Echoes in the Silence

by HealMyShatteredSoul

Summary:

Clarke’s just prepping for the new semester at her favorite cafe when a beautiful brunette walks in with a young boy—and alarm bells start ringing. There’s something off, something hidden. Can Clarke break through her walls and help her heal? College AU

Notes:

TW: Recent Past Physical and Psychological Child Abuse
TW: Aftermath of Abuse

Mood Board for Chapter 1 on my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/healmyshatteredsoul/781279765463203840/mood-board-for-chapter-1-of-my-story-echoes-in-the?source=share

Chapter 1: The Spill

The cafe was busy—people going in and out, voices carrying through the small space, the whirring of machines as they deposited coffee into the cups—it was all so grounding to Clarke. She loved being around people, it made her feel connected to the world.

Her laptop sat open on the table in front of her, a half-drunk latte to her left, and her earbuds in—a trick she’d learned to help prevent people from starting conversations when she was in the midst of something. It’s not that Clarke doesn’t enjoy talking to people—she does—but if she lets herself get dragged into conversations, she’ll never get anything done.

The door to the cafe chimed, causing the blonde to instinctively look up for what seemed like the hundredth time since she’d gotten there, but this time, her gaze lingered.

In walked a beautiful brunette girl—her posture stiff and back ramrod straight. She had one hand in the pocket of her hoodie and the other over a young, blonde boy’s shoulders.

The young boy’s head kept bouncing around as he seemed to take in every single person around him. His hand gripped the back of the young woman’s shirt, fisting it tightly, almost like he was afraid to let go.

Clarke watched as the brunette scanned the room, eyes lingering on every exit, before turning to the boy and whispering something in his ear. Once the boy nodded, they moved towards the counter, probably to order their drinks.

Clarke let her eyes return to her screen, but she couldn’t help but examine the behavior she had just witnessed. They both had seemed skittish—their body language exuding anxiety. Their behavior stood out among the crowd, especially to someone as intuitive as Clarke.

She was brought out of her thoughts as the pair made their way to the table next to hers—one of the few unoccupied ones in the back. She silently took in how the boy seemed more relaxed now, but the young woman remained just as tense as before. She sat sideways in her chair, her back to the wall, hands folded tightly in her lap.

Clarke couldn’t help but sneak glances as the boy chats animatedly about starting school. She notices how the girl looks at him and nods along, giving short responses. She is clearly paying attention, but never once does she smile. This strikes Clarke as odd, along with the fact that even though the brunette is now settled, her posture remains stiff and rigid, almost like her muscles are locked.

The blonde woman drops her gaze back to her laptop, trying to focus on preparing for her classes the following day. She hears the boy chatting easily, his voice light and excited—a contrast to when they entered the cafe. He’s clearly comfortable around the young woman, but she, on the other hand looks tense and closed off, like an animal who senses danger. Scared—Clarke realizes. Not just uncomfortable, scared. Something tugs at her—a stubborn instinct that won’t let her ignore what she’s just noticed.

Clarke hears the young boy ramble on about the 3D printer that his library has as he lists off all the things he could make with it. His hands are gesturing wildly and suddenly, time seems to stop as his hand knocks over the cup, spilling its contents onto the table.

The boy freezes, his face draining of all color and his hand still mid-air, almost like he can’t believe what just happened. The brunette on the other hand reacts immediately. Her eyes are wide as she scrambles to grab some napkins, and Clarke notes how her hands shake as she tries to clean the mess as quickly as possible.

Clarke notices them glance around in panic, checking for something that Clarke isn’t aware of, before two pairs of eyes land on her.

Concerned blue meets fearful green and something in Clarke’s chest twists—this wasn’t fear of a mess, this was fear of a consequence.

Before the silence can stretch, Clarke gets up and grabs a few napkins, approaching their table.

“Hey,” she says softly. “I’ve got some extra napkins.” She keeps her voice light and her tone even—she didn’t want to scare them further.

She came to a halt when she saw the girl’s body stiffen, her fingers tightening around the edge of the chair, her back pressing further into the wall, like she was trying to disappear. Clarke’s gaze then shifts to the boy’s trembling lip.

The sight makes Clarke pause for a moment, her heart squeezing in her chest. She holds the napkins out to them, waiting patiently for them to take it. When neither makes a move, she sets them on the edge of the table instead.

The boy’s eyes are still wide as he apologizes before dropping his gaze to the table.

