PAST
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MELINA'S POV
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Later that night, sleep was the last thing on my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, her voice came back.
The horror in it.
The way her hands trembled in her lap.
The way her eyes wouldn't stay still — wandering like a trapped bird looking for an escape.
Even when Zara repeated what her stepfather tried to do to her, she sounded… drained. Like she'd been carrying that weight for far too long. Her voice didn't shake from panic anymore — it was tired. Bruised. And that made it worse.
Because I knew, deep down, this wasn't the first time.
And I also knew, I could do something right now.
I should.
I could call Theo. Or their mom. Or maybe even someone else — anyone who could help.
But then… her words echoed, sharp and fragile in my mind:
"You promised me you won't tell anybody. I'm trusting you."
The memory clenched around my chest like a vice.
I started pacing, from the corners of my room to the open door leading to the backyard. The air inside felt suffocating, so I stepped out into the lawn. The night was still. Cool wind brushed against my face as if trying to soothe my spinning thoughts. I sat down on the stone bench, pulling my legs close, my elbows resting on my knees.
I slammed my head in my palm feeling like my head was getting heavier.
I didn't want to let Zara down. But how could I sit back, pretending nothing happened? Her safety mattered more than my promise.
There was a reason she told me and not Dove. Dove can't keep secrets to save her life. She would tell the entire neighborhood out of care, make a huge scene. And Zara—she hates fuss. She hides. She retreats. She trusts carefully. And somehow, she trusted me.
And now… I was tangled in a web of conflict so tight it felt like it was choking me.
Should I inform the cops? A help line? A trusted faculty member?
Should I talk to Theo? Her mom?
But what if Zara was punished for speaking up? What if they didn't believe me?
And what if… she stopped trusting me altogether?
I didn't even realize how many steps I'd taken back and forth across the lawn until the grass beneath my feet had been flattened. I exhaled a heavy breath, tilting my head toward the dark sky. It was filled with scattered stars, each one distant and cold.
"Somebody up there," I whispered, "send help. I'm in a tough situa—"
HONK.
The loud sound snapped me out of my thoughts. My head whipped toward the road.
A bike was parked near the fence, engine still humming softly. The rider wore a black helmet and face cover, completely unrecognizable. He lifted his hand and waved.
My heart thudded violently against my chest. I straightened up, unsure if I should scream, run, or just freeze. My first instinct was to bolt back inside, but before I could move, the person pulled off the helmet.
Theo.
I blinked, unsure if my tired brain was playing tricks on me.
What was he doing here? At this hour?
I glanced quickly back at the house, scanning for curious eyes.
Front door? Shut.
Windows? No suspicious silhouettes.
Roof? Empty.
Alright. Coast clear.
I tiptoed toward him, glancing left and right like some criminal sneaking out of a mission. He burst out laughing as soon as I reached the fence.
"Are you a thief or what?" he asked, grinning.
"Are you my stalker or what?" I shot back without thinking.
He shrugged casually, like my accusation wasn't even that far-fetched. Typical Theo.
For a brief second, his presence brought some lightness to the night. But Zara's face flashed in my mind again—eyes tired, hands shaking—and it felt like someone had poured cold water on me.
"Your stepfather—" I started, but he cut in.
"He's out on a business trip," Theo said flatly. "So don't worry, he won't do anything to my mom for a while. She's safe."
I stared at him, surprised he brought it up first. A lump formed in my throat.
"Well…" I took a breath. "I need to talk to you about something. Something very serious."
"Sure, I'll come up," he said immediately, swinging one leg off his bike like he was about to march into my house.
My eyes widened in horror. "What—No! Not now! Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow."
He blinked, then nodded slowly. "Okay, tomorrow."
"Um… why did you come here anyway?" I asked, my eyes flicking between him, his bike, and the empty road.
"Was just passing by," he said casually. "Then I saw you… talking to the sky."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Uh… well… good ni—"
Before I could finish, his phone lit up, buzzing with an incoming call. His face changed, urgency flickering in his eyes.
"Gotta go!" he shouted, shoving his helmet back on. And then he was gone, the roar of his bike fading into the night, leaving me alone under the indifferent stars.
I wrapped my arms around myself as the cold air slipped through the cracks of my thoughts. Tomorrow. I'd talk to him tomorrow.
But the question hung in my chest like a weight:
Would tomorrow be too late?
