CHAPTER FOUR: A crack in the silence

Saturday crept in like a whispered apology. Sunlight spilled through the blinds, warm and soft, but Maya kept her face buried in the pillow. She didn’t want light. She didn’t want warmth. She wanted silence, stillness—nothingness. The sting of slush on her neck still lingered in her skin, even after three showers and a bottle of detergent. But worse than that was the soundless weight of shame. No words. No comfort. Just the echo of laughter in the hallways, and that damn photo that refused to disappear from her head.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. Probably Kennedy. Probably Zane. Both had tried since yesterday—calls, texts, a knock on her door she pretended not to hear. She didn’t want their pity. Pity made her feel small, like she had fallen and needed saving. She didn’t. She had survived worse. This was just school.

The second knock came just after noon.

At first, she stayed frozen under her blanket, holding her breath like the sound might go away. But it came again. And again. Louder this time, steady—like whoever was behind it wasn’t giving up.

With a groan, she pulled herself off the sofa and shuffled toward the door, her hoodie oversized and damp from the dryer. Each step made her heartbeat louder. She swung the door open halfway, ready to snap.

Zane stood there. Hoodie, jeans, eyes soft. Not smirking. Not sarcastic. Just… quiet.

“I brought food,” he said, lifting a bag of takeout.

Maya blinked. “Why?”

“You skipped school. Thought you might also be skipping meals.”

“That’s not your business.”

“Maybe not. But I made it mine anyway.”

She should’ve slammed the door. Should’ve walked away. But her fingers loosened around the handle. She stepped aside without saying a word.

Zane moved past her, setting the bag on the coffee table. The smell of fries and something spicy filled the room. Maya hadn’t realized how hungry she was until her stomach growled.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she muttered, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“I know,” Zane said, sinking into the other end. “You don’t ask for a lot.”

There was a pause. She hated that he noticed.

He opened a box, slid it toward her. “You’ve been quiet. People are talking.”

“Let them.” She bit into a fry, chewing slowly. “They always do.”

Zane nodded, eyes still on her. “I get it. This school eats people alive. Especially the ones who don’t play the game.”

Maya glanced at him. “So you play?”

“I learned the rules early. Blend in. Laugh on cue. Never care too loud.”

She scoffed. “But you do care. About Amaya. About how people see you.”

Zane didn’t flinch. But the silence between them thickened.

“She was my first real anything,” he said after a while. “We were messy. Beautiful. Loud. But when it ended, people didn’t want it to.”

Maya looked down. “Do you miss her?”

Zane hesitated. “Sometimes I miss the version of me I was with her. But not the noise. Not the part where everything had to be perfect on the outside while we fell apart inside.”

That honesty? It startled her. For once, Zane wasn’t hiding behind clever comments or cool confidence. He looked tired. Like someone who had built walls, only to find himself trapped behind them.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly.

Zane leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because I don’t want you to think you’re alone. What they did to you? The picture. The slush. That wasn’t about you. That was about them. Their need for drama. Their boredom.”

Maya swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “Still feels like it’s about me.”

“I know. It always does.”

A knock on the door broke the moment. She stood quickly, heart thudding, and opened it.

Kennedy, hoodie over her braids and a brown paper bag in hand, stood with a determined look on her face.

“Tell me you haven’t died of self-pity yet,” she said, pushing past Maya before she could answer.

Zane raised a brow. “You’re late.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Kennedy said, throwing him a glance. “We were supposed to do this together.”

“I got impatient.”

Maya stared at them both. “Wait—what is this?”

“An intervention,” Kennedy said, tossing the bag onto the table. “We’re not letting you ghost the world because of some mean girls and a bad photo.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Maya snapped.

Kennedy’s eyes softened. “I know. But I’d want someone to show up for me if it happened.”

Zane stood. “We’ll leave if you want.”

Maya looked at them—two people who barely knew her, offering her the one thing she hadn’t had in months: a place to belong.

Her voice was smaller than she meant it to be. “Stay.”

They did.

They talked for hours, about nothing and everything. Maya laughed—genuinely—when Kennedy mimicked their English teacher’s dramatic recitation of Shakespeare. Zane shared stories of past pranks gone wrong. At one point, Maya caught herself watching him, wondering how someone so guarded could feel so… familiar.

As the sky outside darkened, Kennedy packed up, hugging Maya tight. “Come back Monday,” she whispered. “Don’t let them win.”

Zane stayed behind for a moment longer. He walked to the door, then paused, turning back to her.

“I meant it,” he said.

“Meant what?”

“That I care.”

And then he left.

Maya stood there for a long time after the door closed, the words echoing through her chest. Not because he said them, but because he meant them without needing anything in return.

Sunday was quiet.

She washed her hoodie. Cleaned her shoes. Tied her hair up.

By Monday morning, she still didn’t feel brave. But she felt something close—maybe not a fire, but a flicker. And sometimes, a flicker is all it takes.

She stepped onto the school grounds, expecting whispers, stares. And they came. But this time, Maya didn’t look down.

She walked down Hall B, head held a little higher.

And when she passed Amaya at her locker—surrounded, smiling, but eyes fixed directly on her—Maya didn’t flinch.

She just walked on