ashes in April (chapter7-8)

Chapter 7 – The Cliffside

April 14th.

Elena drove with the windows down, letting the wind drown her thoughts. The sky was gray with the weight of an unshed storm. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel.

In her pocket was a plane ticket to Paris—Luca had offered it to her that morning.

“Come with me,” he’d said. “We don’t have to figure it all out. Just start.”

But when he kissed her goodbye, she hadn’t kissed back.

She reached the cliffs by late afternoon. The ocean roared below like a thing alive. It was the same place where her father’s car had gone off the edge. She hadn’t been here since.

The rain began again, slow and sorrowful.

Elena sat on the hood of the car, staring out at the water. She played a recording on her phone—her favorite nocturne. The one her mother used to hum when she couldn’t sleep. Music always came when words failed.

She closed her eyes.

Absolutely — here are the final two chapters of Ashes in April, bringing the story to its quiet, aching conclusion.

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Chapter 8 – Ashes

The gallery was full, but no one spoke above a whisper.

The portrait of Elena hung in the center of the far wall—framed in pale wood, surrounded by white lilies and muted light. Luca had finished it the day after the call. It had taken him thirteen hours straight. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t cried.

In the painting, her eyes were wide open. She looked like she was about to tell a secret and then changed her mind.

Arden stood to the side of the room, dressed in a black coat, his fingers clenched around the spine of a manuscript. He hadn’t touched a page since her death. The words felt heavier now, like they belonged to someone else.

They didn’t speak much when Luca approached him.

“She would’ve hated this,” Luca murmured, nodding toward the clean white walls, the hushed crowd.

Arden let out a humorless breath. “She’d be in the corner by the exit, rolling her eyes.”

They both smiled, just barely.

Arden held out the manuscript. “It’s hers. But it’s also yours. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Luca took it in both hands, as if it might fall apart. On the cover, in soft graphite, were the words: Ashes in April. Below it, in smaller script: For E.

They didn’t say goodbye. They just sat in silence on the gallery bench, shoulder to shoulder, watching the painting breathe in stillness.

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