Ronnie didn't stay.
He couldn't.
His body moved before his thoughts could catch up—out of the room, down the corridor, past faces that blurred into nothing.
The air outside felt lighter.
But his chest didn't.
Not until the college gates were far behind him did he slow down.
Cars passed. People talked. Life continued.
Normal.
Too normal.
He exhaled, uneven.
Safe.
…Was he?
The next morning felt wrong from the start.
Every step carried weight.
The whispers followed—but they weren't quiet anymore.
They were deliberate.
Sharp.
By the time Ronnie reached the art room, the class had already begun.
The professor didn't raise his voice.
"Late."
Just that.
Simple.
Controlled.
Ronnie stopped at the door. "Sorry, sir."
A pause.
Then—
"You impressed me yesterday."
Another pause.
"And yet, here you are."
The disappointment wasn't loud.
That made it worse.
"It won't happen again."
"It shouldn't."
Only then did the professor gesture toward the class.
"Sit."
"Today's task," the professor continued, turning back to the board, "paint the symbolism of twin roses."
Ronnie sat.
Set his things down.
Closed his eyes.
Breathed in slowly.
Then—
he started.
Time passed.
Brush against canvas.
Soft.
Steady.
Controlled.
When he finished, he didn't announce it.
He just stopped.
The professor approached.
Looked.
Didn't speak immediately.
"…You work fast," he said at last.
Ronnie stayed quiet.
"And yet," the professor added, tilting his head slightly, "you don't rush."
A pause.
"…Good."
A few students shifted in their seats.
Watching.
Waiting.
The professor straightened.
"As expected," he said calmly, "you remain the top of this class."
A ripple of whispers spread.
Then—
"If you want something," he added, almost casually, "ask."
The room stilled.
Ronnie didn't respond.
"Go on," the professor pressed lightly. "Opportunities shouldn't be wasted."
Silence stretched.
Ronnie's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his desk.
"…There is something."
The professor nodded once. "Speak."
Ronnie lifted his gaze.
Met his eyes.
And held it.
"Stop going to my father's grave."
The words landed quietly.
But they didn't feel quiet.
The professor didn't react immediately.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't deny.
Just watched him.
"…What do you mean?" he asked, voice even.
"I saw you," Ronnie said.
No accusation in his tone.
That made it heavier.
"You didn't just go there."
A pause.
"You threw trash."
The air shifted.
Subtly.
But enough.
For the first time, something in the professor's expression changed.
Not shock.
Not anger.
Something tighter.
More controlled.
"…You're certain," the professor said.
"Yes."
A pause.
"I remember you," Ronnie added quietly.
"Even in a crowd."
The professor's expression didn't change—but something in his posture did.
"The way your hand hesitated," Ronnie continued.
"Before you threw it."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"…Why didn't you say anything yesterday?" the professor asked.
"I didn't need to."
Another pause.
"…And now?"
"Now I'm asking you to stop."
The professor exhaled slowly. "…I see."
A beat passed.
Then Ronnie spoke again.
More quietly this time.
"…You call him a bad person."
The professor didn't interrupt.
"But he never hurt someone who didn't deserve it."
A pause.
"He chose something dark."
Ronnie's fingers tightened slightly.
"But that doesn't make everything he did meaningless."
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
"You only saw one moment," Ronnie finished.
"I've seen the rest."
That landed harder than anything before.
The professor didn't respond immediately.
Then—
"…Very well."
"It won't happen again."
A pause.
"…You shouldn't have had to see that."
Ronnie looked away.
"Don't expect me to forgive you."
"I don't."
"…But thank you." Ronnie said.
And that—
felt heavier than anger.
That night—
Ronnie stood by the grave again.
The same routine.
The same silence.
He picked up a crushed bottle.
A torn wrapper.
Dirt that didn't belong.
"Dad…"
His voice was quieter here.
Different.
"…one less person will make this place a mess now."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"He's my professor."
The words sounded strange, even to him.
"He's… not what I thought."
He wiped the stone clean.
Carefully.
Like always.
"Maybe he's not a good person."
A pause.
"But…"
"…he's not the worst either."
The night stayed still.
Listening.
Ronnie placed the last piece of trash aside.
Stepped back.
"It's late."
A slow breath.
"I should go."
He turned—
then stopped.
"…If you can," he added softly, "forgive him."
Silence answered.
But it didn't feel empty.
"Goodnight, Dad."
.
.
.
Authors pov:
Helllo my pretty twinkle readers
Wait
Ronnie's dad is he actually bad person or not
Ofc there No willam today 😌how dare he bully and then call this poor baby useless 😤
That stupid coconut head
Hehe i wonder who are William fans sowwy buddies ur man won't come. Until next chapter
But...we all know he saw this from BTS 🤫🤐
What will be do ignore or stand up
And in couple of chapters
A new character is coming..
Stay tuned
Keep smiling and enjoy story
Your lovely author 😘
Signing off 🫡