Aryang's POV
As I walked down the corridor, I noticed Sam hunched over ahead. Shewas constantly slumped like that whenever I saw her. Really introverted, she never seemed to interact with the rest of us. Near the front, students gathered around the bulletin board, murmuring as they checked who had received the highest exam result.
For four long years, Sam had held the lead, unchallenged. "It figures," one classmate remarked lowly as we watched the board. "His father's a renowned doctor—word is both parents are brilliant. Intelligence like that? Runs in the blood. "
Sam possessed a fierce, almost unsettling intelligence. It wasn't just admiration it sparked in the halls; it was a low thrum of awe that touched everyone – men and women alike. Some watched her pass with a kind of hungry fascination, their glances lingering long after she'd turned the corner. For a few, that awe had quietly bloomed into something warmer, something perilously close to affection.
The class hours stretched long and weary, so I inevitably found my way to the library. I knew Sam would be there, anchored in his usual spot, lost within the pages of some heavy tome. I'd slide into the chair opposite her, the wooden legs scraping softly.
And every time, without fail, the moment I settled, her gaze would lift. The book would lower a fraction, her eyes meeting mine – not startled, but intense, searching. It was as if words gathered on her lips, unspoken, hovering in the quiet space between us.
Every time Sam's hand found mine, a jolt like lightning raced up my arm. My heart would hammer against my ribs, frantic and wild, and the world would tilt. A dizzying sensation followed, as if the ground dissolved beneath my feet and I soared, weightless, into an endless sky. I craved that impossible buoyancy, that silent, breathless flight only her touch could ignite. Yet, even as the feeling washed over me, a familiar resistance tightened in my chest. Admit it, a treacherous voice whispered.
But I couldn't—wouldn't—let the words form. To confess that I, too, was caught in the pull of her gravity? To be merely another sighing voice among her admirers? The thought alone made me pull my hand back, the warmth lingering like a phantom touch against my skin.
Nearly everyone who dared confess their feelings to Sam found themselves met with cold avoidance. Worse, whispers followed her now, branding her heartless. It began just 2 years ago – a stark, public humiliation she delivered to someone simply for liking her. That incident, chilling in its cruelty, became the warning I heeded.
The fear was a cold stone in my stomach: if I admitted my own tangled feelings, if the words ever escaped my lips... She would turn from me too. My presence, my stolen moments in the library, the silent electricity when her hand found mine – all would vanish into that same icy distance.
"If I were to vanish, would anyone come searching? Would anyone think of me still—especially the one I cherish most?"
"Forget you, Sam? How could I? You're etched too deep. I know you don't trust me – don't trust anyone. But why? What's that weight you carry inside? What are you so afraid of?"
"Her burden was a thing you could feel—a cold space around her. And those blank, hollow stares? Like he'd stepped out of his own life. Fear gnawed at me: What's haunting you, Sam?"
"Aryang... This ending hurts because it means you slipping away. I'd give anything to stretch these days into forever—to keep seeing you walk these halls. Please," she whispered, knuckles white, "if it's not too much... could I take you out? Just... to eat?"
Sam's invitation hit like a summer thunderclap. In four years of shared sunsets and silent library corners, no one else had ever asked. A wild, golden warmth exploded in my chest—unfamiliar and dizzying. Before thought caught up, the word tore free: "Yes!" My voice rang louder than I'd ever dared.
My "YES!" still echoed in the sudden silence. Every head in the library swiveled toward us. Sam flinched as if struck, shoulders curling inward like crumpled paper.
His gaze hit the floor—thud—a bow so deep and swift it was less apology than vanishing act.
One moment, library silence. The next: enchantment. Sam brought me where flowers shimmered like fairy lanterns, where the warm dark felt like an embrace.
And above it all, the stars stared down, ancient and bright. No words. Just the thrum of crickets, the scent of soil and petals, and Sam's small, hopeful smile in the shadows.
My fork hesitated over the meal—roasted vegetables glistening with herbs, bread still warm . This wasn't takeout. This was... care. Moonlight caught the uncertainty in Sam's eyes as I whispered, "Sam... did you make this?"
"I did." The words were barely audible over the crickets. She pleated the edge of the picnic blanket. "The maid offers, but... it feels wrong. Like wearing borrowed skin." A pause. "Cooking's the one act no one can cheapen for me. Even when I eat alone."
"Thank you, Sam," I murmured, the stars blurring overhead. I ate like I'd never tasted light before. We sat in silence, the night air weaving between us—until her arm slid around my shoulders. Not a hug, but a claim: solid, sudden, and trembling like a held breath.
