Alex's POV.
The rain hadn't let up. It drummed on the roof of the dorm like a heartbeat—fast, relentless, impossible to ignore. My knuckles hovered above the door again, but this time I didn't knock. I couldn't.
Because behind that door was the one girl I'd tried to bury in memory. And the one girl I couldn't.
When the door cracked open, my chest tightened. There she was—Felicity. Barefoot, damp hair curling at the ends, eyes tired but still burning with the storm she carried inside. And behind her, Penelope's glare sharpened like knives.
I lifted my hands in surrender. "I'm not here to fight. I'm here to tell the truth."
"Over my dead body," Penelope scoffed. Her voice dripped with fury, her hands flying up in disbelief. "How could you, Alex? No—seriously, how could you?"
Felicity hesitated. And in that hesitation, I saw my chance. My voice came out rough, desperate.
"I'm sorry. For everything. For last night, for tonight. For being weak. But you need to know—it's Mia. It's always Mia. She gets in my head, twists things. I don't even know how she does it. But I'm not blaming her. I'm blaming myself. Because I let it happen."
Her eyes flickered, doubtful. But she didn't slam the door. So I pushed further.
"I should've told you sooner, but I was afraid. That day at the open-air cinematic, I wanted to tell you something. I swear, I wanted to. But Chris barged in, and I lost my chance. So I'll say it now."
My throat locked. My palms shook. But I forced the words out.
"I'm Theodore, Felicity. Theodore Owen. The boy from back then."
Her breath hitched. The world tilted. I rushed on before she could slam the door in my face.
"My father had another family. My mother… she broke apart. And you—" My voice cracked. "You were there. You were the only thing that made sense when everything else collapsed. I should've held on to you, but I didn't. I ruined it. That day in the hallway, when you asked me—"
The memory stabbed. Her, standing small but brave in front of me. The noise of lockers slamming. My friends laughing. And me—coward, fool, traitor—cutting her down with a smile that wasn't even real.
"You asked me to prom. And I—Gosh, Felicity, I humiliated you. I told you in front of everyone that you weren't good enough. I pushed you away, took someone else. Your friend. I was cruel. I was scared. I was everything a man shouldn't be."
Her hand gripped the doorframe like she might fall.
"I regretted it every day. Still do. And then—tonight—I did something stupid again. I don't know if you can forgive me. Maybe you shouldn't. But I'm begging you to know the truth: I never stopped thinking about you and never stopped loving you. Never stopped wishing I could go back. I am sorry, Felicity. I am so damn sorry. Please don't hate me."
The silence stretched. Rain battered the windows like applause for a tragedy. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. And then she spoke.
>>>>>
Felicity's POV.
His words hit me like a hurricane. Theodore Owen. The boy I'd spent years trying to forget. The boy who'd made me believe in first crushes and fairy tales—and then ripped the floor out from under me in one brutal, unforgettable second.
My blood turned to ice. My chest burned. And my hands trembled so violently I had to press them against the wall.
"You—" My voice cracked, jagged. "You're Theodore?"
He nodded, gray eyes wet, lips parting like he wanted to explain again.
I laughed. A sharp, ugly sound that didn't feel like me. "Wow. Wow. You know what's worse than betrayal? Realizing the boy who shattered you then…is the same man trying to shatter you now."
He flinched, but I couldn't stop. The words poured out, raw, furious, jagged.
"You broke me, Alex. Or Theo. Or whatever name you want to hide behind. Do you know what it felt like? To stand there in that hallway, everyone laughing, my heart in my throat, and you—" My throat closed. My eyes blurred. "You made me feel worthless. Like I was some joke. Like I was nothing."
He shook his head, tears in his eyes and voice. "You were never nothing."
"But that's how you made me feel!" My voice cracked, louder now, Penelope stiff behind me like a shield. "You destroyed me. And then you disappeared, and I had to patch myself together with whatever scraps I had left. And now you're back, standing here, confessing like that makes it better?"
His jaw clenched. His eyes begged. "I didn't know how to be brave. I didn't know how to love you the way you deserved."
"And you still don't!" I snapped, fury boiling over. My chest heaved, tears streaking down my cheeks. "You don't get to kiss me, break me, then say sorry and expect me to fall into your arms. That's not how this works."
The storm outside wailed, a mirror of the storm inside me. My heart wanted to remember the boy with the dimple, the one I once thought I'd die for. But my mind, my soul—they remembered the pain. The humiliation. The betrayal.
"I don't know if I can forgive you," I whispered, voice ragged. "Maybe one day. Maybe when I can look at you without feeling the knife twist again. But not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not now."
I took a step back, hand tightening on the door. "You broke my heart once. You almost broke it again. And I don't know if I can survive a third time."
The look on his face—shattered, desperate—was almost enough to undo me. Almost. But I slammed the door anyway. And for the first time since last night's storm, the silence felt louder than the thunder.