Chapter 4: The First Crack

I didn't expect Max to remember what I said the other day.

Most people didn't.

People listened, nodded, and forgot.

That's what made them easy.

But Max Holland remembered.

He remembered the questions I asked, the things I avoided answering, even the little changes in my expression that I didn't realize I was making.

That morning, I found him waiting outside our classroom.

He was leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone, looking completely relaxed.

But the moment he saw me, he put his phone away.

"You're early."

I stopped in front of him.

"You've been keeping track?"

"Maybe."

I raised an eyebrow.

"That's a little creepy."

He smiled.

"You don't seem scared."

"I'm not."

"Why?"

I adjusted the strap of my bag.

"Should I be?"

He looked at me for a moment.

"No."

There was something about the way he said it that made me curious.

Not 'not yet.'

Just no.

I walked past him and entered the classroom.

Sienna was already sitting at our usual table.

She immediately waved at me.

"Girl!"

I smiled.

"What?"

"You disappeared yesterday."

"I went home."

"You didn't reply."

"I was busy."

She stared at me.

"Doing what?"

"Nothing."

"How can someone be busy doing nothing?"

I sat beside her.

"Talent."

She laughed.

That was the kind of conversation I preferred.

Simple.

Predictable.

Safe.

But while Sienna continued talking about our upcoming group project, I noticed Max taking a seat a few rows behind us.

He wasn't looking at me.

At least, not directly.

Still, I could feel his presence.

I had always been sensitive to attention.

Maybe because I spent so much time giving it.

I turned around.

Our eyes met.

He smiled.

I turned back.

Sienna noticed.

"Okay," she whispered.

"What?"

"Something is going on."

"Nothing is going on."

"You two keep looking at each other."

"Maybe he has bad eyesight."

She covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

"You're impossible."

I smiled.

If only she knew.

After class, our professor announced that we needed to submit our group assignments by Friday.

Sienna immediately groaned.

"Why does school hate us?"

"Because you don't study."

"I study."

"You watched three episodes of a series last night."

"Research break."

I shook my head.

We walked toward the library together.

Halfway there, Sienna suddenly stopped.

"I forgot my notebook."

"Go get it."

"You'll wait?"

"I'll go ahead."

She frowned.

"Don't leave without me."

"I won't."

She ran back toward the classroom.

I continued walking alone.

Or at least, I thought I was alone.

"Dahlia."

I stopped.

Max.

I turned around.

"What?"

He walked toward me.

"You have a minute?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you're going to ask me something annoying."

He laughed softly.

"Probably."

I waited.

He stood in front of me, hands in his pockets.

"You remember what you asked me yesterday?"

"Which one?"

"About love."

I stared at him.

"Yes."

"Why did you ask?"

I shrugged.

"Curiosity."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

He studied me.

"You don't seem like someone who asks questions without a reason."

I smiled.

"Maybe you're starting to know me."

"Maybe."

He looked away for a moment.

Then back at me.

"My father died three years ago."

I didn't react immediately.

Not because I didn't understand what he was saying.

I did.

I just didn't know what reaction he expected.

"I'm sorry."

The words came automatically.

They always did.

He nodded.

"Thanks."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then he continued.

"He was sick for a long time. We knew he wasn't going to make it, but I still thought..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I don't know. I thought maybe we'd get more time."

I watched him carefully.

His voice had changed.

It was softer.

Less guarded.

"I was angry when he died," he continued. "Not at him. Not at anyone. I was just angry that everything kept moving like nothing happened."

He looked down at his hands.

"People went to work. Students went to school. Restaurants were still open. Cars were still driving. The sun still came up."

I listened.

"And I remember thinking, how can everyone keep living like nothing happened when my whole world just changed?"

There was something painfully human about the way he said it.

I understood the concept.

I just didn't understand the feeling.

When people died, I understood the biological process.

The heart stopped.

The brain stopped functioning.

The body eventually decomposed.

It was simple.

People made death complicated because they attached memories to it.

Maybe that's why I never knew what to say when someone was grieving.

I knew what people wanted to hear.

