Onyx's POV
I was sitting alone in the farthest corner of the cafeteria, the kind of corner people rarely chose unless they were deliberately trying not to exist.
Which, at the moment, I was.
The crowd filled the room with noise—chairs scraping, trays clattering, conversations overlapping into a dull, constant hum. But from where I sat, tucked against the wall with my laptop open like a shield, it felt oddly distant. As if the rest of the room existed behind glass.
I kept my head down and continued typing.
Another update.
Another attempt to document what had happened earlier with Jace—because if I could not resolve the situation emotionally, perhaps I could at least analyze it logically.
I posted it.
* * *
Mr. Loner (@certifiedloner):
Hello. Update. It is not going well.
I attempted to speak to him today to clarify the misunderstanding, and in order to avoid miscommunication, I prepared a structured conversation outline beforehand—yes, an actual draft—with sequenced points, contingency responses, and controlled phrasing to prevent emotional escalation.
I believed preparation would minimize further damage.
It did not.
I delivered the opening line exactly as rehearsed, but his response fell outside my predicted range. He dismissed the approach entirely, discovered the Conversation Draft 6.3 that I had prepared (unexpected variable), and interpreted the effort as over-calculation rather than sincerity.
The conversation ended before I could complete even half of the points I had prepared.
Current outcome: unresolved tension, increased distance, and the discovery that conversations cannot be optimized if the other party refuses to operate within your framework.
I am currently reassessing the model.
Question:
Is preparing before speaking—so that everything is clear—considered inherently insincere?
Because that appears to be the implication.
And before someone inevitably comments "just say you love him," please understand that the word "love" carries a high consequence threshold.
I do not want it deployed casually as just another word.
That is all.
* * *
I leaned back slightly after hitting post. For approximately four seconds, nothing happened. Then the notifications began.
One.
Five.
Fifteen.
Thirty.
My screen lit up like a pulse monitor detecting sudden cardiac activity.
I exhaled slowly and opened the comments.
The first one nearly made me blink.
CelestialTea (@cryinginorbit):
VERSION "6.3" ??? WHAT???
YOU "VERSIONED" A CONFESSION???
Marco De Leon (@nocturnalstrategist):
"He discovered Conversation Draft 6.3 (unexpected variable)."
BRO YOU ARE NOT DEBUGGING A HUMAN.
AstroNerd_21 (@plutostillaplanet):
Data update:
Preparedness level – 100%
Emotional adaptability – 2%
Result – catastrophic misalignment.
OverthinkingScholar (@thesisngfeelings):
Preparing for vulnerability is not insincere.
But presenting it like a "thesis defense" might be.
RealTalkRina (@emotionallytired)
He didn't reject your feelings.
He rejected being managed like he was a math problem that you wanted to solve logically.
Kai Villamor (@kaidecodes):
UNEXPECTED VARIABLE T.T
He is not a variable.
He is a **PERSON**.
MainCharacterEnergy (@deluluistherealsol):
YOU SAID "REASSESSING THE MODEL."
SOMEONE HUG THIS MAN IMMEDIATELY.
Adrian Cole (@adriandissects):
The moment you treat emotions like a system to control, you remove the risk. Love requires risk.
SituationshipVictim (@iknewitwasntplatonic):
You optimized the speech too much.
You forgot to optimize sincerity.
Kevin Morales (@neutralbutinvested):
He probably wanted raw, not rehearsed.
Nina Valdez (@chronicallyattached)
You keep trying to protect yourself from saying it wrong. He just wanted you to say it naturally.
Joshua Tan (@realistbutromantic):
Preparing isn't insincere.
But if preparation exists to avoid feeling exposed... it shows.
Luna Hart (@lunawithcoffee):
The fact that he called you hopeless?
He's hurt. Not uninterested.
Seren Vale (@serenvale):
You keep asking if preparation is wrong.
It isn't. But over-controlling is.
Clarisse Tan (@romcomtheorist2):
MIDNIGHTDRIVER WHERE ARE YOU.
THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
I unconsciously glanced at the comment section, scanning for a familiar username.
Nothing yet.
Next.
Miguel Santos (@mattressinvestigator):
He stepped back.
You wrote a script.
He wanted your heart, not your conversation draft 6.3 outline.
Aiden Cho (@aidenwritesback):
Stop trying to win the conversation.
Start trying to mean it.
Raine Callisto (@rainewrites):
You can't algorithm your way into being chosen.
Theo Marquez (@logicbeforelove):
Honestly? This is what fear looks like when it wears intelligence as armor.
Eli Navarro (@capslockeli):
JUST GO BACK AND SAY IT WITHOUT NOTES T.T
Hana Flores (@hanareadsalot):
Version 6.3 failed because love doesn't accept formatted input.
Aeris Valen (@aerisreads):
This is the slowest, smartest emotional self-sabotage I've ever witnessed.
I believe you are an intelligent person.
But even love can make you stupid.
Sorry, Mr. Loner.
I stared at the screen.
"Love can make you stupid," I murmured quietly.
I swallowed and leaned back slightly in my chair, closing my eyes for a moment as I released a slow breath.
The cafeteria noise drifted faintly around me again.
When I opened my eyes, my gaze returned instinctively to the comment section.
Specifically—
I began scanning for one username.
"MidnightDriver".
His comments were always brutally direct. Occasionally insulting. But strangely... useful. If someone was going to point out the precise flaw in my thinking, it would probably be him.
I kept scrolling.
Nothing.
Just as I was about to refresh the page—
My personal phone buzzed on the table.
I glanced down.
The sender's name appeared on the screen.
"Jace".
My pulse jumped once before settling again.
I opened the message.
Jace:
Where are you? Let's talk.
Sent: 10:38 a.m.
I stared at it for half a second.
Then typed.
Me:
I am at the cafeteria, corner
rightmost side near the wall.
I will wait for you.
Sent: 10:38 a.m.
I set the phone down.
A small smile slipped out before I could stop it.
So... he had cooled down.
And more importantly—he had initiated the conversation.
Which meant he was trying to fix things too.
Statistically speaking, that significantly improved the outcome probability.
Feeling slightly more optimistic, I turned back to my laptop and pretended to focus on the screen while waiting.
About thirty seconds later—a bag dropped onto the chair beside me.
The sound startled me enough that I snapped my laptop shut instinctively.
"Hello, Onyx!" a cheerful voice said. "You seem very focused on something."
I looked up.
Melody stood beside the table, smiling brightly.
Then she tilted her head slightly when she saw my reaction.
"Oh!" she said. "Did I startle you?"
"No," I replied quickly, attempting to return to a calm, neutral expression as I looked around behind her.
She giggled.
Melody studied my face for a moment, her expression softening in a way that suggested she had already formed a theory.
"Okay," she said slowly. "But did you get enough sleep? I can see it in your eyes."
"Probably," I answered.
It was not a lie.
But it was also not an accurate description of what had happened.
She tilted her head, curiosity sharpening behind her cheerful demeanor.
"Why?" she asked. "What's the problem? Too many academic requirements? Client requests to finish their projects?"
She paused.
Then her eyes brightened with sudden mischief.
"Or is it something about being in love again?"
"The third one."
The words left my mouth before I could evaluate the consequences.
For a moment, Melody simply stared at me.
Then I looked up and met her eyes directly.
Her reaction was immediate.
Her cheeks flushed into a soft pink, and the confident, lively Melody who had been speaking just seconds earlier suddenly seemed... shy.
Which was statistically unexpected.
"Oh—" she said quickly, glancing away as if the table had suddenly become fascinating. "Did you go to the Planetary Museum yesterday? I was there too, actually."
I frowned slightly.
"No," I said. "I did not."
Her brows lifted in surprise.
"Really? Did you not want to go there anymore? Did you change your mind?"
"I had more important priorities," I replied calmly. "So I did not go."
