"Cracks in the Quiet"
The next few days were quiet—but not empty.
Muri and Lex fell into something unspoken. Late-night calls that stretched into dawn. Shared playlists. Quick glances in crowded halls. No labels. No expectations. Just… them.
But quiet doesn't always mean calm.
On Friday, Muri stood in front of her locker when she overheard it.
"She only wants attention," someone whispered behind her. "First Nico, now Lex? Girl collects hearts like trophies."
Muri didn't flinch. Didn't turn. She just closed her locker and walked away.
But the words clung to her skin like static. She didn't need reminders of her past—it already echoed loud enough in her own head.
Later, she found Lex in the courtyard, sitting under their usual tree, sketching aimlessly in a notebook.
"I used to be worse," she said, dropping beside him.
He looked up. "Worse how?"
"Reckless. Shallow. I'd flirt to feel something. Break hearts to prove I could." She met his eyes. "You're not the first person who's warned me I'm dangerous."
Lex closed the notebook slowly. "You think I'm scared of who you used to be?"
"I think you should be."
He was quiet for a long time, then finally said, "Muri, I don't care who you were. I care who you are when you're with me."
She wanted to believe that. God, she wanted to.
But her heart was a minefield—full of old wounds, unhealed mistakes, things she hadn't told anyone.
"Okay," she said. Not believing. Not denying. Just… okay.
He pulled her into a side hug, gentle and steady.
And she let him.
But inside, cracks were forming in the quiet.
Not between them.
Inside her.
And she wasn't sure how long she could hide them.