5 – The First Sin

Aira’s chatter blurred into nothing but static.

Her voice was still there, laughing about trivialities, but Meira’s consciousness had already drifted—slipping into the shadows of memory.

The word Hastan had whispered earlier—debt—echoed like a pulse in her veins.

Perhaps the root of it lay buried in the past.

And the past came rushing back, vivid and merciless.

---

(12 years ago)

The classroom buzzed with noise. Empty period, no teacher yet. Laughter and gossip filled the air, yet Meira sat at her desk, her head bent over her notebook.

Then—

“Ra, this isn’t your boyfriend?”

Her seatmate, Sugi, slid a phone across the desk.

Meira glanced, and her heart lurched. On the screen was Octavian—her boyfriend—kissing another girl’s cheek.

Her chest burned. Her fingers closed around the phone so tightly her knuckles whitened.

“Not only that,” Sugi added, sliding further. “Check this. His BBM status.”

And there it was: the other girl’s name, nestled sweetly in his profile.

Meira’s throat constricted. The humiliation wasn’t just in the betrayal—it was in the detail. The phone Octavian flaunted, the data plan he wasted on another woman… all of it had been her gift. Her sacrifice. While she herself still clutched an outdated phone without internet, saving every coin to sustain his needs.

Her blood boiled.

Without thinking, she rose, storming into the corridor. The chatter of her classmates faded behind her. She dialed his number.

One ring. Connected.

“Hello, babe—” His voice, casual, infuriatingly calm.

“Babe?” Her tone was sharp, cold. “Explain the picture. Who’s the girl? And why is her name in your profile?”

A pause. Then stammering excuses.

“It’s just a bet with friends… it means nothing, Ra. I swear, I love you. Don’t be mad, okay?”

Her jaw clenched. Anger coiled inside, but exhaustion pressed heavier.

Like too many young girls who believed in love more than themselves, she chose to forgive—though her heart bled with betrayal.

When the call ended, she inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Her chest felt hollow, fragile. She turned toward the cafeteria, hoping food and noise might drown the ache.

But her path was blocked.

Hastan.

A second-year student. Taller, broader, his build sharpened by endless hours on the basketball court. His eyes held a strange calmness, but beneath it—something sharper. Something dangerous.

“Senior Meira,” his voice was low, magnetic. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Meira hesitated, arching a brow. “Okay. But don’t call me Senior. I’m pretty sure I’m not older than you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Then what should I call you? My love?”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “God. Spare me. I’m leaving.”

She turned, but his hand caught her wrist. Firm. Warm. Unyielding.

“I’m serious.” His gaze pinned her. “I like you. Go out with me.”

Her breath stilled. No hesitation, no shy dance of words—just a bold strike straight into her chest.

“You don’t even know me,” she said coldly, fighting to keep her distance.

He shrugged, expression steady. “Sometimes you don’t need time to know what you want.”

The words pierced deeper than they should have.

Octavian’s betrayal was still raw, an open wound. And somewhere within her simmered a reckless urge—to see how it felt to stray. To betray, just once.

Her logic screamed no. But curiosity… and pain… whispered otherwise.

“Fine,” she said flatly. “I’ll try.”

His smile broke wide—not the grin of a boy, but something older, something hungrier.

“After school. Let’s go out.”

For a moment, she simply stared, then gave the faintest nod. “Okay.”

She had no idea that this impulsive choice, this reckless rebellion, would spiral into a chain that neither time nor distance could sever.

Hastan’s joy was immediate, unrestrained. He clenched a fist and punched the air, like a boy who had just won a prize. It should have looked ridiculous. But instead… it felt too real. Too sincere.

“See you later, then,” he said, his grin refusing to fade as he walked away.

Meira stood still, lips curving into a small smile. Not meaningful, not deep—just fleeting.

But that smile was enough. Enough to carve itself into his memory. Enough to root him to her forever.

And in years to come, long after innocence had rotted into obsession, long after their names had been bound by betrayal—he would remember that smile.

Not as a gift.

But as a debt.