Val and I didn't talk about it for the rest of the day.
Not in between classes, not when professors called on and I rattled off answers like nothing was wrong.
Not even when she slipped her hand into the crook of my arm as if to say 'see, everything's fine'.
I went through the motions—scribbling notes, nodding at classmates, staring at the board like it all mattered.
But the silence between us wasn't natural.
It wasn't the easy kind we usually had.
It was thick.
Stiff.
The kind that settled heavy in my chest until it was hard to breathe.
Even the drive back felt wrong. Usually, Val filled the car with her voice—singing off-key to whatever song ca on, teasing about my playlists, pointing at random things outside the window just to get a reaction.
This ti, she leaned her head against the glass, quiet, her reflection pale in the late afternoon light.
And ?
I gripped the wheel and tried not to notice how suffocating the silence had beco.
By the ti we reached my apartnt, the weight of it had settled so deep in that the second the door clicked shut, I couldn't hold it anymore.
"Val," I said, sharper than I ant to. "We need to talk."
She stretched her arms overhead, her sweater lifting just a fraction, voice cracking with a lazy drawl. "I'm so tired." Her tone had that husky, end-of-the-day edge that made it sound almost… intentional. "Can't it wait?"
I narrowed my eyes. "No."
That one word made her pause. She blinked, the stretch falling away as she sank onto the couch with a sigh. "Kai…" Her voice softened, pleading now. "Can we just... pretend nothing happened?"
I walked over and sat beside her, close enough that my knee brushed hers. "No, we can't."
Her gaze dropped instantly to the floor. Her shoulders slumped, not in defiance but in weariness, like she already knew she was cornered.
"I know you don't want to talk about it," I said quietly, fighting to keep my voice even. "But I'm worried. I'm worried you're keeping things to yourself that—" I broke off, exhaling hard, dragging a hand through my hair. "That are hurting you more than you let on."
She sat there, still staring down, her lips pressed together. When she finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. "I can handle it."
"You say that," I countered, "but you already—" I stopped myself, but the cafeteria scene flashed through my head anyway. The way she'd turned my words into sothing they weren't, the way she'd looked at like I'd accused her when I hadn't. "…You projected today. You thought I was talking about you when I wasn't."
Her head tilted the slightest bit, and then she whispered, "I'm sorry I did that."
I closed my eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Do you…" My voice faltered, and for the first ti I wondered if this was how she saw . "Do you think I'm not… I don't know. Enough? That you can't co to with this stuff?"
Her head jerked up, eyes widening. "What? No." She shook her head quickly, almost frantically. "Kai, no. You are. You are."
"Then why don't you tell ?" I asked, locking eyes with her.
She stared at , lips parting, but no words ca. Just silence.
And that silence said everything.
I held her gaze for as long as I could, waiting for sothing—anything. An excuse. A confession. A crack in the mask she always put on when things got too close. But nothing ca.
Finally, I let out a humorless laugh, pushing up from the couch. "Fine."
I didn't wait for her to respond. My feet carried down the short hallway, into my room. I shut the door behind —not slamming it, just… closing it, like I needed the barrier.
I leaned back against the door, staring at the ceiling. My chest felt heavy, like I'd swallowed a stone.
She kept so much locked away, tucked behind her jokes and her chaos and her smiles. And maybe she thought she was protecting . Maybe she thought she was strong enough to shoulder it all on her own. But watching her dodge and deflect, seeing her eyes drop every ti I tried to reach the truth…
It made wonder if whatever she was hiding was bigger than I thought. Big enough that even with sitting right there, she still chose silence.
And that—that scared more than anything.
---
I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows braced on my knees, staring down at the floor like it might give answers. My chest felt heavy, the kind of weight that only cos when you care too much but don't know what to do with it.
It didn't take even two minutes before there was a faint knock at my door.
"Kai," Val's voice ca, soft and uneven, almost trembling. "C… can… can I… can I co in?"
I closed my eyes, exhaling through my nose. Part of wanted to stay silent, to let her stew in her own stubbornness for shutting out. But I wasn't built for that. Not with her.
