AVA'S POV
School no longer feels like a runaway or a place where I have to constantly pretend—that I'm fine, that I'm above anyone else's opinion, that I don't care about the way people look at me. Because the truth is, I do care. Maybe too much. Maybe more than I should.
But now, walking through the hallways, Riki's hand brushing against mine in that hesitant, nervous way of his, I don't feel like I'm pretending anymore. His presence makes it easier to breathe, makes me feel like I don't have to carry the weight of everything alone.
"See you," I tell him when I reach my classroom and he smiles, those of glasses of his sliding down his nose just a little. He pushes them up absentmindedly, tilting his head like he's trying to memorize my face.
"Yeah," He says, voice softer than usual. "See you." It's ridiculous how reluctant I am to step away. How the warmth of his hand still lingers against mine even when we're no longer touching. How I swear I can still feel the shape of his fingers against my skin, like a phantom sensation, like muscle memory refusing to let go.
I watch as he takes a step back and then another, before he's walking away to his own class, disappearing into the current of students flooding the hallway. I tell myself to turn around, to step inside, to act normal. But my feet don't move. My fingers twitch at my side, useless, as if they're still waiting for his touch. It's ridiculous.
I exhale sharply, shaking my head at myself as I finally step through the doorway. The room is buzzing with halfhearted conversations and the rhythmic tapping of pens against desks. I slip into my seat, pressing my palms flat against my thighs, willing the remnants of warmth to fade. It doesn't. Instead, my mind replays the last few seconds over and over again—his voice, quieter than usual. The way he hesitated, just slightly, before letting go. Like he didn't really want to.
Like I didn't really want to.
When I turn to my right, I see some students gawking at me like I'm some sort of spectacle, like I'm an anomaly they can't quite figure out. "The fuck are you staring at?" I say before I can stop myself. The group flinches, eyes widening like they weren't expecting me to notice. "Do I look like a museum exhibit to you?"
They all just look down at their notebooks and pretend to be deeply invested in whatever nonsense is scribbled across the pages. Ella, sitting at the center of them, taps her pen against the desk, biting her lip like she's trying to hold back a smirk.
I don't like it. I don't like the way they're looking at me. Like I'm something new. Something interesting. Like I've given them a reason to talk.
I kick my chair back just slightly, feeling the cool metal scrape against the floor. My heartbeat picks up a little, the tension settling in my chest like a heavy weight. It's stupid. I shouldn't care what they think, but somehow, the silence that's followed feels louder than anything else.
"Tell me," I say, standing up from my seat, drawing more attention than I'd like. "Are you really so fucking bored with your own life that you have to make mine the entertainment?" The words fly out of my mouth, harsh and unfiltered. I don't know where they come from, but the moment they leave my lips, I feel them like a punch to the gut.
For a moment, everything goes deathly still. The girl's eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, staring at me in stunned silence. The others in the room are frozen too, unsure whether to react, whether to breathe, whether to exist.
"That's what I thought," is all I say before I head back to my seat and on cue, the teacher steps inside the classroom. This time I don't care about their stares, for the first time in forever, I focus on what the teacher is actually saying. Math. Once my favorite subject. Once something I could get lost in, like a secret language only I could understand.
