PAST
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THEO'S POV
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Disco lights shone through the dark room, cutting across the haze of sweat and perfume. The music is loud — too loud — pounding against my chest like it's trying to replace my heartbeat. Bodies move everywhere. Some grinding on each other, some jumping to the rhythm, all lost in the noise. Everyone around me seems to be in a very good mood.
Except me.
I stand there, drink in hand, watching the chaos unfold like I'm not really part of it. Like I'm watching a movie where I don't belong in the scene. Laughter echoes from somewhere behind me — familiar voices, unfamiliar warmth. I try to smile, but it doesn't stick.
The lights flicker red for a second, and I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar — tired eyes, half a smirk. I look like someone who came to forget something but ended up remembering everything instead.
"I hate people like you."
Melina's sharp voice still echoed in my head — manwhore, playboy. I shut my eyes tight hoping to get rid of that voice from my head.
"Come here, Theo!" Angela shouted over the pounding music, tugging at my arm until I stumbled onto the couch where everyone else sat. Laughter surrounded me — drunken, carefree, meaningless. Everyone seemed lost in their own little worlds, except Damon. He wasn't laughing. His eyes cut through the air and landed on me, steady and sharp, asking silently, something's not right, is it?
I looked away, every time he looked at me like that. The red solo cup in my hand tilted as I swirled the drink, watching the little whirlpool spin and collapse.
"I hate people like you."
Melina's voice again. Her face, her eyes, her anger — they flashed wherever I looked, seeping into every corner of my thoughts. And it hurt.
More than I wanted to admit.
More than I thought it would.
"Hey man, you took down Melina's video?" Gregg asked, dragging the attention of everyone at the table toward me.
"Yes, he did. He's no fun," Angela said, pouting exaggeratedly and whining like a child denied candy.
"Ew, stop doing that," Gregg muttered—only to earn a quick, sharp punch on the shoulder.
Melina's punch.
No… Angela's.
No—Melina's.
Always Melina. Always her name, echoing in my head like a song I can't stop hearing.
She hates you, the voice whispered somewhere inside, curling around my thoughts, dripping into the alcohol running through my veins. My vision swayed. I blinked hard, trying to steady the room.
The music from the corner speaker pulsed, muffled by laughter and the clink of glasses. The smell of cheap beer and perfume mixed in the air, heavy and dizzying. I turned my head—slowly, as if underwater—and looked at Angela.
But it wasn't Angela anymore.
Her smile… that smile I used to know.
The soft curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed—
That was Melina.
The one sitting beside me wasn't Angela. It was Melina.
Melina, smiling at me.
Melina, who wouldn't probably look at me that way anymore.
Melina, whose voice still lingered in every quiet moment, every dream, every drink.
She was here.
She was smiling.
At me.
And for a second—just one breath suspended in alcohol and memory—I almost smiled back.
That's when Melina leaned toward me, her hands grazing my cheeks. I blinked at her, smiling back without meaning to. Her lashes brushed together softly, and for a fleeting second, I caught her scent—different now. Not the same perfume, not the same warmth. Something unfamiliar.
"Woah, woah—take a video!" someone shouted from behind me, but their voice felt distant, muffled, like it was echoing underwater.
Melina leaned closer. Closer—until her lips crashed against mine.
Except… something felt wrong.
It was too sudden, too cold. I blinked once, twice—
and the illusion cracked.
It wasn't Melina.
It was Angela.
My stomach turned. I pulled away, gently but fast, wiping my lips on my T-shirt as if I could erase what just happened.
The disco lights spun wildly now, streaks of red and blue slicing through my vision. The room tilted, then righted itself, then tilted again. Everyone else had become shapes, blurs—two figures dancing around my fading focus.
I stumbled backward, my foot catching on the edge of the couch, knees giving way beneath me. The floor felt soft for a moment, then hard.
And that was it.
The lights blurred into darkness.
Everything went black.
"He drank a lot more than usual," I heard someone say, their voice slurring into the background.
Even the light in my vision distorted, fading into ripples of white and grey.
And through all of it—all the noise, all the blur—
I could only see Melina.
Melina.
And the memory of me kissing Angela, thinking it was her.
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MELINA'S POV
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I sat at my study table with a pen and notebook in front of me. It used to be a place for studying. Now, it was where I overthought—about college, about people, about him. I'd start with a question, find an answer, then overthink the answer until it turned into another question. A loop that never stopped.
Thankfully, my parents didn't know yet that I slapped a boy at college. Yet. They would've probably beaten me blue if they did. But honestly? I didn't care anymore. Not after everything that's been going on inside my head.
Theo's face kept flashing in my mind—how stunned he looked when I called him a manwhore and a playboy. I hadn't even meant it. It was just… a prank my friends pulled, and I believed them for one stupid second.
Now, I couldn't stop replaying it. The look in his eyes. The way he turned away without saying anything.
And I wasn't going to let fate just... sit there and play its game with me. No. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to say sorry. To tell him the truth.
I opened my chat with Theo. His name sat at the top of the screen like a challenge. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed—
'Hey, I'm sorry about calling you like that.'
Then I stared at the message.
And pressed backspace until every word disappeared.
Again, I typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Finally, my hands stopped shaking just enough to write:
'Hey, I'm sorry for calling you those names. Zara and Dove pranked me saying you and Angela were dating again. Can we talk tomorrow?'
I stared at the words for a long second. Then took a deep breath and hit send.
Sent.
Delivered.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I could feel it in my throat, my fingertips.
Please, I added quickly.
Sent.
Delivered.
Seen.
Wait. Seen?
Three dots appeared.
Theo was typing.
My stomach twisted. I waited.
Then the message popped up.
"Stop texting me. Know your place. Angela and I are already dating."
Another one followed.
"I hate seeing your plain-ass face too."
Oh.
My phone slipped from my hand and hit the table with a dull thud. My reflection stared back at me from the small mirror beside it—eyes wide, lips trembling.
Then the tears came, pooling fast, blurring everything.
I pressed my hand over my mouth to stop the sound, but it didn't help.
The sob escaped anyway.
The room felt smaller.
Colder.
Quieter.
And in that silence, only one thought echoed—
I lost him before I ever had him.
'You doesn't deserved to have him to begin with, plan ass face '
A voice said, mocking me.
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