The courtyard was suffocating. Hundreds of students crowded around the stage, whispers crackling like wildfire. The festival decorations—the bright paper lanterns, the colorful banners, the laughter that had filled the morning—had all been reduced to silence.
All eyes were on her.
Liang Meiyu stood frozen at the foot of the stage, her palms clammy, her knees weak. She could barely breathe under the weight of the stares. Her entire body screamed at her to run—to flee from the humiliation that pulsed like poison in the air.
But she couldn't. Not when Zhao Yichen stood above, daring the world to challenge her. Not when Wen Haoran's voice had just cut through, sharp and demanding, telling her to speak for herself.
Not when Lin Qian smirked from the shadows of the stage, waiting to watch her break.
Her chest rose and fell violently.
This was it. If she stayed silent now, the rumors would win. Lin Qian would win.
Meiyu's fists clenched at her sides. She forced herself up the steps, her shoes echoing against the wooden platform. The microphone Yichen had tossed onto the table still buzzed faintly, abandoned. She reached for it with trembling fingers.
The crowd leaned closer.
"Meiyu…" Yichen's voice was low, warning, protective. As if telling her she didn't need to do this.
But Haoran's gaze pierced her from the front row. His eyes were fierce, hurt, but unwavering. Tell the truth. Tell us.
Her lips parted.
At first, her voice was barely a whisper. "You all want the truth."
A murmur rippled through the courtyard.
She tightened her grip on the mic, forcing her voice to rise. "You've been whispering about me for weeks. Calling me names, spreading lies, waiting for me to slip so you could laugh." Her chest shook, but her eyes burned now, hot with something fiercer than fear.
Lin Qian's smirk widened.
Meiyu's voice cracked—but she didn't stop. "You think my smile is fake? That I use it to trick people? You're wrong. I smile because it's the only shield I've ever had. Because if I didn't, I'd fall apart."
Gasps echoed from the crowd.
Her throat burned, but the words kept spilling out. "Yes, I talk to Yichen. Yes, I laugh with Haoran. They're my classmates, my friends. Does that make me a liar? Does that mean I'm playing with their hearts? No. It means I'm a person, just like you."
A sharp murmur ran through the students—confusion, shame, doubt.
Lin Qian stepped forward, her voice slicing through. "Don't let her fool you! Look at those pictures. She's been walking with them after school, meeting them in secret—"
Meiyu's voice cut across hers, louder, sharper than she ever thought she could be. "And if I have? What does that prove? That I'm guilty of existing? Guilty of being noticed? If anyone else stood with them, you wouldn't care. But because it's me—because you think I'm weak—you've decided I must be guilty."
The courtyard hushed again.
Yichen's eyes widened. He had never seen her like this—fire blazing in her words, steel in her stance.
Haoran's breath caught, his heart hammering painfully.
Meiyu's chest rose and fell. Her hands still trembled, but her voice no longer shook. "I'm done being your rumor. I'm done letting someone else write my story. If you don't like me, fine. If you think I'm trouble, fine. But I won't apologize for smiling. I won't apologize for being me."
For a long moment, silence reigned.
Then, somewhere in the crowd, someone clapped.
It was faint, hesitant. But another joined. And another.
Soon, the courtyard filled with scattered applause—uncertain, awkward, but real.
Lin Qian's face twisted. "You idiots! She's manipulating you—"
"Or maybe you're just jealous."
The voice came from a girl in the crowd. Others murmured in agreement. The tide was shifting.
Lin Qian's eyes darted wildly, her control slipping. She had wanted to humiliate Meiyu, to crush her under the weight of whispers. Instead, Meiyu stood taller than ever, her voice echoing through the courtyard.
Yichen stepped closer, his lips twitching as if he wanted to smirk but held it back. His eyes, though—there was pride there, burning quietly.
Haoran's fists were clenched at his sides, his chest tight with conflicting emotions. Pride, yes. But also fear. Fear that she was slipping further from him, that her courage was drawing her closer to someone else.
The crowd's applause swelled, though not everyone clapped. Whispers still lingered, doubt still festered. But the balance had shifted.
Meiyu lowered the mic, her arms weak, her knees trembling. But for the first time in weeks, her chest felt lighter.
She had spoken.
She had taken back her voice.
And in the shadows of the courtyard, Lin Qian's nails dug into her palms so hard they drew blood. She wasn't finished—not by far.
---
That evening, as the festival lights flickered on, Meiyu sat beneath a tree at the edge of the school grounds. The laughter and music carried faintly from the courtyard, but she felt far away from it all.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, no anonymous message. Just a single text from Haoran:
"Can we talk?"
Her heart squeezed. She hesitated. Before she could reply, another notification appeared.
[Zhao Yichen]: Don't disappear. I'm coming to find you.
She stared at the glowing screen, her pulse quickening.
Two names. Two choices.
And no matter what she did, someone would end up hurt.
---