Maya didn't scream.
Didn't cry.
Didn't confront me directly.
She smiled.
That was the worst part.
She started sitting closer to Alex again—too close. Laughing louder. Touching his arm just a second too long. And when people looked, she made sure they looked at me too.
Like she wanted me to remember my place.
One afternoon, she cornered me near the stairs.
"You know," she said sweetly, "Alex gets bored easily. He likes… excitement."
Her eyes flicked over me—quiet, plain, soft.
"I hope you don't get hurt."
She walked away before I could answer.
That night, doubt crawled into my chest and refused to leave.