The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 168

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Josh leaned in closer. He hadn't drunk much, yet his cheeks burned with a feverish heat.

His lips drifted inch by agonizing inch toward her soft, pale mouth. He was enveloped by her familiar, clean scent, and he could feel the ghost of her breath, sweet with the lingering trace of cocoa.

He drew nearer, drawn like a desperate bee to its waiting nectar...

"Look!"

Suddenly, Sloane whipped her head toward the entrance. Her dark eyes widened with an astonishing brilliance as she pointed frantically toward the outside of the tent.

"The aurora!"

Josh froze mid-air.

He followed her gaze.

Outside the heavy canvas, a streak of light had materialized in the pitch-black sky. It looked as though it had violently torn its way through the darkness—and it wasn't white. It was green. A vibrant, electric emerald, like the first blade of spring grass, or as if a god had hurled a bucket of glowing paint across a black velvet canvas. The emerald ribbon slowly unspooled across the night, spreading, bleeding, and flowing as if it had a life of its own.

Everyone woke up instantly.

Professor Harrison snapped his head up. His glasses were completely crooked and his eyes were bleary, but the moment the green light registered, he bolted upright.

Diego rubbed his eyes and peeled his face off the table. His jaw hit the floor, hanging open in utter disbelief.

"Holy... that's incredible..."

Sloane had already sprung to her feet and unzipped a narrow slit in the tent door. The freezing wind immediately slashed inside, but no one even noticed the cold.

The aurora consumed the entire sky.

It wasn't a static painting; it was alive. It writhed like a colossal ribbon of green silk, caught in some ethereal wind, dancing a slow waltz across the heavens. The edges bled into a soft lilac, merging seamlessly with the deep indigo void before flashing back to brilliant emerald. The ribbon expanded, swallowing half the sky, looking like an impossibly large banner unfurled by an invisible giant.

Then, the banner shattered. It fractured into millions of radiant arcs, spiraling, weaving, bursting apart, and crashing back together directly overhead.

There was no sound.

The entire world was completely devoid of sound. The wind had died. The snow had stopped. There was only the light, flowing in total silence, feeling like the ancient, rhythmic breathing of the planet itself.

Sloane stood in the snow, her head tilted all the way back.

The light cascaded over her face, painting her pale skin in a soft, ethereal green glow. Her eyes held the light of the entire cosmos. A delicate layer of frost quickly formed on her eyelashes, but she refused to blink.