Semua Bab University Series 1: Tangled Ties: Bab 21 - Bab 30

If there were an Oscar for the most ridiculously dramatic script in my life, this one would win. Hands down.I’m now the fake girlfriend of the same guy who practically yelled “You’re ruining my family!” at me just two weeks ago.But guess what? The tables have turned—because now he knows the truth too.“Fix the wording, it reads like a thesis,” I whispered with a grin, tapping the notebook in Cole’s hands.We were in the art room—just me, Cole, and one A4 bond paper he boldly titled “Contract.”“Alright,” he said, writing the title across the top. “‘Terms and Conditions of the Fake Relationship.’ Faye, maybe read it before you use it as tissue when you get a nosebleed from holding in all your rage.”“Wow, you assume a lot,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “You’re the one who got cheated on. I should really be nicer.”He gasped slightly, but didn’t say anything. Because he knew I had a point.I looked down as he started jotting down the rules:No real feelings involved.PDA in publi

“You’re late again,” Mom greeted the moment I stepped inside. I had just gotten back from an out-of-town seminar—I thought maybe I’d get a little peace. I was wrong.“I just got home from Baguio. Can I drink water first before the lecture starts?” I said as I reached for the tumbler on the dining table. I was exhausted, but apparently, that wasn’t enough to get a pass.She was standing by the kitchen counter, arms crossed—like a teacher looking for mistakes before you even speak.“What are you doing, Laura?”I looked up. “Huh? Doing what where?”“With Edward,” she said flatly. “Don’t even try to deny it. I’ve heard everything. Even about Michelle. This little sabotage you’re doing—in your own way.”I let out a laugh. But not because it was funny—more like that kind of laugh you can’t help when things are just too absurd.“Sabotage? Really? I’m the bad guy now?”“Laura—”“Mom, come on. You know something’s going on between Edward and Michelle, and I’m the one you’re blaming?” I stood s

“…and that’s why Rousseau believed man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains.”I stared at the whiteboard, but none of it was sinking in. My laptop was filled with paragraphs, but barely any of them had anything to do with Social Philosophy.Chains, huh, I muttered under my breath.My mind was crowded. The plan. The act. The way Cole sometimes looked at me like none of this was scripted. And just yesterday—I caught Emily on the phone with Edward. Talking like nothing happened. Like they didn’t almost get exposed in the explosion I set off.Prof. Arandia suddenly stopped pacing. “Miss Smith,” he said, looking directly at me.I snapped out of it. “Yes, sir?”“Would you care to explain how Rousseau’s idea connects to modern alienation?”Dead air.I smiled. My brain, however, was halfway across the galaxy.“Uh… it’s the idea of… self versus society?” I guessed.He nodded, but his look said: Barely got away with that one.After class, I was the first to leave the room. I couldn’t sta

I’d been a walking disaster all day.Backpack on my back, eco bag over one shoulder, and two sketchpads cradled in both arms. I looked like a human school supplies aisle. My sleeves were stained with acrylic paint, and my hair? A mess. I had zero time for vanity today.I was sitting in the shaded area near the Fine Arts building, eating a burger. The bench was old, but it had the best ventilation thanks to the nearby tree. Typical late March heat — sticky, humid — and even though it was just 10 a.m., it already felt like mid-afternoon.Beside me was an iced coffee — no longer cold, but whatever. As long as it had caffeine, it worked.“Hey, Lau!” Erika, my classmate from Painting Techniques, waved. “Girl, you look… busy.”“Understatement of the year,” I said, trying not to drop my burger while reaching into my pouch for correction tape.“You haven’t slept, have you?” asked Bea, the artsy-conyo one.“Since… Wednesday. But that’s not important. I just need to pass this plate.”“Grabe ka,

“I need to print my layout later. This is getting ridiculous,” I muttered, juggling a sketch pad, my tablet, and a whole roll of illustration board. I looked like a walking art supply dump — sweaty, starving, and with what felt like dried ink on my cheek — and I was sprawled like roadkill in the hallway of the Fine Arts building.“I told you, wear sleeves next time. Look at you — like you got splashed with gouache,” Mina, my classmate from FA 2A, said while holding an iced americano and taunting me with it like it was sin in a cup.I glanced at the glass panel beside the studio door. Wow. I looked like art block slapped me in the face.“Must be nice,” I replied, eyes locked on the coffee. “I still have to eat my pride later. I haven’t even finished my commission.”“You got this, Laura. And hey — aren’t you and Cole a thing now? Built-in stress reliever,” Roxy chimed in, arms full of colored pens that looked like she robbed a rainbow.I paused.Lately, I’d been mentioned in conversatio