Everything changed too fast.
One moment—
I was sitting next to him.
The next—
I was gone.
No warning.
No choice.
Just—
Moved.
That's how my life works.
When decisions are made—
I don't get asked.
I get told.
The new school was… perfect.
Clean halls.
Quiet classrooms.
Students who spoke softly.
Everything controlled.
Everything exactly the way it was supposed to be.
And I hated it.
Not because it was bad.
But because it wasn't real.
Not like before.
Not like him.
"…You'll adjust."
My mother's voice.
Calm.
Certain.
Like she believed it.
Like it was that simple.
"I don't want to adjust," I said.
A mistake.
A small one.
But still—
A mistake.
Her expression didn't change.
It never does.
"This is better for you."
Better.
That word again.
The one they always use.
To justify everything.
To control everything.
To decide everything.
"…For who?" I asked quietly.
A pause.
Not long.
But enough.
"For your future."
Not an answer.
Just another version of control.
My father didn't say much.
He never does.
But when he does—
It matters.
"You're too young to understand," he said.
That was it.
Conversation over.
Decision final.
They took my phone.
Of course they did.
Cut off everything.
Made sure there were no distractions.
No connections.
No him.
But they didn't understand something.
They couldn't.
Because people like them don't see it.
Not really.
You can take distance.
You can take access.
But you can't take memory.
And you can't take choice.
I found a way.
Of course I did.
Not because I'm reckless.
But because I needed to.
One message.
That's all I had time for.
"I'm sorry."
It wasn't enough.
It didn't explain anything.
Didn't say what I wanted to say.
But it was all I could send.
And even that—
Was a risk.
I waited.
For a reply.
For something.
Anything.
And when it came—
I read it over and over again.
Because it mattered.
More than anything else in that moment.
Because it meant—
He hadn't let go.
Not completely.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
And just like before—
Everything looked normal.
I went to class.
I answered questions.
I did what was expected.
Perfect.
Always perfect.
That's what they want.
That's what I give them.
On the surface.
But inside—
Nothing was the same.
Because for the first time—
I knew what it felt like to choose something for myself.
To want something.
To step outside what was decided for me.
And once you feel that—
You can't forget it.
I stood by the window of my new room.
Much bigger than before.
Much nicer.
Much emptier.
Looking out at a view that meant nothing to me.
And for a moment—
I saw it.
Not this place.
Not this life.
But him.
Standing there.
Looking back.
Like he always did.
"…You changed."
I whispered.
Not to him.
To myself.
Because I did.
And they didn't notice.
Or maybe—
They just didn't care.
My phone wasn't mine.
My time wasn't mine.
My choices weren't mine.
But one thing still was.
The way I felt.
And they couldn't control that.
No matter how much they tried.
"…This isn't over."
The words came out softly.
But they felt real.
Because deep down—
I knew something.
The same thing he probably did.
This wasn't the end.
It couldn't be.
Not after everything.
Not after what we chose.
And even if they moved me again—
Even if they watched every step—
Even if they tried to erase everything—
They wouldn't succeed.
Because this time—
I wasn't just following.
I was waiting.
For a chance.
And when it came—
I wouldn't hesitate.