Before she could respond, my personal phone buzzed on the table.
I glanced down.
Jace.
"Wait," I said, already reaching for the phone. "I will answer Jace's message first."
"Oh... okay," Melody said quietly.
She remained standing beside the table, waiting.
I opened the message.
Jace:
Never mind. I changed my mind.
You seem busy with something else.
Sent: 10:40 a.m.
My brows drew together.
Busy?
I looked up immediately, scanning the cafeteria.
Wait.
Did he see me?
Did he see me talking to Melody and misunderstand the situation again?
I stood up so abruptly my chair scraped against the floor.
"Is something going on?" Melody asked, startled. "You seem troubled, Onyx."
I scratched the back of my head, irritation prickling beneath my skin.
"Did you see Jace around before you came here?" I asked, my brows furrowing.
Melody blinked in confusion.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "I saw him just before I was about to enter the cafeteria. I walked faster because I didn't want to run into him face-to-face when I came in."
She shrugged.
"I thought he was already here and just went outside."
My chest tightened.
"Please watch my things," I said quickly.
She nodded.
I was already moving.
I stepped out of the cafeteria and scanned the open walkway outside.
Students passed by in groups, laughing, talking, checking their phones.
But Jace was nowhere.
Not near the entrance.
Not by the benches.
Not anywhere.
I pulled out my phone and called him.
The ringing continued.
Then stopped.
No answer.
I lowered the phone slowly.
"Why are you so difficult, Jace?" I muttered under my breath.
I shook my head, disbelief settling heavily in my chest, before turning back toward the cafeteria.
When I returned to my table, Melody was sitting there quietly.
She wasn't looking at her phone.
She wasn't eating.
She was simply staring ahead, deep in thought.
"Thank you for watching my stuff," I said as I stopped beside the table.
She looked up immediately and returned to her usual bright expression, like a light being switched back on.
"No worries!" she said, standing up. "Did you see Jace?"
"No," I replied.
I sat down again and stared at my closed laptop, pressing my lips together.
"Did you two have a fight?" she asked carefully.
I looked at her.
"A misunderstanding," I said.
Technically accurate.
The misunderstanding had involved her.
But explaining that directly would only make her feel responsible for something that was not truly her fault.
She was simply a variable caught inside a flawed situation.
Nothing more.
"Let me know if I can help," Melody said gently. "If you need advice or something."
"I will," I said. "Thank you, Melody." Then I added quietly, "And I'm sorry you had to get involved in this."
She smiled and nodded once.
"Then I'll leave you alone for now," she said. "I don't want to bother you too much."
"Thank you," I replied.
She waved lightly before walking away.
I watched her disappear into the crowd.
Then the cafeteria noise returned around me.
* * *
Later that day, I was sitting at the back of my Systems Analysis and Design class.
Alone.
Of course Jace was not here. He no longer attended this class.
He was probably at work.
The lecture continued in the background while I attempted to focus.
Attempted being the key word.
My thoughts kept drifting back to him.
To the misunderstanding that had apparently expanded again without my authorization.
Then the professor's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Okay," he said. "Today is the submission deadline for the System Requirements Specification project I assigned previously."
My head snapped up.
"Please submit it now to the portal so I can close the submission."
My stomach dropped as the realization hit, sharp and immediate.
Without wasting another second, I grabbed my notebook and flipped through the pages, the sound of paper rushing past louder than it should have been. My eyes scanned line after line until they finally landed on it.
There.
A draft—already written.
But unfinished.
My throat tightened as I swallowed hard, the weight of it settling in all at once. I must have overlooked it. No—more than that. I had been distracted. Too focused on Jace. Too consumed with trying to dissect emotions that refused to follow any logical structure.
And because of that—
I had forgotten something that actually mattered.
A quiet exhale slipped from me as I pressed my palm against my forehead, holding it there for a moment as if I could physically steady the lapse.
"Why is this happening to me?" I murmured quietly.
Then I raised my hand.
The professor glanced in my direction.
