Chapter 12: Undone

Vee’s POV

I wasn’t sure what was more terrifying: that Zay seemed genuinely sorry… or that I was starting to believe him.

It had been three days since our conversation in the rain. I replayed it constantly. The way his voice softened. The way his fingers brushed the hair from my face like I was something fragile and precious. The way he looked at me—not like prey, not like a joke—but like someone who mattered.

And that was the scariest part.

I wasn’t supposed to still care what Zay thought. Not after years of being humiliated, teased, pushed to the edge just for his amusement. But something had changed. Not just in him—but in me.

I saw him again in our psychology class. He came in late, as usual, earning a glare from the professor and a few chuckles from the back row. But when he sat down two seats from me, his entire demeanor shifted. His usual cocky slouch turned into quiet stillness. And when our eyes met—briefly—I saw something that shook me.

Restraint.

Zay had always been loud, reckless, in my face. But now, he was holding back, like he was walking a tightrope between old habits and something new. Something for me.

After class, I shoved my books into my bag, ignoring the knot in my chest. I was halfway down the hallway when I heard his voice.

“Vee, wait.”

I turned around, arms crossed. “What?”

He slowed his pace as he approached, hands raised like he was approaching a skittish animal. “You free later?”

“For what?” I asked, suspicion thick in my tone.

His lip curled in a smirk, but it wasn’t mocking—it was nervous. “Coffee. No drama. Just… talking. For real this time.”

I stared at him, heart thudding. “Why do you even want to talk to me, Zay?”

His expression changed. All the joking melted away. “Because I don’t want to be the guy you’re still afraid of. I want to be someone you can look at without flinching.”

I wasn’t prepared for that. Not even a little.

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no either.

Instead, I nodded once. Small. Controlled. And then walked away before he could see the chaos in my eyes.

Later that evening, I found myself sitting across from him in the corner booth of a little café off-campus. It was quiet, cozy, dimly lit—completely unlike our usual battlefield.

We talked about everything and nothing. Classes. Professors. What kind of music we liked. Favorite childhood cartoons. At one point, he said something dumb and I laughed without thinking. And I hated how easy it was. How natural.

But Zay didn’t push. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t flirt. He just… listened.

That was the part that undid me.

When I got back to my dorm that night, I didn’t cry. I didn’t rage. I just lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, wondering when the line between hate and something softer had started to blur.

Because I could feel it. The slow, dangerous pull.

And part of me didn’t want to resist it anymore.