The phone wouldn't stop vibrating.
I watched it from the corner of my desk like a restless insect refusing to die.
Marcos.
Again.
The screen lit up for the twelfth time tonight before fading back into darkness.
Most people would call this persistence.
I call it desperation.
People like to believe their feelings mean something special. That desperation makes them different.
It doesn't.
My thumb hovered over the screen before I flipped the phone face down again.
Ten missed calls.
Six messages.
Did you reach home?
Lune, are you okay?
Why are you ignoring me?
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
Interesting.
He was unraveling faster than I expected.
But Marcos wasn't the first boy who believed his feelings mattered.
That mistake had already been made once before.
Last year.
My classmate. Raymon used to stare at me the same way.
Not like Marcos.
Marcos looks at me like he's solving a puzzle.
Raymon looked at me like I was the answer.
The classroom buzzed with the usual meaningless noise. Chairs scraping. Laughter echoing. Conversations that existed only to fill silence.
I sat near the window, lazily flipping through a notebook I wasn't reading.
And across the room–
Raymon.
Watching me again.
His gaze shifted away the moment I noticed.
Expected.
It had started months earlier. Small things at first. So subtle most people wouldn't notice.
But I notice everything.
He always chose the desk that faced mine.
He laughed a little louder when I spoke.
If someone criticized me, he was the first to defend me.
Once he even argued with a senior who joked about me during lunch.
I never asked him to.
He just did.
People around us called it sweet.
I called it curious behavior.
Because Raymon wasn't stupid.
He was one of the best students in class. Calm. Logical. Responsible.
Yet every time I looked at him–
his logic disappeared.
And irrational behavior is always worth observing.
His best friend Roan noticed it too.
Roan and I had been friends long before Raymon entered the picture. He sat behind me in most classes, constantly joking, constantly talking.
One afternoon he leaned forward in his chair and whispered,
"You know Raymon likes you, right?"
I didn't even turn around.
"Does he?"
Roan laughed quietly.
"You're really going to pretend you don't see it?"
I closed my notebook.
"I see a lot of things."
"Then you should see how nervous he gets around you," Roan said. "It's honestly painful."
I finally glanced over my shoulder.
Raymon was across the room, pretending to focus on his notes.
His pen hadn't moved in five minutes.
Interesting.
The confession happened a week later.
After school, the hallway was nearly empty.
Raymon approached me slowly.
His steps were hesitant.
His hands were shaking slightly.
His heartbeat was practically visible in his throat.
I watched him quietly.
"Hey, Lune."
His voice tried to sound casual.
It failed.
"Yes?"
He swallowed.
"I wanted to tell you something."
Of course you did.
People with feelings always do.
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously before forcing the words out.
"I really like you."
Silence stretched between us.
His breathing had quickened.
His eyes searched my face anxiously, trying to predict my reaction.
So this is what it looks like.
Waiting.
"I've liked you for a long time," he continued.
"You're different from everyone else."
Different.
He wasn't wrong.
Just not in the way he imagined.
I let the silence sit a little longer.
Then I smiled.
Not warmly.
Just enough.
"Okay."
Raymon blinked.
"Okay?"
"You said you like me," I replied calmly.
"So we'll see what happens."
Relief flooded his face instantly.
That was the moment the experiment began.
The next day Roan dropped into the seat behind me.
"So you said yes."
"I said we'll see."
Roan laughed.
"Raymon hasn't stopped smiling since yesterday."
I turned the page of my notebook.
"That sounds exhausting."
Raymon played basketball for the school team.
The first match I attended was purely out of curiosity.
The court was loud. Students shouting. Sneakers screeching against polished wood.
Raymon moved differently on the court.
Confident.
Focused.
Sharp.
When he scored the winning point, the crowd erupted.
Roan slapped him on the back.
"Man, you carried the whole game!"
Raymon just laughed.
Then his eyes found me in the crowd.
And suddenly that confidence faltered.
Interesting.
After the match he walked over, slightly breathless.
"You came?"
"Obviously," I replied lightly.
"You played well."
That single sentence was enough.
His entire face lit up.
Roan noticed immediately.
He leaned toward me and whispered,
"Wow. One compliment from you and he looks like he just won the Olympics."
I didn't reply.
I was watching Raymon instead.
Attention is a dangerous thing.
Give someone a little and they start orbiting around it.
Over the following weeks, Raymon became… devoted.
He waited for me after class.
If I ignored his messages, another one arrived an hour later.
If I cancelled plans, he apologized.
Even when it wasn't his fault.
One evening we sat outside the school gates. The air was heavy, late afternoon sunlight slicing the street into long shadows.
Raymon fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He handed it to me quietly.
I opened it. A delicate bracelet lay inside, simple but carefully chosen.
"I… thought you might like this," he said, voice low. "I noticed you wear silver, not gold. Thought this… might suit you."
I turned it over in my hand, curious despite myself. It was nice. Thoughtful. Irritating.
"You're… transparent," I murmured.
He smiled, almost nervously. "Maybe. But it's me, Lune. I notice things about you. That's all that matters."
I slid the bracelet onto my wrist. Cold metal against my skin. Interesting.
He looked at me, eyes steady. "I'd do anything for you, Lune."
Anything.
I turned toward him slowly. "Anything?"
He nodded without hesitation. "Of course."