"Yes?" he said. "Question?"
"I'm sorry," I said carefully. "But could you please extend the submission until the end of the day? I promise I will submit it."
Silence filled the classroom.
Then I noticed something strange.
Everyone was looking at me.
One classmate beside me leaned closer.
"This is the first time you've asked for an extension, Onyx," he whispered.
I shook my head slowly, still trying to process the situation.
But the professor had already responded.
"I made it clear from the beginning," he said flatly. "No extensions."
The room seemed to shrink.
"You need proper planning," he continued. "If you fail to submit on time, it means you do not value this class."
He paused.
"See you next year when you retake the unit."
The words echoed in my ears continuously.
"See you next year."
My body went cold.
My spine stiffened.
No.
That could not be correct.
I was not going to delay my graduation over one missed submission.
"Please," I said quietly. "Can you give me this chance? I will make the project exceptional. Completely mistake-proof."
The professor didn't even hesitate.
"Even if your work is impeccable," he said, "if you cannot respect deadlines, you are not respecting other people's time."
He folded his arms.
"I will not make an exception." Then he added bluntly, "If you want, you can drop the class now. It will not matter whether you attend the next lectures. You have already failed this unit."
I stared forward.
The words did not register immediately.
They hovered in the air like foreign objects.
"It is your choice whether you stay," the professor continued. "Or leave early."
Slowly, I stood up.
I wasn't even sure if what was happening was real.
My hands moved automatically as I packed my things.
Around me, the classroom remained silent.
I could feel everyone watching.
"As I was saying," the professor continued, already returning to the lecture as if nothing had happened.
As if he had not just delayed someone's graduation by an entire year.
"Are you okay?" my classmate whispered.
"No," I said simply.
I picked up my bag and walked toward the door.
When I stepped outside the lecture hall, the door closed behind me with a quiet click.
And suddenly—
I had nowhere to go.
I stood there in the hallway, staring at the floor while students walked past me.
Their footsteps echoed faintly.
My hands were shaking.
And no matter how hard I tried—I couldn't stop them.
I grabbed my phone.
The first instinct that surfaced in my mind was simple and immediate: call Pa.
My thumb hovered over his name for only a second before I pressed it.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each ring stretched longer than it should have, echoing faintly through the quiet corridor where I stood.
He didn't answer.
He was probably working right now.
Pa rarely ignored calls unless he was in the middle of a shift. I could already picture him somewhere noisy, sleeves rolled up, too busy to look at his phone.
I lowered the device slowly.
I had to tell him.
But if I did, he would worry.
And Pa had enough to worry about already.
My thoughts spiraled immediately after that realization. It was as if someone had opened a drawer inside my head and dumped every plan I had carefully organized over the past few years onto the floor.
Graduation.
Job applications.
My transcript.
My future.
Everything I had mapped out so precisely suddenly looked... unstable.
For the first time in a long while, it felt like I might not reach the future I had designed for myself.
"Oh! Onyx? You're already done with class?"
I blinked.
Melody had appeared in front of me so suddenly that it took me a moment to process her presence.
She tilted her head, studying my face with growing concern.
"What happened?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting together. "You look troubled."
I exhaled slowly.
"I failed to submit a requirement on time," I said. "Now the professor failed me."
Her reaction was immediate.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh no!" she gasped, raising her fingers to cover her mouth. "That means your graduation will be delayed."
The words sounded heavier when someone else said them aloud.
I sighed.
"Did you talk to your professor?" she asked quickly. "Maybe he can give you an extension."
"I did," I said.
"And?"
"He said no."
Melody blinked twice, clearly trying to process that outcome.
"Would you like me to talk to him?" she asked suddenly.
I stared at her.
"What difference would it make?" I said. "He wouldn't agree even if someone else asked."
Her lips pushed forward into a small pout, and I saw her shoulders slump slightly in disappointment.
For someone who wasn't even involved in the situation, she looked genuinely upset.
