The next morning, Eira woke up later than usual.
She'd spent the night staring at the ceiling, the handkerchief still clutched in her fist like a thread she couldn't let go of. The fabric was soft, almost weightless. But the weight it left on her chest? Crippling.
Her alarm had gone off twice. She ignored both.
By the time she arrived at campus, the halls were already buzzing. Students were either in a rush or gossiping in corners. Eira, hoodie pulled up and earbuds in—music off, just for show—slipped through the noise like a ghost.
She didn't like attention.
Which was unfortunate, because today was her drama performance.
---
She stopped by her locker, exchanged her uniform for her costume: a flowing white dress that fell below her knees and a delicate faux flower crown she had crafted the night before.
It wasn't vanity. It was armor.
The class was already seated when she stepped into the room barefoot, the dress brushing against the old wooden floors. The overhead lights dimmed slightly as the instructor cued the music—a soft, melancholic piano melody that blanketed the room in stillness.
She stood in the center of the small stage.
And closed her eyes.
When Eira opened them, she wasn't herself anymore. Her voice, soft and melodic, filled the air like breath held too long.
"You came into my life when I least expected it… bringing color to my desolate world."
The room stilled.
"At first, I was scared. I pushed you away. But you stayed. And I—I began to need you."
Her tone cracked on that word. Need.
"You became a habit. A memory I wasn't ready to let go of. You made my silence louder."
The students leaned forward without realizing.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you. Couldn't stop wondering what we were, even when I knew… we were nothing."
Her hand pressed to her chest.
"But love is a paradox, isn't it?" she whispered. "We were always close. But never meant to touch."
The weight of those words sat in the air like fog.
"I'm sorry I'm a coward," she said, her voice trembling. "I wanted you, but I couldn't keep you. I was scared you'd see the mess underneath all of this."
She dropped to her knees.
Her final words—barely audible:
"I love you. Goodbye."
Silence followed.
Then, as if waking from a trance, the room erupted into applause. A standing ovation.
She didn't smile. Didn't bow. Just turned and walked off the stage like she hadn't just carved a piece of herself out for everyone to see.
---
In the back row, someone had slipped into the room midway through her monologue.
Callum.
He hadn't meant to stay. He was only passing by the theater wing. But when he caught the sound of her voice, something in him stalled.
He didn't even realize he'd sat down.
Watching her up there—transformed, vulnerable, real—did something to him he couldn't explain.
This girl…
He didn't get her.
He didn't understand why she made him feel off-balance.
But as he watched her leave the stage with that same unreadable stillness, something inside him whispered:
You're not done with her.
And for the first time, Callum didn't want to be.