Chapter One: Perfect on the Outside
Ann's life looked perfect from the outside. She lived in a house so big that its living room could have swallowed an entire home. She had everything the latest clothes, the best grades, anything she ever asked for. Everything... except the one thing she needed most: her parents.
They were always busy business trips, meetings, endless calls that always seemed more important than her. Every time Ann tried to share a part of her life, she was met with the same lines:
"Not now, Ann."
"Later, sweetie. We're busy."
"Be a good girl, okay?"
One night, she stood silently at the doorway of her father's office, clutching the math trophy she had just won. Her heart pounded with hope. Maybe this time, he'd look at her. Maybe he'd be proud.
"Dad," she said softly. "I got first place…"
"That's great, Ann," he muttered without even glancing up. "We'll celebrate later."
But later never came.
At school, it wasn't much better. Tall, a little bigger than the other girls, Ann became an easy target.
"She's like a walking tree," someone once laughed loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. Another time, she caught a group of girls snickering behind their hands as she walked past.
Ann kept her head high, pretending it didn't hurt. But inside, every word was like a pebble thrown at a window already cracking.
The only place she ever felt safe was the library. There, surrounded by books and silence, she could be anyone — a warrior, a queen, an explorer. In those pages, no one laughed at her. No one ignored her. No one told her to "be a good girl."
One ordinary afternoon, everything changed. She was tucked away at her favorite corner table, nose buried deep in a novel, when she felt it — that sudden shift in the air, like the world itself had inhaled. She looked up... and her heart stumbled.
Across from her sat a boy she had never seen before. Something about him pulled at her immediately — the messy hair, the serious eyes, the way he sat like he belonged to another world. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
But he didn't even notice her. He stayed wrapped up in his book, completely unaware of the small storm he had just stirred inside her chest.
Ann quickly dropped her gaze, cheeks burning. Get a grip, Ann, she scolded herself.
The very next day, in Biology class, their teacher, Mrs. Collins, shuffled her papers and announced, "For the group project... Ann, you'll be working with Willian Rivers."
Ann blinked. Willian Rivers?
Her heart skipped again. The boy from the library.
Willian walked over, slinging his backpack onto the chair next to her.
"Hey," he said simply, his voice easy and warm.
"Hi," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
At first, working together was awkward — two shy satellites in the same orbit, afraid to collide. Ann was used to doing everything alone. And Willian was so quiet it was hard to know what he was thinking.
But slowly, things changed. He listened when she spoke. He laughed at her dumb jokes. He didn't care about the bullies or the rumors — he just saw her.
One evening, after a long study session over pizza and textbooks, Willian leaned back in his chair and asked, "Why do you always sit alone?"
Ann hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. No one had ever really asked her that before. Not really.
"I guess..." she said softly, "it's just easier."
Willian tilted his head thoughtfully.
"I get it," he said after a pause. "Sometimes people aren't worth the noise."
And just like that, a wall inside her cracked, letting the light in.
For the first time in a long time, Ann didn't feel invisible. She didn't feel too big, too loud, too anything. She just felt... seen. And sometimes, that's all it takes to change everything.
Their love blossomed slowly, sweetly — like a secret garden growing wild behind the walls she had built. With Willian, Ann learned to laugh without flinching. She learned to dream again.
Willian saw her as his forever. In quiet moments, when she wasn't looking, he would study her with a kind of fierce tenderness, memorizing every detail like he was afraid she might slip away.
And in his heart, a plan was forming — a plan to propose to her.
He even bought a ring, simple and beautiful, just like her. He kept it tucked away in the top drawer of his desk, waiting for the right time to ask her to be his always.
But life, as it often does, had other plans.
After graduation, the happiness Ann had found began to crumble.
It started quietly — a lingering cough, a strange ache that wouldn't go away. Then came the hospital visits, the tests, the long, heavy conversations with doctors who spoke in words that felt too big, too cruel.
Ann was diagnosed with cancer.
She didn't tell Willian right away. How could she? He was so full of dreams and plans, so sure the future was bright. She couldn't bear the thought of tying him to her sinking ship.
Lost and in pain, she made the hardest decision of her life: she decided to push Willian away.
She sat alone for hours, rehearsing the words, feeling the weight of every syllable.
When Willian came over that evening, full of excitement about a new job offer, she barely managed to hold herself together.
"Ann," he said, eyes shining. "We can finally start our life together, just like we planned."
She forced a smile. "Willian... we can't."
The joy drained from his face.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm... in love with someone else," she said, each word cutting into her own heart.
He stared at her, stunned, as if she had slapped him.
"You're lying," he whispered.
"I'm not," she said, her voice shaking. "It's over, Willian."
He took a step back, confusion and hurt battling on his face.
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's better this way," she choked out. "Please... just go."
Willian left — but deep down, Ann knew he would come back. He loved her too much to just let her go.
So she made sure he wouldn't find hope.
The next day, she carefully changed the photo frame on her nightstand — the one that once held a picture of them laughing at the beach. She replaced it with a photo of herself and another man, arms wrapped casually around each other. It was a lie, but it would be enough.
When Willian came by later to return a book she had left in his car, he saw it. He froze, staring at the frame.
"You didn't waste any time, did you?" he said bitterly.
Ann turned her face away, blinking back tears. "It's better this way," she whispered.
Without another word, he dropped the book on the table and walked out of her life.
Willian didn't just lose Ann that night — he lost himself.
Friends said they saw him in bars, sitting alone, nursing cheap drinks and empty stares. He spent his nights wandering the streets, clutching onto memories that refused to let him go.
And Ann...
She spent her nights crying into her pillow, wishing she could tell him the truth.
Wishing she had more time.
Wishing love had been enough to save them both.
But some stories aren't fairytales.
And some endings are written in heartbreak, no matter how hard you try to rewrite them.
[To be continued...]