Lincoln Prep looked polished.
White stone walls, glass halls, a student lounge that looked like a coffee shop in Manhattan. On the outside, it seemed like Elena had been traded up—from crowded lunchrooms and whispered judgment to sleek corridors and academic ambition.
But the truth?
She'd never felt more trapped.
Everyone at Lincoln had heard. Whispers traveled faster than logic. Elena didn't even have to introduce herself anymore—her reputation preceded her like a scarlet flag.
> "That's her, right?"
"The stepsibling girl."
"Isn't that like... illegal?"
And worst of all...
> "Bet she regrets it now."
They didn't know that she didn't.
They didn't know that regret was the one thing she refused to carry.
But every hallway, every class, every lunch break—it was like being watched through glass, never quite human, never quite forgiven.
Back at Midtown High, Simon wasn't doing any better.
The air in the locker room turned colder the moment he walked in. Jokes that used to be friendly were now edged. Some guys wouldn't even meet his eyes anymore.
Coach had one conversation with him, quiet and pointed.
> "Keep your head down, Donovan. You want to try out for varsity, you'll need a clean image."
Simon wanted to scream.
What even was a "clean image"?
He hadn't hurt anyone. He hadn't committed a crime.
He'd just loved someone who made the world feel like it finally made sense—and the world punished him for it.
Their texts became lifelines.
Short bursts during classes.
> Elena: "Tried sitting with new people today. One of them asked if I slept in your bed."
> Simon: "Tell them you sleep in my bones."
> Elena: "God, you're such a poet when you're pissed."
> Simon: "Only when it's you."
And then longer messages at night.
Sometimes with music. Sometimes just words. Sometimes no words at all—just pictures of skies, quiet subway stations, the shoes she wore that day, the crumpled love note he still kept in his drawer.
These were their stolen pieces of peace.
But peace doesn't last long in a war.
On a cold Wednesday morning, it finally happened.
Simon was pulled from class and asked to report to the guidance office. His mother was waiting, along with the principal and a district rep. The air in the room was heavy.
His mom's face was pale. She held a folded paper in her lap.
The principal began.
"Mr. Donovan, this is regarding an anonymous tip submitted to the district board. Someone has shared screenshots of conversations—very intimate ones—between you and Ms. Elena Reyes."
Simon blinked.
Then swallowed.
"They were doctored," he said, voice low. "People have been faking things since the rumors started."
"We're aware of the harassment you've endured," the district rep said calmly. "But some of these messages appear authentic. Including personal photos."
Simon froze.
They had the photo.
The one Elena sent him the night she cried herself to sleep, makeup smudged, eyes swollen, lips parted.
It wasn't explicit. But it was raw. Real. Too intimate to explain.
The rep looked grave.
"We're recommending a formal inquiry into whether this relationship has affected the school environment for other students. You may face disciplinary action."
Simon looked at his mother.
She wouldn't meet his eyes.
His stomach twisted.
> They weren't just trying to silence him anymore.
They were trying to erase him.
Later that night, Elena called in tears.
"They called me into the Lincoln Prep office. Told me someone sent them screenshots too. They asked if I'd been coerced."
Simon was pacing his room.
"They're turning us into predators. Just for loving each other."
"I'm scared," she whispered. "Not of being expelled. Just... of being erased."
"You're not going anywhere."
"I don't know if we can win this."
Simon stopped walking.
"We're not playing to win anymore," he said. "We're playing to survive."
On Friday, Simon made a choice.
He walked into the principal's office with a sealed envelope.
Inside was a printed letter—his words. Honest. Vulnerable. Dangerous.
> "We didn't fall in love to shock anyone.
We fell in love because the world finally made sense when we were in it together.
We didn't expect anyone to understand.
But we also never asked for your permission.
Because some love isn't clean or easy.
But it's still love."
He didn't stay for the reaction.
He left the envelope, and walked out.
The fire had started.
He was done being quiet.
That night, Elena posted something on her private blog.
It was titled:
"I Loved Him. And I Still Do."
Within hours, screenshots were everywhere.