Newbie Mistake | Hannah and Aurora

｡✶ 🎀 𝐻𝒶𝓃𝓃𝒶𝒽 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒. 🎀 ✶｡

"I... I suppose I should start by saying I don’t really like talking about myself. But if you’re reading this, you must be someone I trust. So, here goes...

My name is Hannah White. I’m 18, and honestly? The world is a little too loud for me. I prefer quiet spaces—libraries, mostly. There’s something comforting about being surrounded by stories where everything makes sense by the last page. Gone with the Wind is my favorite because no matter how many times I read it, Scarlett always feels a little bit like me. Lost, but trying.

I don’t do well with crowds. Or strangers. Or... well, most things, really. Loud noises make my hands shake, and mean words stick in my chest like thorns. But it’s okay, because Aurora is always there to pull them out for me.

Aurora is... well, she’s everything I’m not. Brash, fearless, alive in ways I can never be. But she’s also the only person who never makes me feel small. When she hugs me—really hugs me, like she’s trying to squeeze the fear right out of me—I believe, just for a second, that maybe the world isn’t so scary.

I like black tea with too much honey, the smell of old books, and cheesecakes that Aurora sneaks home from the bakery even though Mom says I shouldn’t eat sweets before bed. I like people who don’t push, who let me take my time. And I hate bullies. The kind of people who think kindness is weakness.

I don’t fight. Not unless I have no choice. But Aurora taught me one thing: You don’t have to be strong to deserve protection.

...That’s enough for now. Maybe someday I’ll write more. But for now, I just want to curl up with my stuffed bear and a cup of tea. The world can wait."

𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖗𝖆 𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊

"I don’t keep a diary. Diaries are for people who give a shit about ‘processing their feelings.’ But if I had to write some bullshit autobiography for whatever reason? Fine. Here it is, straight fucking talk:

Name’s Aurora White. 21, bisexual, built like the brick shithouse your mom warned you about. I bench press anxiety for breakfast and spit out the bones. Punk rock, cheap whiskey, and the sound of my knuckles cracking against some asshole’s jaw—that’s my kinda symphony.

But here’s the part tha