The evening was settling over Whitmore Academy like a velvet curtain, and the campus was growing quieter as students retreated to their dorms. The lamps along the stone paths were flickering to life one by one, casting elongated shadows that were stretching across the courtyard. Jasmine was walking slowly toward her building, her sketchbook pressed to her chest, her steps unsteady. Her mind was a storm—Lisa's trembling voice, Nathalie's firm but gentle warning, the echo of her own confusion weaving itself into knots she couldn't unravel.
The dorms were glowing softly behind thin curtains, voices murmuring behind doors, laughter drifting occasionally. But inside Jasmine's chest, everything felt muted, as though the world was holding its breath around her. She reached the entrance of her dormitory and hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle. The cool metal felt heavy, like a final boundary she wasn't ready to cross.
Lisa would be inside.
Waiting.
Hurting.
Jasmine pushed the door open.
The hallway was dimly lit, the humming of the ceiling lights filling the silence. She walked down the corridor, each step echoing faintly. She stopped in front of her room, inhaling a shallow breath before knocking softly.
"Lisa? It's me…"
Silence.
Jasmine opened the door quietly.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp. Lisa was sitting cross-legged on Jasmine's bed, her arms wrapped around a pillow, her expression distant as she stared at the window. When the door clicked shut behind Jasmine, Lisa finally turned her head slowly.
"You came," Lisa said, her voice fragile but steady enough to hide the storm beneath.
Jasmine stepped inside and set her sketchbook on the desk. "You asked me to talk. I… I'm here."
Lisa's eyes were shimmering in the low light. "I thought for a moment you wouldn't."
"I couldn't avoid you," Jasmine whispered.
Lisa gave a short, pained laugh. "You avoided me all afternoon."
Jasmine lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say."
"Then say it now." Lisa's voice trembled, not with anger but with fear—fear of losing something she had held tightly inside her heart for too long.
Jasmine nodded slowly and sat at the edge of the bed, leaving space between them that Lisa pretended not to notice. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
"I didn't run after you because Nathalie stopped me," Jasmine began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lisa choked on a breath. "You… always choose her."
"It isn't choosing," Jasmine insisted. "I'm just—confused. Torn."
"You're torn because you feel something." Lisa leaned forward slightly. "For her."
Jasmine swallowed hard. "I don't know what I feel. Everything is tangled."
"Tangled," Lisa murmured. "Is that what you call it?"
She hesitated, her fingers gripping the pillow tightly. "I'm being honest with you, Jasmine. I'm terrified. I've been terrified every day for months."
Jasmine felt her heart clench. "Lisa…"
"No, let me finish." Lisa's voice rose, shaky but determined. "I watched you. I watched the way you looked at her in class. The way you froze when she leaned close. The way your hands shook every time she praised you."
Jasmine felt her breath catch, guilt crawling under her skin.
"You think I didn't notice?" Lisa whispered. "I notice everything about you."
Jasmine closed her eyes for a moment. "I never meant to hurt you."
"But you did," Lisa said quietly. "Not because you're cruel, but because you're avoiding the truth. And it's killing me."
Jasmine's fingers curled into her knees. The weight of Lisa's confession was pressing heavily against her chest, making it hard to breathe.
"I care about you," Jasmine said softly.
"Not enough," Lisa replied, voice breaking. "Not in the way I want. And I know that. I've known for so long."
Jasmine met her gaze, and the moment felt like something fragile cracking between them—a fracture waiting to spread.
"Lisa… you matter to me. You're my friend."
"That's what hurts," Lisa whispered. "Because I want more. And I hate myself for it."
Jasmine felt tears sting her eyes. "Don't say that."
Lisa shook her head, wiping her cheek quickly. "You don't understand. Every time she touches your hand in class, every time she says your name… I feel like I'm disappearing."
Jasmine looked down at her hands. "I never wanted this."
"But it's happening," Lisa said. "You can't pretend anymore."
Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating. Jasmine could feel the tension vibrating between them, pulling them closer and pushing them apart all at once.
"Tell me one thing," Lisa said finally. Her eyes were shining, her voice trembling. "When she looks at you… does it make you feel something?"
Jasmine froze.
Images flashed in her mind—Nathalie leaning over her canvas, the scent of paint and her perfume mixing, the warmth of her gaze, the intensity of her voice saying Come back to me when you understand your heart.
Jasmine's pulse quickened.
Lisa saw it.
Her face fell.
"That's enough," Lisa whispered.
Jasmine reached for her hand automatically. "Lisa, wait—"
But Lisa pulled away.
"I don't want the truth if it breaks us," she said, voice shaking. "But I asked for honesty. And I see it now."
"Please don't walk away from me," Jasmine pleaded, her voice cracking.
Lisa stepped off the bed, her knees wobbling slightly. "I'm not walking away. I just… need space."
"Lisa…"
"It hurts too much," Lisa whispered. "Because I know she'll win."
Jasmine felt her heart drop. "It's not a competition."
"It is," Lisa said softly. "And I'm losing."
She moved toward the hallway, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorknob.
"I love you," she said quietly, her voice barely audible. "And that's my mistake."
The words shattered something in Jasmine.
"Lisa, wait, please—"
But Lisa slipped out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.
Jasmine sat in the quiet space she left behind, her breath uneven, her chest tight with a pain she didn't know how to name. The silence was overwhelming, pressing against her like a physical force.
She stood slowly, pacing the room as her thoughts spiraled.
Lisa was hurting. Nathalie was waiting. And she was caught in the middle, unable to move, unable to breathe without guilt.
She grabbed her sketchbook and flipped through the pages, her hands shaking. Every line she had drawn since the semester began seemed to echo one of them—Lisa's smile, Nathalie's gaze, the fractures between them.
A sudden knock startled her.
She opened the door.
Two girls from the literature club were standing in the hallway, whispering to each other before one of them stepped forward.
"Jasmine… we heard something weird."
Jasmine blinked. "What?"
"People are talking," the girl said. "About you. And Ms. Nathalie."
Jasmine felt her blood run cold. "What do you mean?"
The second girl lowered her voice. "Someone said they saw you leaving her studio after class. Twice. And now people are saying… things."
Jasmine's stomach twisted.
"Who's saying that?" she demanded.
"We don't know," the girl said. "But it's spreading."
The murmurs were echoing down the hall now—whispers blending into the background noise of students talking behind closed doors.
Jasmine felt her throat tighten.
Rumors.
Consequences.
Just like Nathalie warned.
"Thanks for telling me," she murmured numbly.
The girls nodded and drifted away.
Jasmine closed the door slowly, her hand pressed flat against the wood as she tried to steady her breathing. Fear rippled through her—not just for herself, but for Nathalie. Her career. Her reputation. Her work at the academy.
This wasn't just feelings anymore. It was danger.
Jasmine sank to the floor, clutching her sketchbook to her chest as the first tears finally escaped her eyes.
She was losing control of the situation. Losing Lisa. Complicating Nathalie's life. And losing her own sense of direction.
The silence of the room was heavy. It was the sound of something breaking.
And Jasmine didn't know how to put it back together.