The room was dark and cold.
Caroline lay curled beneath the sheets, her body heavy in a way sleep could never explain. Hunger had long abandoned her. So had conversation. Her phone vibrated somewhere near the pillow—missed calls from friends, from family. She didn't reach for it.
The one call she was waiting for never came.
Part of her felt relieved. The rest of her felt hollow.
She wasn't ready to face what had happened. Or worse—what would follow if she did.
Time lost meaning. Minutes stretched thin, then snapped. When she finally pulled the sheet down from her face, her eyes landed on the wall opposite her bed. A soft yellow glow spilled across the room.
The decorative lights were on.
Her friend must have turned them on earlier—quietly, carefully—before leaving. They were threaded with photographs clipped along the wire. Smiling faces. Frozen moments. Proof that once, life had been loud and warm and uncomplicated.
Caroline had carried those lights with her since high school. Every dorm. Every temporary room. A portable reminder that happiness had once been effortless.
Her throat tightened.
Most of those memories included him.
He was there in the photos she avoided the most—laughing, leaning into the frame, arm thrown casually around her shoulders like it belonged there. He had been present through her joy, her grief, her awkward phases and quiet victories. Every version of her had known him.
She turned her face away.
It didn't help.
One image was enough to drag the rest behind it.
She closed her eyes.
A thousand good days, all poisoned by the shadow of one single incident.
Days passed like this. Crying until her chest ached. Staring at the ceiling until it blurred. Forcing memories down only for them to surface sharper, crueler. Silence wrapped around her like a second skin, until it grew heavier than the pain itself.
Eventually, she understood something had to break.
Finally, Caroline decided it was time.
She wiped her face, the salt of dried tears burning her skin. In the washroom, she splashed cold water over swollen eyes, tied her hair into a neat bun, and applied a thin layer of lip balm. A fragile mask of normalcy—nothing more.
She pulled on a coat, slipped into her favorite shoes, grabbed her phone, and stepped out of the dorm.
The campus was quieter than usual. Evening classes had ended, and students drifted in small clusters, laughter echoing faintly against concrete walls. Caroline walked past them without slowing.
Standing outside his dorm building, she dialed his number.
No answer.
Her jaw tightened.
She typed carefully, deliberately.
I'm in front of your building. Come out in five minutes or I'm coming in to drag you out myself.
She sent it. Then, after a brief pause:
The countdown starts now.
She set a five-minute timer and leaned against the wall opposite the elevator. Her hands disappeared into her coat pockets, fingers curled tight. Her gaze stayed fixed on the closed doors.
A few students lingered near the entrance. They recognized her—her face was familiar—but something in her expression stopped them from approaching. It wasn't anger. It wasn't sadness.
It was focus.
No one spoke.
"Me gustas tú… Me gustas tú…"
The ringtone cut through the stillness, bright and painfully out of place.
As the timer hit zero, Caroline pushed off the wall and took a step toward the elevator.
Her phone vibrated.
Wait. I'm coming down.
She exhaled slowly, the breath trembling on its way out, and stepped back.
Five minutes later, heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from the stairwell.
She knew that rhythm instantly.
When the sound stopped, she lifted her head.
Marcus stood there, bent forward, hands braced on his knees, breathing hard. Relief flickered across his face when he saw her—brief and unguarded—before concern took its place.
Her shoes entered his line of sight as she stepped closer. They studied each other in silence, as if measuring the damage time had done.
"You look awful," he said finally, his voice hoarse.
He glanced at the students hovering nearby. "Look at them. They're scared to even breathe."
"Are you scared of me?" Caroline asked. Her voice was flat.
The students shook their heads quickly and rushed into the elevator.
Caroline didn't look back.
"You look ridiculous," she said, taking in his disheveled clothes. "Let's get out of here."
She reached for his arm without thinking—muscle memory overriding caution. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.
Marcus hesitated.
Then he gently pulled free, took her hand instead, and led her away.
Their usual place was tucked inside a building meant for seniors. Most final-year students had moved off campus, leaving entire floors abandoned. On the eighth floor, a forgotten storage room had become theirs.
They had cleared it out together—laughing, coughing through dust, arguing over nothing. Now it held a single bed, a small desk, shelves cluttered with old tools. A cot sat beneath the window, overlooking the campus below—chaotic by day, impossibly still at night.
Marcus reached the door and stopped. "I forgot the key."
Caroline pulled a spare from her pocket and unlocked it herself.
The light flicked on.
They stood there, hands still linked, taking in the room like strangers. Familiar, yet suddenly fragile.
Her eyes landed on a photo frame resting on the desk. The two of them, laughing, exhausted, proud—the day they claimed the space as their own.
Marcus was staring at it too.
The joy of that memory collided with another—violent and unwelcome. The worst day pressed in from all sides.
Caroline's fingers tightened around the frame. Marcus's hands curled into fists.
The room felt smaller.
Words crowded her chest, each one heavier than the last.
It was time.
She set the frame down carefully and turned to him. Taking both his hands in hers, she held on tighter than necessary. Their grips bruised—nails digging crescents into skin—pain, guilt, and fear exchanged without sound.
They had known each other since childhood. A glance was enough. A breath. A tremor.
After a long, fragile moment, they nodded—together.
Marcus was not a man of few words, and right now, his silence was breaking her heart.
Caroline spoke first, her voice soft, carrying a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Marcus," she whispered.
"You're precious to me. And I know I matter to you too. But—for both of us—I need to hear it."
She swallowed, steadying herself.
"Marko… do you love me?"