chapter 13:When another girl appears

It started with a laugh.

A light, familiar laugh, drifting through the cafeteria like it belonged there, like it was always supposed to exist — just not around me.

I looked up from my notes, pretending to focus, but my eyes betrayed me. And there she was.

Her hair caught the sunlight perfectly. Her laugh was too bright, too effortless. And worst of all… she was leaning close to Josh.

My chest tightened. My stomach twisted. My hands trembled slightly as I gripped my pen.

I couldn’t think clearly. I tried to reason. Maybe they’re just classmates. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s nothing.

But my heart didn’t listen. My mind didn’t listen.

I watched every subtle gesture:

The way his shoulder brushed hers just slightly, casual, yet intimate.

How he laughed at her jokes with a warmth he rarely gave me now.

How she touched his arm briefly, and he didn’t pull away.

And then it hit me. Not just the girl in front of me, not just this moment. But everything.

His friends. Every party. Every girl. Everyone giving him girls, everyone knowing, everyone letting it happen. I wasn’t the only one he had deceived. I was part of a system I didn’t even know existed — a game I had walked into blind.

And worse… I realized how easy it was to deceive someone like me. How my trust, my kindness, my heart — it had been taken for granted. How my gender, my openness, my willingness to believe in him, made me soft, made me vulnerable.

Anger bubbled inside me. Raw, sharp, uncontrollable. And pain followed it, stabbing deeper.

He wanted all of us, one by one, like we were pieces to collect.

And maybe I was just the last one he fell for — the one that made him pause. But love doesn’t erase lies. It doesn’t erase the others. And now I see it all.

I swallowed hard. My hands curled into fists on the table. My chest ached. My throat burned. I wanted to storm out. I wanted to scream. I wanted him to feel a fraction of the betrayal I had just discovered.

Josh looked up, his eyes meeting mine, and I could feel the tension stretch between us — taut, unbreakable.

“Hey,” he said casually, as if nothing had changed.

I stood abruptly, gathering my bag. “I… I need air,” I muttered, my voice barely controlled. Every step toward the door was heavy, every heartbeat screaming at me to confront him, to demand answers, to unravel everything right here.

But part of me — the part that had been learning to protect herself — whispered:

Not yet. Not this time.

Outside, the wind hit my face. The cafeteria faded behind me — the laughter, the stolen smiles, the careless touches. All of it stayed there.

But the ache stayed with me. That sharp, biting, unforgettable ache of knowing someone you loved has a place in their heart for everyone else first.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.

He doesn’t get to control my hurt anymore. He doesn’t get to steal my peace.

And oh… the anger, the heartbreak, the burning jealousy — it wasn’t gone. It had just begun.