Amira returned to school the next week with her curls straightened, her uniform sharpened, her eyes unreadable. She had no intention of hiding. Instead, she watched — learning the rhythm of Kieran's world: the insecurities he hid behind bravado, the grades he paid people to fix, the teacher he flirted with for favours, the secrets his friends didn't know.
She smiled when he smiled at her — nervously now — as if sensing something had shifted.
Her revenge wasn't rushed. It was art.
First, she started tutoring one of his friends. Then another. They grew to respect her — even like her. And slowly, she fed small truths into their conversations. Nothing loud. Just enough to make them question him. Doubt him.
Then came the photos. Screenshots. Leaked chats. Anonymous emails to teachers. A confession written in his own words, pulled from the messages he stupidly left logged in on the library computer.
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