"You don't look at people like that unless you're ready to fight for them."
— Taylor
By Monday morning, the whole school had already chosen sides.
Rumors moved faster than the bell — faster than truth ever could.
"Did you see Wayne and Wendy?" "They're dating now, I swear." "Calvin is mad — he almost punched someone after school."
I wanted to disappear. I really did.
But the thing about rumors?
They grow legs.
And sometimes, they grow claws.
That day began with rain.
The heavy kind that soaked the school grounds and made the air smell like wet sand, old secrets, and new mistakes waiting to happen. I arrived late, uniform damp, shoes splashing softly against the concrete, clutching my books like they were the only solid thing left in my world.
I kept my head down.
Then I saw him.
Wayne.
He sat by the window, sleeves rolled up, wristwatch catching the dull light, scribbling something into his notebook with quiet focus. He looked calm — untouched by gossip, unaffected by chaos.
As if he felt me before he saw me, he looked up.
Our eyes met.
And just like that, the noise faded.
His gaze was warm, steady, grounding — the kind of look that makes the world stop pretending it's loud. The kind of look that doesn't demand anything, but somehow still asks everything.
For one dangerous second, I forgot how to breathe.
Taylor nudged me from behind. "You've been staring for five full seconds."
"I wasn't—"
"And now you're blinking like you forgot how eyes work," she said smugly. "Relax. I support romance."
I groaned and slid into my seat, forcing my attention toward the board. But it didn't help that Wayne sat two rows away, tapping his pen softly against the desk — a rhythm that matched my heartbeat too well.
Halfway through class, I felt it again.
That pull.
I glanced sideways just as he looked up.
When our eyes met, he smiled.
Not loud.
Not showy.
Just a small, secret smile meant only for me.
Something in my chest shifted.
Right then, I knew I was in trouble.
After class, I tried to escape.
Quick steps. No looking back.
But the universe — or Taylor — had other plans.
"Wendy!" she called, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the art room. "Come and see what your Romeo drew."
"My what?"
"You heard me. And yes, Wayne draws. Dangerously well."
"You mean ....Wayne draws?" I asked weakly.
"Oh, he doesn't just draw," she said dramatically. "He draws feelings. And one of those feelings looks suspiciously like you."
I stopped at the doorway.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
On the easel stood a charcoal sketch — simple, soft, devastating.
It was me.
My braids. My uniform. The slight tilt of my head when I'm thinking too much. Even the tiny scar near my brow I always forget is there.
But it was the eyes that ruined me.
They looked alive.
Like they were holding something unspoken.
Written faintly at the bottom were the words:
She doesn't know she glows when she's sad.
My chest tightened. "He… he drew this?"
Wayne looked up from the desk like he'd been caught stealing something sacred.
"Yeah. I was bored."
"Bored?" I stepped closer, heart pounding. "You drew me because you were bored?"
He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay. Maybe I lied. I was thinking too much."
"About…?"
"You."
Silence fell between us — thick and heavy, like it wanted to test my courage.
He stepped closer slowly, carefully — like I was something fragile he didn't want to scare away.
"You keep pretending you don't care," he said softly. "But your eyes, Wendy… they give you away every time."
Before I could answer, the door slammed open.
Calvin.
Rain clung to his shirt. His hair was damp. His expression sharp enough to cut skin.
"So this is what you do now?" he sneered. "You replace me with the art boy?"
Wayne moved in front of me instantly. No hesitation.
"Watch your tone."
Calvin laughed — low and ugly. "Or what? You'll sketch me out of her life?"
My heart pounded violently. "Calvin, please."
But the air had already changed.
Calvin stepped closer, chest brushing Wayne's. The tension crackled like the storm outside.
"Say one more thing," Wayne said quietly. "I dare you."
For one heartbeat, the world held still.
Then Calvin smirked and stepped back.
"This isn't over, Wendy."
He walked out.
But the storm didn't leave.
It stayed — lodged right between my ribs.
That night, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying everything. Wayne's voice. His drawing. The way he looked at me like I was worth defending — worth choosing.
I told myself not to fall.
Not again.
Not yet.
But the truth was cruel and simple.
He fell first.
And I was falling harder.