I just didn't always understand why they needed to hear it.

"You loved him," I said.

Max nodded.

"Yeah."

"And you miss him."

"Every day."

I looked at him.

"I don't think I could handle that."

He smiled sadly.

"That's the thing about grief. You don't handle it. You just learn how to carry it."

I didn't answer.

For some reason, his words stayed with me.

Not because they touched me, but because I wondered what it would feel like to miss someone.

To actually feel the absence of a person.

To wake up and know someone was gone and feel something inside you break because of it.

I had never experienced that.

Not really.

People had left my life before.

I simply adjusted.

Max watched me.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Have you ever lost someone?"

I smiled.

"Everyone loses someone eventually."

"That's not what I asked."

I looked at him.

"You ask too many questions."

"You avoid too many."

I laughed quietly.

"Maybe we're both annoying."

"Maybe."

We stood there for another moment.

Then I noticed something.

His expression had changed.

He wasn't looking at me the way he usually did.

He looked almost sad.

As if he had finally noticed something about me that he couldn't explain.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I was thinking."

"About?"

He hesitated.

"You."

I smiled.

"That's dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because you might not like what you find."

His eyes stayed on mine.

"Maybe I will."

Before I could respond, I heard footsteps approaching.

Sienna.

"There you are!"

She looked between us.

"Oh."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

She smiled knowingly.

"Nothing."

I rolled my eyes.

"Let's go."

We walked away.

But I could still feel Max watching me.

And for the first time, I wondered if I had made a mistake.

Not because I had spoken to him.

Not because he was getting closer.

But because I had started telling him things.

Not the truth.

Never the truth.

But pieces.

Fragments.

Little pieces of myself that I normally kept hidden.

And I didn't know why.

That evening, I was sitting in my room when Ava knocked on my door.

"Come in."

She entered holding a small box.

"I found this in the attic."

I looked at it.

"What's that?"

"Mom's old things."

She placed the box on my desk.

"She said we should sort through them."

I opened it.

Inside were photographs.

Old letters.

A few pieces of jewelry.

And a photograph of our family.

I picked it up.

Ava stood beside me.

"Look how young we were."

She laughed softly.

I stared at the picture.

Ava was smiling.

I was smiling too.

But I remembered that day.

I remembered something that wasn't in the photograph.

The way Mom had been crying before it was taken.

The argument that happened afterward.

The thing I had done.

The thing nobody ever found out about.

I put the photograph down.

Ava noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She smiled.

"You're always saying that."

I looked at her.

"Because it's true."

She reached for my hand.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

I looked at our hands.

Ava trusted me.

Completely.

That was the saddest part.

She had spent her entire life believing that I was the person she knew.

Her little sister.

The girl she protected.

The girl she loved.

She didn't know that sometimes, when she hugged me, I had to remind myself to hug her back.

I squeezed her hand.

"I know."

She smiled.

"I love you, Dahlia."

The words were simple.

I knew what they meant.

I knew what I was supposed to say.

"I love you too."

Ava hugged me.

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, I wondered if something was wrong with me.

Not because I didn't love her, but because I couldn't tell whether I did.

Later that night, I stood in front of my mirror again.

I stared at my reflection.

Then at the photograph on my desk.

A younger version of me smiled back from the picture.

So innocent.

So harmless.

I wondered when exactly that girl disappeared.

Maybe she never existed.

Maybe she had always been me.

Just better at hiding.

My phone vibrated.

A message.

From Max.

Max: Did you mean what you said today?

I stared at the screen.

I typed.

Me: Which part?

His response came quickly.

Max: That I might not like what I find.

I smiled.

Me: Maybe.

Another message appeared.

Max: Then I'll find out myself.

I read it twice.

Then I placed my phone on the table.

For the first time in years, someone had looked at me and decided they weren't satisfied with the version I gave them.

Max Holland wanted the truth.

The problem was... I wasn't sure he was ready for it, because once someone starts looking behind the mask, there are only two possibilities.

They run.

Or they become part of the reason the mask exists.

And I had a feeling Max wasn't going to run.