No doubt. No pause.
Just certainty.
I studied his face for a moment.
Then I reached out and brushed a small speck of dust off his sleeve.
"You really mean that," I said softly.
His smile widened.
That was when I knew.
The moment someone says anything, the answer is already decided.
Because someone willing to do anything–
has already surrendered.
And surrendered pieces are no longer interesting to play.
A week later, it was my seventeenth birthday.
Most people celebrate birthdays.
My family chose that day to implode.
When I entered the house, the living room was already filled with raised voices.
My mother, Julia, stood in the center of the room like something inside her had already cracked open.
Across from her stood my father.
Rayan Aydin.
Calm.
Composed.
And beside him–
a woman I had never seen before.
Julia's voice trembled.
"You married her?"
The woman shifted uncomfortably.
My father didn't deny it.
"Yes."
Just that.
One word.
Like it meant nothing.
Julia let out a broken laugh.
"Today?" she asked.
"Of all days… today?"
Rayan sighed like he was tired of the conversation.
"Don't turn this into a scene."
"A scene?" Julia's voice rose sharply.
"You bring another woman into this house and expect silence?"
"Lower your voice," he said coldly.
"This isn't your house alone."
Her hands trembled violently.
"You replaced me."
The woman beside him looked down.
"Julia–"
"Don't say my name!"
A plate slipped from her hand and shattered across the floor.
Glass scattered everywhere.
No one moved.
The shouting grew louder.
Years of resentment ripping open all at once.
Then my father looked at me.
For a brief moment his eyes met mine.
And he said calmly,
"Lune… one day you'll grow tired of this woman too."
Julia froze.
Rayan continued like he was explaining something obvious.
"You'll realize exactly what I did. People change. Love fades. And when that happens…"
He shrugged.
"You move on."
Silence fell for a second.
I simply looked at him.
Expressionless.
Then I turned around and walked to my room.
I closed the door.
Outside, the shouting continued.
Voices rising.
Glass breaking.
Furniture scraping across the floor.
But inside my room–
everything sounded distant.
Muted.
All I could hear was a strange metallic ringing in my ears.
A sharp humming sound.
Like metal vibrating inside my skull.
I sat there.
Still.
Listening to that sound.
And understanding something very simple.
People destroy themselves for love.
My mother was living proof.
Crying. Begging. Breaking.
For someone who had already left.
Not tragic.
Just inefficient.
Something inside my mind settled into place that night.
Love wasn't powerful.
It was a flaw.
And flaws can always be used.
The next day, I ended things with Raymon.
After school, I found him near the same gate where he had once promised me everything.
He smiled when he saw me.
Still hopeful.
Still devoted.
"I was just about to text you," he said.
"I've been thinking–"
"I'm done," I interrupted.
The words landed like a blade.
Raymon blinked.
"…What?"
"This," I said calmly, gesturing between us.
"I'm bored."
Confusion spread across his face.
"But– we're fine. Did something happen?"
"No," I said.
"That's the problem."
He stared at me like I had just spoken another language.
"Lune… I thought you–"
"You thought wrong."
Silence pressed down between us.
His voice lowered.
"Did I do something wrong?"
There it was.
The question always appears eventually.
I tilted my head slightly.
"You loved me too much."
Raymon froze.
"What?"
"It made you predictable," I said.
"And predictable things stop being interesting."
His hands trembled.
"Lune… please don't joke about this."
"I'm not joking."
The color drained from his face.
For a moment he just stood there, trying to understand.
Trying to find the moment everything went wrong.
His breathing became uneven.
Then the first tear slipped down his cheek.
I watched it fall.
Slowly, I stepped closer.
Raymon looked up at me, confused.
I reached out and brushed the tear away with my handkerchief.
"You really did try," I said quietly.
For a brief second his shoulders relaxed.
Hope is a strange thing.
It appears even when there's nowhere left for it to go.
Then I stepped back.
"But the result is still the same."
His expression collapsed again.
The experiment had simply ended.
And Raymon–
had already surrendered.
Raymon didn't stay silent.
Of course he didn't.
Two days later, the entire class knew.
Not the real story.
Just his version.
That I had dumped him because I was "bored."
That I said loving someone too much made them useless.
By the next morning the whispers had already started.
"Did you hear what she did to Raymon?"
"She's actually heartless."
"I knew something was wrong with her."
The looks were worse than the words.
Judging. Curious. Disgusted.
A few of Raymon's friends didn't bother whispering.
"Cold bitch," one of them muttered loudly as I walked past.
Another laughed.
"Who even does that to someone?"
Normally people expect a reaction.
Anger. Tears. Defense.
I gave them none.
I simply walked to my seat and opened my notebook.
Across the room, Raymon looked like he regretted breathing.
Every time someone mentioned my name, he flinched.
At lunch he finally approached me.
Carefully.
Like I might disappear.
"Lune…" he said quietly.
I didn't look up.
"I'm sorry."
Silence.
"I didn't mean for everyone to know. I just told my friends and then – it spread. I swear I didn't want this to happen."
Still silence.
He sounded desperate now.
"You can punish me if you want. Just... don't let everyone hate you because of me."
Punish you?
Maybe.
But not for telling them.
For proving something far more interesting.
How quickly devotion turns into guilt.
And how easily people apologize for loving someone too much.