Clarke slowly crouches next to the table, still maintaining a safe distance, but close enough that other people can’t eavesdrop.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she looks at him. “I spill my drinks all the time. I once had just finished a bunch of handwritten notes and I knocked my coffee cup all over them! I had to redo them and trust me, that was not fun.” She chuckled, trying to ease the tension that the two people in front of her held.

The boy cracked a smile at that and Clarke mentally fist-pumped the air. She felt relieved that she had been able to get a positive reaction out of him.

Her blue eyes wandered over to the brunette, noticing that she was still tense, like her body was bracing for something. The blonde could feel the intense green eyes following her every move, and she wished for nothing more than to be able to put the girl at ease.

Clarke stood up and reached for the cup on the table, but the sudden, violent flinch made her freeze.

She retracted her hand immediately, her voice soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first. I was just going to grab the cup and toss it in the recycling.” Clarke explains, keeping her voice gentle and steady. She watches the girl closely, and the alarms that had been set off from the beginning only grow louder.

The brunette shakes her head slightly. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She says, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment, her gaze dropping to the table. Her fingers remain tightly wrapped around the chair, as if it’s the only thing grounding her.

“No, you don’t have to apologize.” Clarke says softly, eyes locked on the young woman’s face. “If you need any more napkins, just let me know and I can grab some for you.” Clarke says with a soft smile, before returning to her own table.

As she sits, her mind is reeling. There’s a tug in her chest she can’t explain, something magnetic and protective pulling her toward the strangers at the next table. And those green eyes… she has a feeling she won’t be forgetting them any time soon.

Chapter 2: The Quiet Between Us

Notes:

Mood Board on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/healmyshatteredsoul/781927453060939776/mood-board-for-chapter-1-of-my-story-echoes-in-the?source=share

The dorm room is quiet—too quiet. Lexa is at her desk, her head resting in her hands, tears spilling down her cheeks as she tries to take deep breaths. The first week of classes so far has been nothing but suffocating. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out the loud memories, the crushing weight of panic pressing into her chest. Nowhere on campus feels safe.

In class, there are too many people. She can’t keep an eye on all of them. Her head splits in two—half straining to follow the professor, half scanning for danger. It’s exhausting.

Public spaces are too loud, too fast, too unsafe. People brush past her—touching her. She hates being touched.

The sound of skateboards slamming against pavement rings in her ears—her heart jumps in her chest, her body flinches. Images of a hand slamming on the table in front of her flash before her eyes. 

On the other hand, her dorm room is the contrary—the silence stretches in a way that makes everything too loud in her head. Her thoughts spiral out of control when she’s alone—useless, pathetic, weak. She hates the silence.

No longer able to take it anymore, she stands abruptly—the force of the movement sending her desk chair skidding backwards. She wipes at her eyes, ridding her face of any evidence of crying before letting her practiced expression fall into place—calm, unreadable. With a long, deep breath, she grabs her backpack and leaves the room.

When Lexa arrives at the on-campus library, she is pleased to find that it is relatively quiet. A quick scan of the room proves that not many people are around at this time of day, and Lexa exhales in relief. She doesn’t feel safe, but she feels slightly more at ease than she has anywhere else so far. 

Spotting an empty table in the far-back corner of the library, Lexa makes her way to it, placing her backpack on the table before her eyes land on a shelf of books nearby. One particular title catches her eye—“The Quiet Between Us.” She takes a few steps and reaches for the book, opening it to find out what it’s about. 

She’s pleasantly surprised to find out it’s a lesbian romance about a girl named Sophia—who has always kept to herself—and Mia, who is everything Sophia isn’t. Mia is outgoing, warm, and sees Sophia when no one else does—but falling in love requires letting her in, and Sophia isn’t sure she knows how.

She stares at the book and hesitates for a minute, thumbs brushing softly against the cover. 

She shouldn’t read this. She knows she shouldn’t. 

Love is weakness. Wanting softness never ended well.

Although her uncle Gustus and aunt Indra have tried to explain that these rules don’t exist anymore, she can’t help but worry. Should I risk it? Is it worth it? It’s not like he’s around anymore anyway. Maybe it’s okay now. Aunt Indra says I can. 

After many attempts at justifying it to herself, she takes the book and sits on the bench with her back against the wall. She tucks her legs up into her chest and rests the book on her knees. She takes a glance around the room, checking for any signs of danger, before her gaze falls to the book and she begins to read. 

