As the night dragged on, I realized—I literally had no wish to attend classes anymore.Zero. Zilch. Nada.Not because I was sobbing into my pillow or writing sad poetry under moonlight, no. Let’s not dramatize my life more than it already is.I just didn’t sleep. At all.Why?Because I made the extremely rational decision to finish an entire drama series in one sitting—the kind that rips your soul apart, heals it back up, and then murders it again in the finale.And somewhere between episode 4’s kiss and episode 17’s betrayal, the night vanished.Poof.When I finally looked at the time, it was already morning.Did I care?Nope.I pulled the blanket over my face like a petty ghost and called it: sick day.Best decision ever.I crashed.And when I woke up again, it was already noon.My stomach felt like it had filed a lawsuit against me for neglect. But here’s the problem with this tragic little boarding school—if I want food, I have to drag my miserable self all the way to the canteen.
Nick must’ve called me a thousand times.Or maybe a million. I wouldn’t know. I silenced my phone hours ago and buried it under my pillow like it was a ticking bomb. Every vibration against the mattress felt like a fresh slap to the face—a cruel reminder that the world still expected me to answer. To explain. To pretend I was fine when I wasn’t.But I’m done bleeding for people who don’t even notice I’m cut open.Why should I hurt myself for anyone else? They don’t deserve that power.So I did what I always do—I pulled myself together, or at least pretended to. I dragged my body into the washroom, splashed water on my face until I couldn’t feel it anymore, until the girl in the mirror stopped looking like she was seconds away from breaking. Then I dried off, exhaled fire, and walked back into the room with the blank, practiced expression of someone who’s mastered the art of faking it.I needed a distraction.Something easy. Mindless. Safe.So I opened that drama I’d been meaning to wa
We walked in silence.Fifteen minutes of wordless footsteps echoing through the shaded campus roads, dust rising around our shoes like little ghosts. I didn’t say anything, and neither did he. Maybe because I didn’t know how to speak. Maybe because he knew I didn’t want to.Or maybe—just maybe—Nick was giving me space.He always did that. Knew when to talk and when to shut up. When to make a joke and when to just walk next to me like a shield I never asked for but always needed.But then—Then he opened his mouth.And the second the words came out, I felt the match strike.“So…” he said, trying to sound casual. “What’s your deal with this Mr. Wright?”I stopped walking.Like stopped-stopped.Dead in my tracks. My heart yanked tight in my chest like it’d tripped on a snare wire. I turned my head so slowly it felt like a cinematic horror
“Who is this boy you’re always with?”Oh.So he noticed.He noticed.The question hung in the air like smoke, curling around the walls of the room, stinging a place in my chest I thought had already turned numb.I stared at him.I shouldn’t have.But I did.Because for a second—just a second—I forgot how to breathe.I thought he’d ghosted me. Wiped me from his mind like I’d been nothing more than a passing inconvenience. A glitch in his perfect little world. I thought he didn’t care, didn’t see me, didn’t feel a damn thing.But he had noticed.He saw.And for one twisted heartbeat, something inside me flared to life.Was it joy? Relief? Hope?I don’t know.But it died quickly.It died the moment I looked at his face—the furrow in his brow that wasn’t quite concern, the way his mouth was set a
Monday arrived dressed in fake peace.Whispers still floated around the classroom like pollen during allergy season, but at least they weren’t allergic to my existence anymore. No more daggers shot from every angle, no more symphony of gasps every time I breathed too close to Nick. Just muted curiosity and a few gossipy glances that I could pretend to ignore.So yeah. I was surviving.Nick and I sat like we always used to—not too close, not too far. A deliberate kind of distance that said: Yeah, we know each other. No, we’re not dating. Yes, you can shut up now.And then, just when I thought maybe—just maybe—I’d made it to the other side of the scandal tunnel, the universe stood up, grabbed a mic, and screamed:“NOT TODAY, BITCH.”Because right after one of Mr. Wright’s driest lectures yet—seriously, he was quoting Byron like it was a eulogy for joy—he looked straight at me, e
As I left the group chat, feeling like I had just slammed a door in someone’s face without even meaning to, my phone buzzed again.A new message.From Nick.Nick: “Don’t think anything about it. You know I’m here for you—and I always will be.”Just that.One single sentence.And yet it was more than anyone else had said to me all day.Not a question. Not a pity-soaked “Are you okay?” or “What did they say?”Just... him. Quiet. Solid. Like a wall I could lean on without needing to explain why I was collapsing.And God, I loved that.Maybe I’m becoming addicted to that kind of support.Maybe that’s exactly why I was ever drawn to Mr. Wright in the first place.Because before Nick, before this chaos, before the rumors and the hallway and the suffocating need to either scream or disappear—there was him.Cristiano Wright.