clearly loving the attention.

I called the number on its collar. For a second, I wondered who’d be on the other end.

My fingers fumbled with the phone, dialing the number. The dog sat at my feet, looking up at me with big, trusting eyes. I couldn’t help but smile.

"Hello? Hi, is your dog named Luna? I found her by the Westgate Mall. Could you come pick her up?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

The voice on the other end was muffled, a little surprised. I could hear city sounds in the background. My heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah." The reply came after a pause, and the voice sounded oddly familiar. My breath caught.

A chill ran through me—why did that voice sound so much like Mason’s? My mind raced, trying to piece it together.

The driver arrived, and I brought the dog into the car to wait. The pup was snowy white and smelled fresh, like it’d just had a bath. I petted her, letting her calm presence settle my nerves.

She curled up on the backseat, head on my lap. I found myself smiling, her calm presence soothing my nerves. For a minute, everything felt okay.

My phone rang again. I saw the number, but ignored it and got out of the car with the dog.

I figured it was the owner, probably impatient. I hoisted Luna’s leash and stepped out into the cool evening air. The breeze felt good on my face.

At the entrance, I saw the only person on their phone and walked over with the dog.

He was tall, hands jammed in his hoodie pockets, phone pressed to his ear. He looked up as I approached, and we both froze. Recognition hit us at the same time.

"Hi, is this your dog?" I asked, voice a little shaky. Our eyes met, and for a second, it was just us in the world.

I blinked, trying to hide my shock. Mason’s face was blank, but his eyes were wide. I tried not to stare.

"Oh, it’s you. What a coincidence." I handed him the leash, fingers brushing his.

He took it, his fingers brushing mine—cold as ice, but gentle. Luna wagged her tail, oblivious to the tension. I almost laughed at the absurdity.

He mumbled a quick "Thanks," glancing away. I wondered if he was always this awkward, or if it was just around me. The silence stretched.

"Your dog’s adorable, but you really need to keep an eye on her. If you lose her again, who knows if you’ll get her back." I tried to make it a joke, hoping he’d relax.

I thought, wow, he really is cold—talks even less than that Oscar winner I worked with in my last life.

I let out a little laugh, remembering all those red carpet interviews where actors said nothing but still managed to look cool. Mason had that vibe in spades.

I waved goodbye and headed for my family’s car.

I tossed a wave over my shoulder and hurried off, feeling strangely light. The dog encounter had turned my day around. For the first time in days, I felt hopeful.

Just as I opened the door, Mason called out, "Thank you."

His voice was softer than I expected. I turned, but before I could say anything, another figure appeared. My heart skipped a beat.

Before I could answer, a stylish girl ran out of the building toward Mason, looking worried.

She wore a denim jacket and had her hair in a messy bun, her face flushed. She glanced at me, then at Mason, her brows furrowed in concern. I wondered who she was.

I got in and closed the door. I never got to say, "How about you treat me to dinner, then?" The words stuck in my throat.

The thought lingered as we drove off. Maybe next time. I smiled to myself, already looking forward to it.

Monday, the new semester started. I gave a speech onstage. The nerves hit me as I looked out over a sea of students. I spotted Mason.

He sat in the back, hood up, eyes fixed on his desk. I caught his gaze for a split second—he looked away first. My heart did a funny little skip.

Dylan kept trying to talk to me. I ignored him.

He followed me between classes, texting nonstop. I blocked his number. It was almost funny, if it wasn’t so annoying. The drama never ended.

Mason was always alone at school. No one wanted to hang out with the kid who’d been in juvie.

He kept his head down, headphones always in. Some kids whispered when he walked by, others just avoided him. It was like he had an invisible force field around him. I knew how that felt.

I ate lunch by myself, feeling out of place.

I found a spot by the window, picking at my food, watching the clouds drift by. Sometimes it was easier to be alone. The silence felt safe.

In my previous life as an actress, I had to eat light. Even now, I still found the cafeteria food way too greasy.

The pizza oozed orange oil, the fries were limp. I longed for a salad, or at least something that didn’t leave my fingers shiny. I poked at my tray, appetite gone.

Just as I was about to get up, a bottle of strawberry milk—my favorite—was set down next to me. I blinked, surprised.

The cold bottle startled me. I looked up, surprised to see Mason standing there. My heart skipped.

Mason sat across from me. He hadn’t gotten any food. I wondered if he ever ate at school.

He just sat, elbows on the table, gaze steady. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. The silence between us was comfortable, somehow.

"Consider it a thank you." He slid the bottle closer, not quite meeting my eyes.

His voice was gruff, almost shy. I blinked, unsure what he meant. My cheeks grew warm.

I just stared at him, confused.

He shrugged, like he wasn’t used to explaining himself. I waited, not wanting to break the moment.

He saw I didn’t get it and added, "For Luna… and the medicine." He looked away, fiddling with his backpack strap.

His words caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to notice, let alone say anything. My throat tightened.

"How did you know it was me who left the medicine?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I fiddled with the milk bottle, trying to hide my embarrassment. My fingers felt clumsy.

"I checked the security camera." He said it like it was obvious.

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. I almost laughed.

"You have a camera at your place?" I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. Most kids didn’t have that kind of setup.

Now, everyone’s got a camera at their door, but back then? Not so much.

I tried to picture him, all alone, setting up a camera. It made me feel oddly protective. I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Mason just paused, didn’t answer, and got up to leave. The moment slipped away.

He slid the chair back, grabbed his backpack, and left without another word. I watched him go, the strawberry milk cold in my hand.

I stared at the bottle of strawberry milk, lost in thought. The cafeteria buzz faded into the background.