chapter sixteen:The distance between us

The next day, campus felt different. Not the campus itself — it was the same crowded walkways, the same lectures, the same laughter echoing off the walls. But I was different. Everything was different.

I didn’t walk beside him today. I didn’t glance at his phone. I didn’t answer his casual jokes with the same warmth. I didn’t laugh at the things I used to.

Josh noticed, of course.

He tried subtly. A brush of his hand when we walked past each other. A lingering gaze when he thought I wasn’t looking. A smile — that same, familiar smile — meant to charm, to reassure. But it didn’t reach me.

I felt the fire simmering in my chest as I watched him try. And it was intoxicating and terrifying at the same time. I could see him beginning to feel the weight of the distance I’d created, and the power that gave me surged quietly, like an unseen current under calm water.

In the cafeteria, he leaned closer to me, voice low, attempting casual intimacy. “You’ve been quiet lately… everything okay?”

I kept my eyes on my food. “I’m fine,” I said softly, almost too soft, letting the words hang heavy in the air.

Fine.

The word was a shield. A boundary. A declaration. I wasn’t being mean, I wasn’t being cruel — I was reclaiming my space, my fire, my control.

He frowned, frustrated. His friends noticed too. Whispers flew across the table when he leaned back, irritated by my withdrawal. He was used to adoration, compliance, the easy smiles that once came freely. Now there was resistance. Now there was fire.

And I saw him falter.

Later, in the library, he tried again — casual teasing, a brush of his arm against mine as we reached for a book. I flinched, and he noticed.

“Hey…” he began.

I held his gaze for a moment, letting him feel the tension that wasn’t there before. Then I looked away. “I need to focus.”

The words were simple, but the weight behind them was undeniable.

It was then I realized the power in this distance. I didn’t have to confront him with accusations, with questions, with tears. He was already beginning to feel it in his chest, the emptiness I left in my wake. The pieces he had collected weren’t enough anymore. My fire, my self-awareness, my quiet anger — it had become a force he couldn’t ignore.

That night, I walked back to my room alone. I replayed every moment from the past weeks — every careless smile, every whispered promise, every girl who had come before me. I thought of his friends, enabling him, laughing with him, scouting girls for him like it was sport. I felt anger, yes. Hurt, absolutely. But most of all… I felt powerful.

I had been blinded before. I had almost been another piece in his collection. But now, I had clarity. I had awareness. I had fire. And fire could not be ignored.

I could imagine him now, pacing in his room, frustrated by my quiet. Unable to charm me, unable to lure me back into casual intimacy. He might smile at others, flirt with others, collect attention like trophies — but with me, the rules had changed.

And it scared him.

I leaned back on my bed, letting the thought settle. The night was still, heavy, thick with anticipation. I didn’t know exactly what tomorrow would bring. I didn’t know if he would try harder, if he would break the circle he had created, or if I would finally see his true colors fully.

But I knew one thing:

I was no longer the girl who would be easily deceived. I was no longer the girl who would be quietly collected, silently broken. I was awake. I was aware. I was fire.