The minute she hears the soft, raspy voice in her vicinity, her muscles seize and her breath catches in her throat. For a second, it was like the world had stopped. She holds the book tightly to her chest, trying to quell the panic. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” There was a gentleness to the voice that seemed familiar to the brunette—an apologetic undertone that manages to bring Lexa slightly out of her panic. 

Forcing a blankness into her expression, she looks up, meeting familiar bright blue eyes. It was the girl from the cafe. Her vision blurs for a second and her brain can’t decide whether to fight, flee, or simply shut down. 

Lexa can’t speak—she just stares. Her face is devoid of all emotion as her gaze moves from the blonde girl to the floor, still being able to see her in her peripheral. She clutches the book tighter, fingers digging into the cover, like it might shield her from whatever came next.

She notices how the blonde girl takes a step back. “My name is Clarke—Clarke Griffin. What’s your name?”

Lexa barely registers the question, her face still emotionless, eyes on the floor. Her body remains tense, her chest feeling weighed down by a ton of bricks. Why did I have to run into her again? What does she want? Why won’t she just leave?

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” The blonde’s tone sounded sincere and that throws Lexa off—it is unexpected. “Can I sit at this table next to yours? I won’t bother you—I was just going to annotate my chapter, so I won’t make any noise either, I promise.” The blonde girl—Clarke—says with a raspy chuckle. 

Lexa contemplates this, taking note of how the blonde waits patiently. The girl had been nice so far and Lexa didn’t want to be rude. She gives a short, almost imperceptible nod. 

“Thank you.” Once again, the sincerity in Clarke’s voice was odd to Lexa. Why is she thanking me? 

“That book helped me when I was figuring myself out,” Clarke smiles, her voice soft. “It’s special.” 

Lexa looks up slightly to see Clarke point at the book still clutched tightly to her chest and she blushes immediately. She feels stupid for reading a book like this—her dad, Titus, would never have approved. It’s soft. Weak. Pathetic.

“How dare you waste your time on such weak fantasies?” His voice echoes in her head, and her eyes instinctively squeeze shut. She forces them open immediately though, remembering that she isn’t alone. 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s a beautiful story.” Clarke says easily, a soft smiling playing on her lips. “Plus, I’m a sucker for romantic books too,” she winks.

Lexa nods curtly once more and watches the other girl pull out her textbook and begin working. She observes her for some time, seeing her get pulled into what she was doing. Her body seems relaxed, but she looks tired. 

It takes a bit before Lexa feels comfortable enough to return to her book, hoping she won’t get as sucked in as before. She can’t afford to be unaware of her surroundings. 

Clarke watches out of the corner of her eye as the brunette looks up every few sentences, her eyes taking a quick glance around before returning to her book. About twenty minutes went by before it turned into one glance about every page. 

At this point, Clarke is barely paying attention to what she’s doing—her curiosity piqued by the girl in the table next to hers. 

She knows the young woman is getting sucked into the book—she isn’t glancing around nearly as often and while her body still holds an unbelievable amount of tension, her shoulders have sagged slightly and her legs aren’t as stiff. 

Clarke internally smiles as she catches the way her eyes are slightly wide with curiosity and intrigue. Her lips are slightly parted and her thumb drifts gently over the edge of the remaining pages—almost like she’s caressing them. Her other hand toys absentmindedly with a delicate necklace around her neck—a beautiful infinity symbol that gleams softly under the library lights.

There’s a tug in Clarke’s chest, but for once, it’s not the bad kind. The brunette is both adorable and absolutely stunning, and Clarke would give anything to know more about her.

She forces herself to refocus, dragging her gaze back to her notes. She really needs to get this done.

Still… she can’t help but steal a few more glances at the brunette.

She smiles softly to herself when she sees the girl blink away tears. Clarke doesn’t know her—not really—but she knows exactly what part of the book she’s at. With one final glance, she turns back to her page.

At the next table, Lexa finishes the chapter and looks up, blinking like she’s just surfaced from underwater. She curses herself silently—she got pulled in again. She closes the book gently and lifts her eyes. 

Clarke is fully immersed in her work, brow furrowed. Her pencil is in her left hand, moving steadily across the paper as she jots down notes. 

She finds herself actually being okay with having Clarke there. Her presence doesn’t feel as suffocating as others’ usually do. 