"…Yeah," I said finally, voice low.
The door creaked open, and she slipped inside like she was sneaking into enemy territory. She didn't sit—just stood there by the fra, her hands fumbling with each other, twisting her fingers as if she didn't know what else to do with them.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes darting anywhere but at .
A tired sigh escaped before I could stop it. "Maybe… maybe I'm not what you need, Val."
That got her moving. Imdiately, she crossed the room and sat down beside , her knee brushing mine. Her face was pale, but her voice was sharp with urgency.
> "Don't say that. Don't you dare."
I looked at her, at how hard she was fighting to keep her voice steady, and part of softened—but another part ached. "And yet… you still won't tell what's really going on."
Her gaze fell. For a mont, she stared down at her lap like the words were buried sowhere between her hands. Then slowly—hesitantly—she lifted her eyes to mine.
"My family," she said, her tone fragile. "It's… complicated."
I didn't interrupt. Just stayed still, listening.
She took a shaky breath, like she was steadying herself against the weight of the words she was about to let out. "My mom and dad… they're always away. Business trips, etings, conferences. They never really had ti for or Lucien. You already know that much."
I gave a small nod, urging her to continue.
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she went on. "And you also know Lucien and I… we're not exactly on good terms."
Her voice cracked at the edges, so faint most people might've missed it. I didn't.
The sting in her eyes said more than her words did. Glassy, threatening to spill, and suddenly I hated myself for even pushing her into this. But at the sa ti, I couldn't let her carry it alone.
She inhaled sharply, biting her lip before the words slipped out in a rush. "Lucien made you look bad. To them. To my parents."
My head jerked a little, confusion tightening my brows. "What?"
She nodded, the motion stiff, like it cost her effort. "He made it sound like you're… not good enough. Like you're reckless, irresponsible—like being with you is a mistake."
Her throat worked as she swallowed, her voice thinning. "He's trying to… take you away from . Not by force. But by making them see you as soone who doesn't belong in my life. And if they believe him…"
Her words trailed off, but I understood perfectly what she wasn't saying. If her parents believed Lucien, they might force her hand. They might cut out.
Her hands balled into fists in her lap. "He's not just hurting —he's using you to do it. And I hate it, Kai. I hate that he's dragging you into this, just because he knows… he knows you matter to ."
By then her eyes were shimring, tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes. She blinked hard, but one slipped free anyway, sliding down her cheek.
Every instinct in scread to tell her to stop, to not put herself through this. But I stayed quiet, because I needed to know. Because she needed to say it.
Her voice broke as she finished, "And the worst part? He might win. He might actually convince them. And I don't… I don't know what I'll do if that happens."
Her composure snapped right there. A shaky sob tore out of her before she could swallow it back, and she pressed her palms against her eyes like she could block it all out.
I didn't think. I just pulled her into .
Her shoulders shook against my chest, small, quiet tremors like she was fighting the breakdown with everything she had. My arms wrapped around her tighter, my chin resting lightly on the top of her head.
"I'm not going anywhere," I murmured firmly, my voice low but steady. "Not because of Lucien. Not because of anyone."
She clung to then, fists bunching in my shirt, like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go.
For a long while, neither of us said anything. Just the sound of her uneven breaths, the weight of her against , the thud of my own heartbeat reminding how breakable she really was beneath all that fire.
And in the quiet, a realization hit harder than I expected.
For the first ti, I saw it clearly—she wasn't untouchable. She wasn't always in control, always strong, always unbothered. She was scared. More scared than she'd ever let see. And the cruelest part? I was the reason for it.
Because I mattered enough to be used against her. Because loving made her vulnerable in a way nothing else could.
But at the sa ti… I was also the reason she was strong enough to fight back.
That contradiction twisted in my chest, sharp and bittersweet. I held her a little tighter, silently promising myself one thing: if Lucien wanted a war, then fine. He'd get one.
But I wasn't leaving her. Not now. Not ever.
---
To be continued...
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