(Kaia Verene's POV)
I don't sleep.
Not really.
I close my eyes. I lie still. I wait for morning.
But my mind—
doesn't stop.
It replays everything.
Things I don't want to remember.
Things I've already buried.
Things that should've stayed in the past.
But they don't.
They never do.
So when I walk into class the next day, I already know—
I'm not in control.
And I hate that.
I hate it more than anything.
I take my usual seat.
Back row. Window side.
Safe.
Alone.
That's how it should be.
That's how it needs to be.
I drop my bag on the desk a little harder than necessary.
Sit down.
Pull out my notebook.
Focus.
Control.
Routine.
It'll be fine.
It always is.
"Kaia."
I freeze.
Of course.
Of course it's her.
I don't look up.
Not yet.
I can't.
Because if I do—
I might—
"Good morning," Elara says, softer this time.
Not teasing.
Not playful.
Careful.
Like she's testing something.
Like she knows.
I don't like that.
I look up.
Finally.
And there she is.
Same as always.
Same calm expression.
Same steady eyes.
Except—
they're searching.
That's new.
That's dangerous.
"What do you want," I say.
Flat.
Cold.
Sharper than usual.
There's a pause.
Not long.
But enough.
"Nothing," she answers. "Just—"
"Then don't."
She blinks.
"…don't what?"
"Talk to me."
Silence.
The air shifts.
This time—
I feel it too.
I don't look away.
I can't.
Because if I do, this—
this won't work.
And I need it to work.
I need distance.
Now.
"Kaia," she says, quieter. "Did I do something—"
"Yes."
The word cuts through everything.
Even me.
She stops.
"…What."
"Everything," I say.
I stand up.
Too fast.
The chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
People glance over.
I don't care.
"You keep coming over here," I continue. "You keep talking to me like we're—what? Friends?"
Her expression doesn't change much.
But I see it.
The shift.
Small.
But there.
"I never said that," she replies.
"You didn't have to."
My chest feels tight.
Too tight.
Like something's building up and I can't—
won't—
let it out.
"So stop," I add. "Stop acting like you know me. Stop acting like you get to just—walk in here and decide I'm someone worth your time."
"I didn't decide that," she says calmly. "I just—"
"Don't."
My voice raises slightly.
I hate that.
I hate that I'm losing control.
"I don't care what you 'just' anything," I say. "Go talk to your friends. Go laugh with them. Go be—whatever it is you are."
Her brows knit slightly.
Confused.
Hurt.
I push harder.
"Because this?" I gesture between us. "This isn't happening."
"Kaia—"
"I don't like you."
The words come out fast.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
And the moment they do—
I feel it.
Something twist.
Something wrong.
But it's too late.
Silence.
Heavy.
Loud.
I force myself to keep going.
Because stopping now would mean—
feeling.
And I can't.
"I don't like talking to you," I add. "I don't like you sitting here. I don't like—any of this."
That one hurts more than the rest.
I don't know why.
Maybe because it's not entirely true.
Maybe because—
I know it's not.
Elara doesn't say anything right away.
She just looks at me.
And that—
that's worse.
Because she's not angry.
Not defensive.
Just—
quiet.
"Okay," she says finally.
Soft.
Simple.
No argument.
No pushback.
Just—
okay.
I hate that.
I hate that more than anything.
Because she's not fighting me.
She's not proving me wrong.
She's just—
accepting it.
Like she believes me.
Like she thinks I mean it.
Good.
That's what I want.
That's—
why does that feel worse?
"Okay," she repeats, stepping back.
Space.
Distance.
Finally.
"I won't bother you anymore."
There it is.
That should make things better.
That should—
"…good," I say.
My voice doesn't sound right.
But it's enough.
It has to be.
She nods once.
Small.
Controlled.
Then she turns—
and walks away.
No "watch me."
No teasing.
No smile.
Just—
gone.
Just like that.
The room feels different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Wrong.
I sit back down slowly.
My hands feel cold.
My chest—
tight.
But it's fine.
This is what I wanted.
Space.
Distance.
Control.
No attachments.
No expectations.
No one close enough to—
hurt me.
So why does it feel like I just—
lost something?
I clench my jaw.
Hard.
No.
I didn't lose anything.
There was nothing there to lose.
Nothing.
I open my notebook.
Try to focus.
The words blur slightly.
Annoying.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
Clear.
Fine.
Everything's fine.
I don't look at her.
Not once.
Not even when I hear her laugh later.
Quieter than before.
Different.
Not the same.
I don't look.
Because I don't care.
Because I meant what I said.
Because I had to.
Because—
…
Because if I didn't—
I might've let her stay.
And that—
that's the one thing I can't allow.