$
$
#
ARK'S POV
#
$
$
Morning light crept into my room like it was trying too hard, all golden streaks and false warmth, and I wished I could roll over and bury my face in the pillow until it disappeared. But my body wouldn't let me. My chest already felt heavy, like something had pressed itself there in the night and refused to move.
It had been few days.
Days of Jade ignoring me.
Days of silence sharper than any insult he'd ever thrown at me.
I dragged myself up anyway, pulling the scarf tighter around my face, wrapping it until it was a shield, even though it couldn't hide the redness I knew lingered around my eyes. I blamed the lack of sleep. The ache in my throat. Not the truth. Not him.
I moved through the motions- teeth brushed, shoes tied, books shoved into my bag- but every small thing felt heavier than it should have. Like walking was harder. Like breathing cost too much.
And yet, as I stepped out into the morning air, my chest carried something else too: the sick anticipation of seeing him.
I hated it.
I hated that no matter how many times I told myself it didn't matter, my steps still slowed when I neared the school gates, my eyes still searched through the crowd. Hoping. Fearing. Both at once.
He was there.
He always was.
Leaning against the gates with his friends, head tilted slightly back like the whole world was his playground, that lazy grin curving his lips. My stomach knotted before my eyes even reached him fully.
And then I froze.
Because she was there too. A girl I didn't recognize.
She was close- too close. His arm rested casually against the wall above her head, his body leaning just enough into her space to make her blush, giggle, and tilt her face up toward him. He bent his head lower, whispering something into her ear. She squealed, hand covering her mouth like he'd just said the kind of secret that set her whole world on fire.
My chest caved.
I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The scene blurred at the edges, but the sharpness of it- his posture, his smirk, her flushed cheeks- stamped itself into my memory.
He hadn't even looked at me.
I adjusted my scarf, head low, and walked faster. If I hadn't, the tears threatening to burn their way out would have betrayed me before the day even started.
And worse of all is that he is sitting right next to me. Minutes passed and I thought I was safe.
Classes didn't save me.
He came in late, sliding into his chair with the same careless ease that made half the room watch him like he was the main character of their story. His phone was in his hand, his posture slouched, and his eyes didn't once flicker in my direction.
I told myself I wouldn't glance at him. That I'd focus on my notes, on the curve of letters across the page, on the scrape of pen against paper.
But I looked.
Every time.
And every time I did, I saw the same thing: indifference.
When another girl leaned across his side to ask about the assignment, he leaned in closer than necessary, murmured something low enough that she laughed nervously, cheeks blooming pink. His lips curled in that smug smile, and she walked away hugging her notebook like he'd just gifted her something priceless.
It hurt.
God, it hurt in a way that made my hands tremble against the desk. The ache in my chest was constant now, heavy and sharp, like someone had wedged glass between my ribs and twisted it every time he smiled at someone else.
And still- I didn't cry.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, kept my eyes fixed on the lines in front of me, forced myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Don't cry. Not here. Not now.
By lunch, the silence had become unbearable.
I carried myself into the cafeteria, each step heavier than the last. I don't know what I wanted there, but I got there. The air was thick with chatter, laughter, the clang of plates and the squeak of sneakers against tile. I thought maybe- just maybe- I could hide at my usual table, bury myself in the corner. I sat down and was about to crouch my head down when:
My eyes got the sight of him.
The universe seemed crueler than that.
He was there again.
Not alone. Never alone.
This time, two girls sat beside him. One leaned against his shoulder, whispering something into his ear, while the other laughed too loudly at something he'd just said. His grin widened, eyes half-lidded, that smug tilt of his head making it look effortless.
And then- God help me- he looked at one of them the way he used to look at me.
Close. Focused. Like she was the only person in the room worth paying attention to.
Thepen that was in my hand seem like the girls neck. Strangling them now would teach them a lesson to not flirt with any boy they see. After realisation I let go of the pen. Why was I angry. We are not dating. Why am I feeling this way. My fingers ached, staring at the wood grain like if I memorized every line, I could ignore the hollow tearing open inside me.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.
But my vision blurred anyway. I blinked hard, forcing the water back, biting down so hard on the inside of my cheek I thought I'd draw blood again.
It didn't matter. He wasn't looking. He wouldn't notice.
And that hurt more than anything.
The afternoon stretched on like punishment.
Every corner I turned, I found him.
By the vending machines, leaning close to a girl, his hand braced above her head, lips tilted into a half-smile that made her knees practically buckle.
In the hallway, another girl pressed against his side, laughing too hard at something he whispered.
By the lockers, his fingers brushed across someone else's wrist, light, fleeting, intentional.
It was endless.
Every scene was a blade. Every glance burned. My chest felt too small, my throat too tight, and still I forced myself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
I told myself it didn't matter. That he was just being Jade. That this was who he was before me and who he'd always be.
But deep down, I knew.
This wasn't random.
It was deliberate.
Every smile, every whisper, every laugh he pulled from someone else- it wasn't just about them. It was about me.
He was showing me what it looked like when his attention belonged everywhere else but me.
And I hated how much it worked.
By the time the last bell rang, I felt hollow.
I packed my books slowly, deliberately, because if I moved too fast, the weight in my chest might spill over into something I couldn't hide. Students filed out around me, laughter and footsteps echoing down the hall.
I stayed behind, hoping he'd be gone by the time I reached the gates.
But of course, he wasn't.
He stood near the entrance, surrounded again. Some girl was beside him this time, another one, laughing with her head tipped back, her fingers brushing his arm like it belonged to her. He smirked down at her, tilted his head lower, and whispered something I couldn't hear.
She squealed.
The sound cut straight through me.
I turned away quickly, scarf tugged higher, and pushed past the crowd. My steps were fast, almost frantic, but not fast enough to outrun the ache tightening my throat.
Not fast enough to keep the tears from stinging again.
I didn't let them fall.
Not until I was home.
Not until my bedroom door was closed and locked, my bag tossed aside, and the silence of four walls wrapped around me.
Only then did I collapse onto my bed, scarf still wrapped around my face, and let the tears finally spill hot and unrelenting, soaking into the fabric I'd thought could protect me from everything.
But not this.
Never this.
Because the truth I'd been fighting all day pressed down on me until it broke something inside:
I didn't miss his smirk. I didn't miss his whispers.
I missed the way he made me feel like I wasn't invisible.
And now, with his silence sharper than ever, I realized-
I'd never felt more invisible in my life.