Her arms were vines anchoring me to the earth—and I welcomed their claim.No protest trembled on my lips,for roots had already split my ribcage,curling inward to spell his name:Sam.My untamed, storm-scarred sapling.How could I sever what had grown wild in my marrow?A sound escaped me—raw as tide meeting shore—when her mouth worshipped that sacred curve.Her lips traced constellations upward,slow as moon-rise over dunes,until our breaths collided:salt and starlight and the silent yes of two atmospheres merging into storm.
----Fash forward---
The wind shifted—sudden, knife-edged—carrying voices.
Sam stood rigid before her mother, their words sharp as shattering glass.
"—think this ends well?" she hissed, silk scarf snapping like a war banner.
Then her gaze hooked into me, frost-lashed and deliberate:
"Are you dating my daughter ?"
The garden's warmth died. Sam stepped between us, eyes volcanic.
Sam shot me a glance, her eyes dark with unspoken warning, as if willing me to stay silent—to let her mother's question hang unanswered between us.But that day, I refused to let her mother down. With a quiet defiance, I met her expectant gaze and answered plainly, "Sam and I are going on a date."
A heavy silence fell. Sam stiffened beside me, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she bowed her head, as if bracing for the storm. Her mother's face twisted—first in disbelief, then in cold fury. Her hand twitched, and for a breathless moment, I thought she might strike me. The air between us crackled with tension, her unspoken outrage burning hotter than any slap.
Sam's voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and unyielding. "That's right," She snapped, stepping between her mother and me, her body rigid with defiance. "I won't let you hurt Aryang." Her eyes burned with a fire I'd never seen before—raw, desperate. "If you don't stop," She continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "expect me to disappear right here. Don't challenge me, Mother."
The words hung in the air, charged and final. Her mother recoiled as if struck, her fury momentarily eclipsed by shock. For the first time, she seemed to realize—this wasn't a Girl she could command anymore. This was a woman willing to walk away forever.
Sam turned to me, her eyes brimming with a quiet sorrow that made my chest ache. Without a word, She lowered herself into the car, the door closing behind her with a hollow thud that sounded too much like goodbye.
Through the tinted glass, I caught one last glimpse of her face—pale, resigned—before the engine rumbled to life. The car pulled away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, as if even the machine itself hesitated to carry her off.
I stood rooted in place, watching until the taillights dissolved into the distance, taking with them the Girl who had just chosen duty over desire. The street was empty now, the silence heavier than before. Only the ghost of her gaze remained, lingering like the echo of a name I could no longer speak aloud.
The days slipped by like shadows, each one blurring into the next as graduation loomed closer. But the classroom felt hollow without Sam. Her empty desk sat like a monument to everything left unsaid, a silent reminder of the day I'd shattered the fragile peace between us.
She never returned—not after that afternoon, not after I'd confessed the truth about us. Her absence was a wound that refused to scab over, aching every time I glanced at the door, half-expecting her to walk through it with that careless grin of her.
But the doorway remained empty, and with each passing day, the hope that he'd come back grew fainter, like a voice swallowed by the wind.
Graduation was supposed to be a beginning. But without her, it felt like an ending.
The principal's voice cut through the murmurs of our class like a blade. "KhemSam Wright will not be attending graduation," he announced, his tone clipped and final. "She is currently engaged in matters of importance."
The words struck me like a physical blow. My breath caught, the air suddenly too thick to inhale. Around me, whispers erupted like wildfire—hushed, eager, laced with curiosity and judgment. "Did you hear? She just vanished." "I always knew there was something off about them." Their voices slithered past me, sharp as broken glass.
I sat frozen, my fingers gripping the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white. Engaged in matters of importance. The vagueness of it was worse than any truth. Was this her choice? His mother's? Or had something far worse pulled her away?
The bell rang, scattering the class into the hallways, but I remained—haunted by the ghost of a girl who had disappeared without a trace, and the crushing realization that I might never know why.
The question gnawed at me, relentless. Was it because of what I said? The memory of that moment played on a loop—her mother's sharp inhale, the way Sam's shoulders had tensed as if bracing for impact. Had those few reckless words cost her everything?
A bitter taste filled my mouth. Maybe if I had lied—if I had laughed it off, called it a joke, said "We're not dating" instead—She'd still be here. Her seat wouldn't sit empty. Her name wouldn't dissolve into hushed rumors between classmates who barely knew her.
A hot tear slipped free, then another. I swiped at them angrily, but they came faster, spilling over like a dam had broken. I miss him. The ache was physical, a hollowed-out space beneath my ribs.
Somewhere beyond the school walls, Sam was out there—vanished, silenced, maybe even hurting. And I was here, choking on regrets I'd never get to undo.