Chapter 7
The classroom felt colder than usual. Maybe it was the air conditioning, or maybe it was the way Ava's heart felt—chilled, hollow, and far too quiet. She slid into her seat near the back of the lecture hall, tucked her hands into her lap, and stared ahead at the whiteboard where her professor had already started writing notes.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Her pen was in her hand, but she hadn't written a single word. Her notebook sat open and empty.
The professor's voice filtered through like static — something about 20th-century performance theory, breaking down stage direction and emotional subtext — all the things Ava normally devoured with interest. But today, it all sounded like a distant hum.
What just happened with Hanna?
Why did she act like that?
Did I really hurt her without realizing it?
She leaned back in her seat, rubbing her forehead lightly, eyes darting to her phone resting on the desk beside her notes. No messages. No missed calls. Just that blank screen staring back like it had nothing left to give.
Every time she tried to focus on the lecture, her mind kept looping back to that moment — Hanna's tone, her face, the harshness in her eyes. And then it would shift, without permission, to him — to Logan.
The way he smiled when he turned to face her on the rooftop. The casual charm in his voice. The way he stubbed out that cigarette like she mattered.
A flutter danced in her chest. She hated it. Loved it. Confused herself with it.
Ava leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, and whispered under her breath, "What is wrong with me today?"
The girl beside her turned briefly with a quizzical look, but Ava just smiled and looked away, pretending to take notes.
One page. Still empty.
Her thoughts were a battlefield. On one side: Logan, the man who might be trouble but had looked at her like she was something he wanted to understand. On the other: Hanna, her best friend, who was now avoiding her like she was the enemy.
She bit her lip and let her eyes close for a second.
You're not going to cry in class, Ava. You're not going to be that girl.
When the professor asked a question and heads turned around the room for volunteers, Ava didn't lift her hand — not like she usually would.
She just sat there, quiet and distant, praying for the lecture to end. Her theatre professor continued, discussing how emotional authenticity makes a character come alive on stage. The irony wasn't lost on Ava.
Maybe I should use this heartbreak for my next scene monologue, she thought wryly. I've got more than enough real-life material.
When the class finally ended, Ava was the last one to pack up. She moved slowly, staring at the notes she never took, wondering if anything could go back to normal — if anything had even been normal in the first place.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, stepped out into the hallway, and whispered to herself,
"One thing at a time, Ava. Breathe. Just breathe."
Ava stepped out into the hallway, the buzz of other students flowing around her like a current she didn't have the energy to swim against. She clutched her bag tighter, trying to shake the tension off her shoulders as she made her way toward the exit. The day was barely halfway through, and she already felt like she'd run an emotional marathon.
Just as she turned the corner past the theatre board, someone called her name.
"Ava!"
She looked up to see Jordan, one of their mutual friends from their theater electives — funny, loud, and always quick to point out when something was off.
"Hey!" she greeted, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
Jordan jogged up to her with his usual confident bounce. "Yo, where's Hanna? I've been looking for her since morning. I thought you two were attached at the hip?"
Ava froze for a split second, then forced a smile. "Oh, um… she went to take something. She'll be back."
Jordan raised a brow. "Take something? Like what? She left campus?"
Ava gave a light shrug, avoiding his eyes. "I think she just forgot something and went back for it. She didn't really say."
Jordan tilted his head, clearly not buying it. "That's weird. You guys usually walk in together, leave together, and speak the same sentence at the same time."
Ava chuckled softly, but it was strained. "Well, people change."
Jordan narrowed his eyes slightly. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, of course." She tried to sound breezy. "Why wouldn't it be?"
He stared at her for a second too long, then finally said, "Alright… if you say so."
Ava nodded quickly. "Tell her I said hi if you see her."
And with that, she turned and walked off before he could ask anything else.
Her pace picked up as she crossed the courtyard, her heart knocking hard against her chest. She hated lying. But how do you explain that your best friend — the one everyone knows as your other half — won't even look at you?
As she passed by the garden benches, she whispered under her breath, "God, Hanna… where are you?"
Jordan had barely turned the corner when he spotted Hanna by the vending machines, her curls bouncing slightly as she tapped on her phone. He grinned and called out, "Hey, Hanna! Gosh, you look so gorgeous today."
Hanna looked up, caught slightly off guard, but offered a polite smile. "Aww, thank you, Jordan. You're sweet."
He walked closer, lowering his voice slightly with a cheeky smirk. "So… where's your partner in crime? Ava? You two are usually glued together."