For a split second, she wonders what it would be like to have a friend, but she shakes the thought away. Who would want to be friends with someone like her? She’s nothing but a burden—far too damaged. 

Her eyes cast down to her lap in shame, and the urge to cry pulls at her chest like a sorrow she doesn’t have permission to speak aloud. 

Before she can even realize what she’s doing, her lips part and a single sentence leaves her mouth. 

“My name is Lexa.” Her voice is shaky—quiet. It’s tentative, but it’s a start.

The words hang in the air, like she has just spoken some forbidden sentence that would land her in a lifetime of pain. She clutches the book to her chest again, her hands slightly shaking as she holds her breath. 

And then Clarke looks up and gives her the most genuine, happy smile yet, and the air is able to make its way back into Lexa’s lungs. 

“It’s really good to meet you, Lexa.” Her voice is soft, but there’s a newfound warmth to it that Lexa hadn’t expected. Nonetheless, it makes her heart skip a beat.

For the first time in longer than she can remember, she feels the smallest hint of a smile tug at the corner of her lips. 

Chapter 3: The Rhythm of Calm

Notes:

Sorry it's been so long since my last update, I've been super busy at work so I'm not sure if I can keep to the planned once a week update, but we'll see!

I'm slightly nervous about this chapter because I worry it's too internal and feeling like it's dragging, but I also want to show more of the emotions and slow progress, so hopefully it's not boring! Let me know your thoughts on it, please!

Mood Board available on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/healmyshatteredsoul/793605434641645569/mood-board-for-chapter-3-of-my-story-echoes-in-the?source=share

Clarke is at her apartment, a few blocks from campus. She leans back, her head resting against the back of her desk chair, eyes closing as she sighs in exhaustion. She has just finished writing all the notes from the chapter that she needs to read for next class.

When she opens her eyes, she knows she needs to do something to relax. She thinks about going for a walk, but she feels too tired to just walk around aimlessly. Her eyes drift over to her sketchbook and her shoulders immediately relax at the idea of drawing. That is exactly what would help right now.

Just as she grabs her sketchbook, her mind drifts to wondering what Lexa might currently be doing. Could she be at the library? It's around the same time she was there last time, but she's not sure if that’s a common routine for the green-eyed girl. Her eyes return to her sketchbook and her art pencils. Sketching at the library, where it’s quiet and calm, does sound nice.

Telling herself that it is the setting that sounds nice—not sitting next to the quiet girl she had met—she grabs her art supplies and shoves them in her backpack before she can overthink her decision or reasons. She grabs her phone, wallet, and keys and heads out the door.

She arrives at the library and goes straight to the back—the corner where Lexa sat in last time. Lexa isn’t there. Clarke swallows the flicker of disappointment, not yet willing to acknowledge it. She sits down anyway—at the same table as last time—and pulls out her sketchbook and pencils.

Her hand begins moving across the paper, the feeling of the smooth texture under her pencil melting the tension away, her mind clearing, her focus entirely on her drawing—until a pair of sneakers come into view.

Clarke’s hand stills on the paper as she looks up and a small smile plays on her lips when she is met with nervous-looking familiar green eyes. Lexa is clutching the strap of her backpack—her hands slightly shaking.

Her gaze hovers near Clarke’s, as close as she can bear. A few seconds pass where Lexa doesn’t speak, standing stiff, awkward, her tension thick in the air.

“Hey,” Clarke says, her tone happy but not overly excited so as not to spook the skittish girl.

Lexa gives the smallest nod, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her fingers tighten around the strap again, eyes darting between Clarke and the empty space beside her.

Clarke tilts her head, her smile gentle as she takes the lead. “Would you like to sit?” she asks, gesturing towards the empty table next to hers.

For a beat, Lexa hesitates—and Clarke can almost see the battle behind her eyes. Her fingers twist against the strap of her backpack, knuckles white with tension. For a moment, Clarke wonders if she’ll bolt. But then—slowly, carefully—Lexa gives a small nod.

It isn’t just agreement, Clarke realizes. It’s a fragile seed of trust. It's Lexa choosing to stay.

Lexa slowly moves onto the bench, tucking herself against the wall. Her backpack rests between them like a shield she doesn’t yet know she can lower.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper, before pulling a textbook from the bag.

Clarke watches her for a bit. She notices that her shoulders are tense, her back ramrod straight, her eyes darting around them—checking, watching, analyzing—before glancing nervously at Clarke, then quickly back to her textbook when she realizes Clarke is watching.

Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, Clarke returns to her drawing, hoping that the silence and lack of pressure will put Lexa more at ease.

As the minutes go by, Clarke begins to lose herself in the drawing—her mind focusing on adding detail to the sketch.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa sees Clarke relax, her hand gliding more smoothly across the paper than it was when she started and Lexa can tell that Clarke’s attention is completely on the image she is creating.

Glancing at Clarke’s face to make sure she is engrossed in her task, she looks curiously at the paper to see what Clarke is drawing and sees a beautiful forest with pine trees and a trail leading into the unknown. It almost seems eerie, like it should be scary, but it isn’t—it’s peaceful, quiet.

She watches Clarke swap pencils, drop her head closer to the paper, and begin adding details. One of the pine trees starts gaining branches, one by one with painstaking care and attention, like each one is worth the same effort as the last.

Then her eyes trace the movement of Clarke’s hand as leaves are added to them—smooth, careful, confident. Lexa can’t help but notice the patience in Clarke’s movements—she is not rushing through, she is taking her time on each leaf, giving the same amount of time and attention to each one.

She’s so talented, so patient.

The tension in her own shoulders begins to ease, her posture loosening slightly as her eyes follow the rhythmic movement. She watches in awe as the pine tree in the beautiful drawing starts coming to life—realistic and detailed.

Clarke tries not to smile as she watches the brunette through her peripheral vision. She can see the changes in Lexa as she watches her draw—the slightly wide-eyed wonder, the relaxing of her posture, the way her hands rest in her own lap, fingers relaxed, her eyes tracing the calm movement.

When she finishes the first tree, she stretches slightly, eyes still on the drawing, giving Lexa plenty of time to notice that Clarke is about to look up. She sees Lexa immediately look back towards her own textbook, cheeks slightly pink at almost being caught.

Clarke finally looks up and smiles softly at Lexa before looking back down at the drawing for a few seconds.

“I like when my drawings give off some kind of feeling. I try to bring out emotions, even if it’s just small ones. I’m not sure what the emotion is for this one, yet,” she says as she looks at it, almost as if she’s trying to figure it out, tilting it slightly so Lexa can see.

Lexa is quiet for a moment, but she is looking at the drawing and gently gnaws at her bottom lip. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, but then closes it, changing her mind as she looks away from the drawing and at her hands in her lap.

Clarke looks at her for a second after seeing her hesitation and sees her eyes downcast at her lap where she is fidgeting with her thumbs.

“If you have an idea of what emotion it evokes in you, I’d love to know. You don’t have to share if you don’t feel like it, but I would love to hear what it feels like for you,” she says softly.

Lexa looks up at Clarke, surprised, before looking down at her lap again and swallowing hard as she tries to decide. She isn’t sure if Clarke actually wants to know, but she sounded genuine so maybe it’s okay.

Then, in the softest whisper, she says, “Calm.”

Clarke’s lips curve in a smile, her chest warming at the soft-spoken word. She sees Lexa nervously glance up at her for a split second before looking back down. Clarke lets her eyes settle on the drawing and her smile widens.

“Yeah,” she says, agreeing. “It does feel calm.”

Lexa feels her chest tighten with an emotion that she can’t name. All her life, expressing or even feeling her emotions has brought nothing but pain. And now, this woman she barely knows, is not only asking—but actually listening. Lexa swallows the lump in her throat because the last thing she needs to do is cry in front of Clarke over something so stupid and minimal.

Clarke catches the flicker of emotion across Lexa’s face. She doesn’t know what it is, but it tugs at her all the same. Sensing that Lexa needs space to deal with whatever is on her mind, but also not wanting to leave her alone, Clarke picks up her pencil and silently continues onto the next tree.

Lexa notices Clarke start on the next tree and she watches, letting the rhythm and movement of Clarke’s hand across the paper soothe her. As Clarke’s pencil moves in its steady rhythm, Lexa unconsciously matches her breath to Clarke’s rhythm—slow, even, steady. She feels the knot in her throat loosen with each inhale, and her chest expand to accommodate the deeper breaths, her muscles unclenching.

Clarke feels a tug in her own chest when she sees Lexa’s shoulders ease under the rhythm of her pencil. She wants nothing more than to keep earning that trust, no matter how many drawings it takes.

Notes:

Thank you for reading!

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this! I will be updating the tags as I go on.