"I don't have classes right now," she said after a moment, forcing her voice to sound brighter than it probably felt. "Do you want to go somewhere? Maybe get something to eat? It might help you clear your mind."
I shook my head gently.
"I just want to be alone for now," I said. "Sorry, Melody."
Her cheerful smile returned almost instantly, like a reflex.
"Okay!" she said, nodding once. "But if you need someone to talk to, call me. Or message me. Anytime."
She giggled lightly.
"Even if I'm in class, I'll still come find you."
"Silly," I said. "You might fail too if you keep cutting classes."
She laughed.
"Okay, I'm going now, Onyx," she said. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be alright. I believe you'll still graduate on time."
"I hope so," I replied quietly. "Thanks, Melody."
She waved before walking away down the corridor.
I watched her go.
I wished confidence worked the way she described it.
Unfortunately, reality rarely followed optimistic dialogue.
When she disappeared around the corner, the silence returned.
I took out my other phone—my personal one this time—and opened my conversation with Jace.
My thumbs began typing automatically.
I told him what happened.
About the requirement.
About the professor.
About how I might fail the unit.
The message grew longer and longer on the screen.
Then I stopped.
My eyes lingered on the text for a moment.
And slowly—
I deleted everything.
"He wouldn't care anyway," I murmured to myself. "And he hates reading long messages."
The words sounded colder than I expected.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and headed toward the study corner.
If I finished the project now—right now—and submitted it before the Systems Analysis and Design class ended...
Maybe there was still a chance.
Maybe the professor would reconsider.
Maybe this situation wasn't final yet.
I opened my laptop and began working.
* * *
"Okay... this should be good," I muttered under my breath.
The finished file glowed on my laptop screen.
"I hope this lets me get back on track."
I closed my laptop quickly and gathered my things.
Then I ran.
By the time I reached the lecture hall, the class had already ended, but the professor was still there, packing his belongings at the desk.
Good.
I approached him immediately.
"Hello," I said politely. "I hope you can still consider it. I've already finished the project, and I can present it to you."
He sighed.
"Your name is Onyx, right?" he asked.
I nodded.
He opened his laptop again and typed something.
The seconds stretched painfully while I waited.
Finally, he looked at me.
"Your quiz grades and activity scores are remarkable," he said. "Your recitation grade is also perfect."
Hope flickered faintly in my chest.
Was he going to accept it?
"But," he continued calmly, "all those good grades will mean nothing if you still don't know how to manage your time."
The word "but" landed like a hammer.
"In the real corporate world," he continued, "you must always value time."
"I plan carefully," I said quickly. "I schedule my activities. I always do things on time. I was just... distracted recently."
"And is that the right reason?" he asked.
The question lingered in the air.
I looked down.
"No," I said quietly. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head slowly.
"What a waste," he said. "You're a bright student. I don't want to be the reason your graduation is delayed. But you make your grade, not me. I only record it."
"Please," I said quickly. "Just give me this chance. I promise I won't let you down next time."
"My decision is final, Onyx," he replied. "At least this way, you will value time and planning more. After all, that is the unit I teach."
I inhaled deeply.
My chest felt tight.
There was a sharp sting behind my eyes, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral.
Crying in front of a professor would not improve the situation.
"Try again next year, Onyx," he said as he closed his laptop. "I will remember you."
He paused briefly.
"And you will remember me."
"Please," I said one last time. "I'm really trying to graduate on time. I don't want my transcript to look bad when I start applying for jobs."
He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Then he gave me a faint smile.
"You need to learn this early, Onyx," he said. "In the real world, it will be much harsher."
He walked toward the exit.
"You need to learn how to accept failure."
And then he left.
The lecture hall door closed behind him.
The sound echoed softly across the empty room.
For a long moment, I just stood there.
Alone.
Staring at the door.
Slowly, I placed my hand against my chest and gripped the fabric of my shirt.
Failure hurt.
Not physically.
But emotionally.
And somehow—
That pain felt heavier than anything I had prepared myself for.
End of Chapter 35