Lunch was a blur.
The cafeteria, though spacious and full of bright banners and noisy chatter, felt claustrophobic. Maybe it was the noise. Or maybe it was him.
He hadn't approached me.
Not during the ceremony. Not in the hallways. Not even when we passed each other once between classes, a quiet corridor stretching between us like a rope pulled taut.
But he looked. God, he looked.
The same way he always had—like I was a page he had already read, folded at the corner, waiting to be returned to. There was no confusion in his gaze. Only recognition. And something softer, buried deep.
I pretended not to notice.
After a quick lunch with Nia, who filled every silence with stories and jokes like she was trying to keep the mood light, I escaped to the library. It was old and a little too quiet, but the scent of worn pages and old wood was grounding. Safe.
I curled up in one of the window seats tucked between tall shelves, book in hand but eyes unfocused. My fingers hovered over the spine, turning it slowly, but I wasn't reading. My thoughts were elsewhere.
Back to summer.
Back to the way Reggie had stopped laughing mid-sentence that night. The way his hand brushed mine and lingered. The way something cracked wide open between us.
And the silence that followed after.
We hadn't fought. Not really. We hadn't even talked about it.
We just... stopped.
I had tried to convince myself that it was for the best. That maybe distance made it easier to forget. But now, here he was again—breathing the same air, standing in the same halls, wearing that same smile that used to unravel me.
A soft creak of the wooden floor pulled me from my thoughts.
I didn't need to look up.
I already knew.
The quiet footsteps stopped just short of where I sat.
"You're hiding," came his voice—smooth, amused, familiar.
I looked up, slowly. Reggie leaned against the shelf beside my window seat, arms folded, head tilted. His eyes met mine without hesitation.
"Not hiding," I said, too calm. "Just… escaping."
His smile tugged at one side of his mouth. "From me?"
I didn't answer.
He stepped closer, still keeping a respectful distance, but I could feel him now—his presence like heat in the room.
"Hey," he said more softly, sincerity slipping beneath the teasing.
I nodded once. "Hey."
A beat passed.
He shifted his weight, then looked away, out the window, like he needed somewhere to place the quiet.
"This wasn't how I thought we'd see each other again," he said finally.
"Same."
Another beat.
"So… Finrod High?" he added with a dry chuckle. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I didn't expect to be here," I said truthfully.
He looked back at me then, and I saw it—that flicker of something deeper. Concern. Guilt, maybe. A hundred things unsaid.
"You okay?"
I hated that he asked. Hated that he could still read me enough to ask.
"I'm fine."
He didn't believe it. We both knew that.
But he didn't push.
"I missed you, Vanya."
The words hit like a whisper and a scream at once.
My chest tightened. "It's been a long time."
"Too long."
Another silence stretched between us, heavier now, tinged with the weight of a shared past that refused to be buried.
"I should go," I murmured, gathering my things without meeting his eyes.
He stepped back to give me space, but his voice followed me like a thread.
"Hey, I meant it," he said. "I'm glad you're here."
I paused in the doorway, back turned, tried to say something but failed.
And then I walked out.
The rest of the day passed like smoke—thin, curling around me without ever truly touching me.
Classes blurred together. Teachers spoke, but their voices faded into background noise. Even Nia's presence, steady and chatty as ever, felt like it was happening in a different room.
And through it all, I kept replaying what had happened between Reggie and me months ago.
It wasn't him. It had never been him. It was me—I was the problem.
And he, for all his charm and warmth, wasn't willing to let go of a problem.
I hated the way he made me feel, like he saw me—really saw me. Like he understood secrets I hadn't even named. Like he knew the ache I worked so hard to hide. That was the worst part.
Because he made it feel like he was what I needed.
And I didn't need anyone. I had told myself that a long time ago.
The final bell rang, but I didn't feel like going home.
The thought of Mom waiting—for a scolding, a lecture, or just a look—froze my feet to the floor.
"Vanya, my chauffeur's here. See you tomorrow," Nia said, snapping me back. I turned in time to see her slip into a sleek white Porsche, the door held open by a suited man.
The car sped off, leaving behind silence—and me.
I spotted Dad's car from afar, flashy and unmistakable among the fleet of expensive rides. But I wasn't in the mood for a new chauffeur or Mom's probing questions.
So I disappeared.
I walked.
Not toward anything in particular, just… away.
There's something about walking aimlessly that makes the world feel quieter. Like it forgets you exist. I liked that.
Being unseen was safer than being known.
Emerald Manor—the estate I lived in—was the most prestigious across the state. A playground for the rich, its gates were only open to those who could afford the illusion of perfection.
The entire estate belonged to Mr. Dario Anders, Reggie's father.
It had been named after his late wife, Mrs. Emerald Anders, who died during childbirth. The baby didn't survive either.
A bad day.
A terrible one, for all of us.
That memory lingered as I passed through the large electronic gates and walked toward the edge of the neighborhood, where the old park sat forgotten.
I found the swing set—its chains rusted, its groans familiar—and sank onto it, letting my feet drag slowly through the dust.
I didn't cry.
I never did. Not where anyone could see. Not even when it burned.
But today…
Today felt different.
Not painful. Not sad.
Just raw.
Like my skin had been peeled back, and now even the breeze stung.
He was wrong if he thought he could smile his way into my space.
I didn't need anyone.
I couldn't afford to.