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For a second, everything was quiet again. Just the hum of distant traffic, the chirping of crickets, and the stars above me—cold and uncaring. But beneath that silence, there was a strange prickling sensation at the back of my neck.
Like I wasn't alone.
I froze. Slowly, I turned my head toward the house. The front door was still shut, the windows still dark. Nothing seemed out of place.
But the feeling didn't leave.
It sat heavy on my chest like invisible eyes were tracing my every move.
I quickly pushed myself off the bench and hurried back inside, shutting the door behind me with a quiet thud. I leaned against it for a moment, breathing out shakily. "You're overthinking," I muttered to myself. "Just… tired."
I forced my feet toward my room, flicking on the small bedside lamp. The warm light filled the corners of my room, pushing away the shadows—but not the uneasiness crawling under my skin.
Then my phone buzzed.
And buzzed again.
And again.
The screen, usually dark and peaceful, was now lighting up like a festival. Notification after notification flooded in, a sight so unusual for me that my stomach twisted instantly. Being plain, average Melina came with certain perks—one of them being a quiet phone. If this many messages were coming in at once, it could only mean one thing: something was up. Something bad.
I snatched my phone from the nightstand and unlocked it with shaky fingers. My messages app was flooded.
Group Chat — "Dove, Zara & Me 💬"
Dozens of unread texts blinked up at me like warning lights.
I didn't have the patience—or the nerve—to scroll back and read everything. My thumbs flew across the keyboard.
> "Guys, what's happening?"
I waited, tapping my foot against the wooden floor, a nervous rhythm echoing through the quiet night.
Finally, a reply popped up. Zara.
> "Father's gone overseas. Will take days to reach back."
I exhaled, shoulders sinking in relief, Conforming what theo said. It wasn't bad news. Not yet. Her message was almost like a coded signal—a way of telling me she'd be safe for a while.
Before I could type a response, Dove's message exploded onto the screen, practically vibrating with excitement.
> "I HAVE JUICIER NEWS 😭😭🔥🔥"
Typical Dove. Even her texts sounded like she was bouncing on the edge of her bed, hair in a messy bun, eyes sparkling with gossip. For once, I was grateful it was just some drama and not another nightmare about Zara's home.
> "Angela and Theo dated before!!!"
I blinked at the message.
My chest tightened a little.
> "C'mon, Dove, it's not that juicy," Zara texted next.
> "YEA IT IS! They've been telling everyone they're just childhood friends 😭😭 Sneaky bastaards. Who knew if they're still dating or not" Dove replied immediately.
I stared at the screen, forcing my fingers to type something light, something teasing.
> "How many girls does your brother have, Zara? 😒😂"
I added an emoji, tried to make it sound like a joke. But inside… it burned.
Jealousy. Insecurity. Anger. Sadness. All tangled up in one ugly knot.
I hated it.
I hated how easily beautiful girls like Angela could just have people—attention, love, stories whispered about them in group chats. And then there was me. The quiet one. The invisible one. The girl who blends into the background like wallpaper. Someone to talk to when they're bored. Someone to keep secrets. Someone to almost notice.
And now… I was slowly becoming one of Theo's girls, too. Just another name on his long list. Unofficial. Forgettable. Temporary.
The realization stung.
Girls like Angela… they're made for love stories. For flowers wrapped in pastel paper, for chocolates tucked in ribboned boxes, for whispered words and soft promises.
Girls like me? We're the option.
No flowers. No chocolates. No grand gestures.
Just scraps of attention—temporary, careless, fleeting. The kind that doesn't mean anything to the people giving it. Just like Theo with me.
And yet… what do we do? We hold onto those tiny moments like they're everything. Because for us, they are.
I could say I don't care. That their love, or the lack of it, doesn't affect me as long as they're not feeding me or paying my bills.
But that's not true.
I do care.
It's just easier to pretend I don't. Easier to hide behind indifference than to look desperate. Or pathetic.
My throat tightened, and I felt that familiar burn behind my eyes. I didn't want to cry. Not now. Not over this. Not when Zara's world was cracking in ways so much bigger than my small, pathetic heartbreak.
But emotions don't follow logic. They rise when you least expect it. And as I sat there, phone slipping from my hand, the weight of everything—Zara's confession, Theo's sudden appearance, Angela's name—crashed over me like a wave.
I buried my face into my pillow and let the tears come, quietly. The night outside stayed still, as if holding its breath.
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