Hanna's face twitched for a second—barely noticeable, but Jordan caught it. "Ava? Em… em…" she stammered, trying to piece together a quick lie. "She… she's around. Probably went to… get something."
Jordan raised a brow, crossing his arms. "Hmm. That's funny. Because she told me you went to get something."
Hanna let out a forced laugh, brushing imaginary lint from her sleeve. "Oh! Yeah, yeah! I did. I went to grab a drink… earlier."
Jordan tilted his head slightly, studying her with a knowing look. "Right. Because when I saw her… she didn't look too good. Actually, she looked pretty down. Kinda like she was dragging around a whole bag of sad thoughts."
Hanna blinked, caught off guard. "She… she did?"
"Yeah," he nodded, "just like the way you're looking right now."
Hanna gave him a playful shove on the arm, chuckling awkwardly. "Oh, come on, stop that. Don't go around analyzing people like you're some therapist."
Jordan raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying. You two always light up the room together, but today? The vibe's off. Did something happen?"
Hanna looked away for a moment, her smile dimming. "It's… complicated."
Jordan gave her a gentle, sincere smile this time. "Well, whatever it is, fix it. Life's short, and real friends are hard to come by. You two? You're the real deal."
Hanna didn't say anything at first. She just nodded, her throat tightening. "Thanks, Jordan. Really."
He gave her a wink and walked off, leaving her standing there, staring at the hallway Ava had disappeared down.
After Jordan left, his words echoing in her ears like a soft reprimand wrapped in kindness, Hanna stood rooted to the spot. The hallway around her buzzed with life—students chatting, doors creaking open, laughter bouncing off the walls—but inside her, there was only silence. A war of thoughts. Regret, pride, and longing all pulling her in different directions.
She folded her arms across her chest and sighed.
"Was I really that harsh?" she muttered to herself. "Did I go too far over a guy I'm not even sure she likes?"
The thought lingered, twisting something in her chest.
"I just wanted to protect her," she whispered. "Ava's been through so much. Malcolm broke her in ways no one saw. And now Logan—someone I can't even stomach—is the one who makes her smile?"
Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. She blinked fast, as if trying to push the sting back behind her eyes.
"But… she called me jealous. After all I've done… all I've been to her."
Her hand trembled a bit as she reached into her pocket, half-hoping, half-dreading that Ava might've texted her first. But the screen was blank.
No messages. No missed calls.
She sighed deeply and sat briefly on one of the hallway benches, pressing her palm against her chest.
"I miss her," she said under her breath, almost like a confession. "I hate acting strong. I'm tired of pretending like it doesn't hurt."
There was a pause, a moment of vulnerability so raw it almost scared her.
Shooting to her feet with sudden resolve, she muttered, "Forget pride. I need to find her."
With hurried steps, Hanna rushed toward the last place Jordan had seen Ava. Her heart was beating fast—nervous, hopeful, afraid.
But when she got there, the hallway was empty.
No Ava.
She looked around, peeked into a classroom, even walked down a few steps to check the next hallway. Still nothing. A few students passed by, unfamiliar faces. Ava was gone.
She pressed her lips together tightly, disappointment weighing her down like a heavy coat.
"She already left…" Hanna whispered. Her shoulders dropped, and she leaned against the cool wall, trying to steady her breathing.
Maybe Ava had left early to avoid another confrontation. Or maybe she just needed space. Either way, Hanna felt that ache—the kind you only feel when you've hurt someone you love.
"She'll be okay," she whispered to herself, rubbing her palm over her arm like a self-soothing gesture. "We'll be okay. Sooner or later, we always find our way back."
And though her steps were slower now, filled with uncertainty, there was also a small spark of hope in her heart as she turned back—hope that when the time came, they'd talk… and heal.
With a soft sigh, Hanna turned around and began to walk slowly, her footsteps echoing in the now quieter hallway. She didn't know what she'd say when she finally saw Ava again—or if Ava would even want to talk. But for the first time since their argument, she wasn't fueled by anger or pride. Just sadness… and love.
She made her way through the school gates, her heart heavier than when she arrived. The sun was beginning to dip, casting a warm glow on the campus buildings, but she hardly noticed. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
She reached her car, paused for a moment with her hand on the door handle, and looked up at the sky.
"We'll fix this," she murmured. "We have to."
Sliding into the driver's seat, she started the engine, the hum of it grounding her back in the moment. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, took one last look at the campus behind her, and then drove off—heading home, with a heart full of hope, guilt, and the quiet prayer that tomorrow would bring healing.