PAST
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MELINA'S POV
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A shaggy breath left my mouth as soon as he walked away, his strides longer than I expected. Probably wanting to escape the same room as me.
I buried my head in my palm, letting the weight of my forehead press into my hands. But even then, the heaviness of my words, the weight of his expression, and the relentless pull of his gaze lingered in the air.
Heavy. Unyielding. Unforgiving.
I could still feel it clinging to me, a shadow that refused to leave, pressing down with a quiet insistence I wasn't ready to face.
"Why would you say that…" I mumbled to myself, gripping my head as it felt like it was about to burst. "Why would you tell him you hate him… when you can't even keep him out of your mind for a minute?"
That voice — the one that always echoed when I tried to quiet my thoughts — whispered inside me again.
I felt like I didn't recognize myself anymore. I couldn't recognize these feelings that twisted and clawed at my chest. I failed to confront them, failed to understand them.
Was it anger toward Theo that I felt… or regret for the words I threw at him, so carelessly, so unapologetically? Or maybe it was the look in his eyes — that wounded softness, like a puppy left alone in a dark alley — that kept replaying in my mind.
It was cruel. I was cruel. And yet… I couldn't stop thinking about him.
The clock ticked, the faint sound filling the silence I refused to break. I could still picture him standing there — his jaw clenched, his eyes searching for something I refused to give him. I didn't even remember what I wanted to say before the words spilled out.
All I knew was the look he gave me — half hurt, half disbelief.
My throat tightened at the memory.
"Seems like we can't leave Melina alone for a minute," Dove said suddenly, unfastening my grip from my hair.
When had they come in? Why hadn't I let go? I didn't know.
All I could feel was the weight of what I told Theo.
'You said that because Theo led you on,' another voice inside me whispered.
'Led you on? You've been starved of affection for so long that you started mistaking friendliness for love? For something more?'
Eye contact. Brushing past each other. Coming over after class—
'Those are normal. Platonic. People do that with friends.'
'What else, Melina? Look at yourself. Do you have anything worth admiring? Talent? Beauty? You're the problem. You mistook kindness for love… like an idiot.'
The voices fought inside me, dragging me from one side to another — me against myself, me against the version of him that existed in my head.
And I didn't know which one was right.
But I knew one thing — my past self would be disappointed. Disappointed in how far I'd fallen.
"Are you even listening to us, Melina?" Zara's voice cut through, followed by a hard knock on my desk.
I jerked, ripped out of the spiral of my thoughts — though they still clung to me, whispering, you're the problem.
"Y-yeah… I am," I muttered, picking up my pen. But their expressions didn't lie — they weren't buying it.
"We were talking about Theo… he seemed so pissed off at something," Dove said as she sat down, calm as ever, but her eyes sharp.
"Is it because you slapped him?" Zara asked, tilting her head with that annoyingly perceptive gaze.
The sound of slap echoed faintly in my head, like an unwanted memory on replay. The heat of my palm against his cheek. The shocked silence that followed. My heart dropped.
I looked away, my fingers twisting the edge of my notebook. "I… I don't know what goes through his head."
"Ask Angela," I muttered finally, like passing a hot potato I didn't want.
"You feel bitter about that," Dove said flatly, and my head snapped to her, defensive.
"I am not bitter," I said too quickly, my throat tight.
Zara didn't seem like she was letting me off that easy. "Say that after you wipe that gloomy expression off your face," she shot back.
Dove leaned forward slightly, voice quieter now, but still piercing. "Do you… by any chance like Theo?" There was a hint of curiosity in her tone, a test I wasn't ready to take.
"I like… everyone," I blurted out, far too casually.
"You know what she meant," Zara said, arms crossed, as if reading my mind.
"No, I don't," I said stubbornly, heart thumping.
"She's playing hard to get, Zara. Leave her," Dove teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"Hmm… I thought you'd want to know about Angela and Theo. Looks like you don't," Zara said, but there was a flicker in her tone — teasing, but serious.
My head immediately snapped toward them. Even though I told myself I shouldn't care, I found myself caring anyway.
Dove noticed. Of course she did. "We made it up," she said, leaning back, casual.
My brows knitted. "Made what up?"
"About the rumor. Angela and Theo. They're not together. We did it to check if you cared," Zara revealed, and my mouth fell open.
"You what—?"
"Seems like you care more than we thought," Dove said, laughing with Zara as Zara chuckled along, nudging her arm.
I tried to laugh with them. Tried to pretend it was nothing. But the sound that came out of me wasn't laughter. It was something brittle — like glass cracking.
It would have been funny… only if I hadn't told Theo that I hate people like him. If I hadn't called him a manwhore. A playboy.
The words hit me again, heavy, unforgiving. I could almost see them, sharp and jagged, hanging between us. My chest tightened, a sick twist in my stomach.
They were still laughing, but their voices started to fade in the background. The air around me felt thinner, like oxygen was slowly leaking out of the room.
I thought about his expression — that second before I slapped him. How his eyes softened, how he opened his mouth to say something I didn't let him finish.
And I thought about how that softness turned to something else after. Something fractured.
I wanted to disappear into the floor, to rewind time, to take it all back… but I couldn't.
And that thought hurt worse than anything else — knowing that even if they were joking, even if Theo was fine, I had left a scar I couldn't easily erase.
The room felt distant now — Dove scrolling through her phone, Zara talking about something else, laughter bouncing off the walls. Everything normal. Everything painfully normal.
I stared at my notebook, the half-finished notes blurring in front of me. The letters smudged where my fingers pressed too hard against the paper.
A part of me wanted to get up and find him. To say something — anything — that could undo what I said. But another part held me back, whispering, You've already done enough damage.
I sighed quietly, tracing meaningless lines across the page, pretending to listen as Dove mentioned something about class assignments.
But my mind was elsewhere.
It was with him.
The way he used to look at me — the playful curve of his lips when he teased, the calm confidence in his tone, the tiny crinkle near his eyes when he smiled.
And now, the way that smile was gone. Because of me.
I hated myself for missing him. For caring when I had no right to.
"Melina?" Zara called again, pulling me back to the present. "You okay?"
I looked up, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
She didn't believe me, I could tell. But for once, she let it slide.
As the conversation shifted away, I let out another breath, one that trembled at the edges. My hand brushed against my cheek — the same one that had hit him — and I felt it again. The sting. The regret.
And somewhere, deep down, I wished he'd slap me back with words, just so I could hate him again. Just so it would hurt less than this feeling.
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