Friday. Last day of the tests.
And just like the others this week, it had been stupidly easy. Not because the professor went soft, not because the universe decided to cut a break—no. It was easy because Celestia Valentina Moreau decided I wasn’t allowed to fail.
She’d made sure of it, dragging through every Chapter, every question bank, every late-night revision. The results showed—my head was clearer than usual, my pen moved faster, and when I left the exam hall, I wasn’t weighed down by that usual pit of dread.
Now we were sitting in our usual cafeteria spot. Sa corner table, tucked away from most of the noise. My tray sat in front of , half-finished food cooling because I’d been more focused on her than on eating.
Celestia was being... herself. Which was already a lot. She’d stolen one of my fries, was doodling sothing on a napkin like it was a priceless piece of art, and humming under her breath a tune I didn’t recognize. Her hair spilled over one shoulder, catching the sunlight streaming through the window, and she looked perfectly at ho—as if this cafeteria was hers, as if the world was hers.
And then soone’s shadow fell over the table.
A tray lowered onto the surface, followed by a quiet voice:
} "Can I join you guys?"
I looked up.
Marina.
Celestia’s pen froze against the napkin. She blinked once, twice, then lifted her gaze slowly, deliberately, like she was making sure Marina regretted every second she stood there.
Her lips curved—not into a smile, but into sothing sharp.
"No, thank you," she said sweetly.
I winced.
But Marina didn’t leave.
Instead, she sat. Right next . Like the words "no thank you" were just... decoration.
"Excuse ," Celestia said, her voice a shade darker now.
Marina leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "We need to talk."
"I don’t wanna talk," Val shot back imdiately, folding her arms like the conversation was already over.
Marina’s jaw tightened. "Can you stop being stubborn for once?"
Celestia’s laugh was short, humorless, the kind of sound that cut sharper than words. She leaned forward too, eyes narrowing, her whole body radiating defiance.
"Can you stop loving Kai," she said, every word asured, "and just see him as a friend?"
The air snapped.
I froze, spoon halfway to my mouth.
Right there, in that single mont, I knew today was going to be a long day.
---
Marina’s eyes flicked toward . Just for a second. And I saw it—what Val had just thrown out wasn’t an exaggeration. Wasn’t one of her dramatic lines ant to sting. It was the truth.
And Marina knew it.
Her lips parted, but no words ca out. She pressed them together again, as if holding sothing back, then looked back at Val.
"Celestia..." she said quietly.
Val leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, chin tilting higher. "Don’t."
Marina’s brows pulled together. "I’m not—"
"Don’t," Val repeated, sharper this ti. "Don’t say my na like we’re still... friends."
The word landed like glass shattering.
I flinched.
Marina did too, but she kept going. "That’s exactly why I’m here. Because we are friends. Or—we were. And I don’t want to lose that. Not over sothing I never—" she stopped herself, drew in a shaky breath. "Not over this."
Val’s smile was small and sharp, like a blade. "This? You an you being in love with my boyfriend? That ’this’?"
Marina didn’t answer right away. Her fingers picked at the edge of her tray, restless, nervous. "It’s not—"
"Don’t lie," Val snapped, and her voice was brittle now, thinner. "I can tell when people lie."
Marina looked down at her food, silent. Which was answer enough.
The air between them tightened. I could practically feel Val’s chest squeeze from across the table, though her face didn’t show it. She looked steady. Calm. Untouchable. But I knew better.
Marina finally looked up again. "I never—Val, I never tried to take him from you."
"You didn’t have to," Val said flatly. "Just sitting next to him is enough."
At that, she suddenly looked at and snapped, "Switch. Co sit here husband."
Her hand tapped the empty space beside her, eyes narrowing at Marina.
The silence stretched, my pulse pounding in my ears. But I stood anyway, sliding out from the seat beside Marina and moving to sit next to Val instead. She exhaled like she’d just reclaid air that belonged to her.
Marina’s shoulders slumped. "You don’t trust at all, do you?"
Val’s eyes didn’t waver. "Not when it cos to him. No."
"That’s not fair," Marina whispered.
"Life’s not fair," Val shot back, too quickly, like the words had been waiting in her throat.
Marina’s hands clenched in her lap. "You’re not even letting explain."
"There’s nothing to explain." Val’s eyes narrowed. "You loved him. You still do. And you thought you could get close to without noticing. Guess what—I noticed."
"That’s not true." Marina’s voice cracked a little. "I beca your friend because I liked you. Because you were... you. I didn’t even know how to deal with loving him anymore until Trent—"
"Until Trent what?" Val’s tone sharpened like she was daring her to finish.
Marina pressed her lips together, swallowed hard. "...Until Trent asked out, and I realized I couldn’t say yes. Because of him."
Her eyes flicked to again, quick, guilty, then back to Val.
Val’s chair scraped faintly as she leaned forward, her smile too wide, too bright to be real. "Thanks. That makes feel so much better."
} "Val—"
"No," Val cut in, and now her voice wasn’t sharp anymore. It was low. Shaking. "Do you know what it felt like? To have my first friend telling that the whole ti she was in love with my boyfriend?" She jabbed her finger toward , eyes burning. "Do you know what that did to ?"
Marina’s lips parted, but nothing ca out.
I swallowed, my throat dry.
Val laughed once, short and bitter. "Of course you don’t. Because you don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to... to have sothing for the first ti. To finally think maybe soone actually wanted as a friend—" She cut herself off, biting her lip so hard I thought it might bleed.
Marina’s face crumpled. "That’s not fair, Val. I wanted you as my friend. I still do."
> "Then stop wanting him."
} "I can’t just flip a switch—"
"Then we’re done." Val’s voice was final, like a slamd door.
The silence after that was unbearable.
Marina’s hands trembled on the table, just slightly. "You’re pushing away for sothing I never acted on. I never touched him, never said anything, never—"
"But you thought it." Val’s voice wavered, softer now, but more dangerous because of it. "And that’s enough. Because I don’t share. Not him. Not ever."
Celestia’s eyes glistened for just a second before she blinked it away.
It hit again—how much this was costing her. She’d rather cut off the first friend she’d ever let close than risk losing even a piece of .
And as much as it twisted my chest, I couldn’t let this keep cutting her open.
I cleared my throat, carefully. "Marina."
Both of them looked at .
I kept my voice low, steady. "Maybe... this isn’t the place for this conversation. Not now. Not here."
Marina’s eyes searched mine, desperate, almost pleading.
"Please," she whispered. "Kai—"
I shook my head gently. "I think it’d be better if we talked another ti. When everyone’s... calr."
Her face fell.
She understood what I wasn’t saying.
Slowly, she stood. Her chair scraped softly against the floor. She hesitated for a mont, her eyes flicking between us, then finally landed on again.
"You’re still my best friend," she said quietly. "Even if she doesn’t believe it."
Val’s jaw tightened, her stare fixed on the table.
Marina lingered for a beat longer, like she wanted to add sothing else, but in the end, she just picked up her tray.
And then she walked away.
The silence she left behind felt heavier than the entire cafeteria buzzing around us.
I glanced at Val.
Her face was unreadable, her fork still untouched on her plate.
But her hand under the table was balled tight into a fist.
---
Val didn’t move for a long mont after Marina left. She just sat there, staring down at her tray like the food might give her the answers she couldn’t find anywhere else.
But her hand under the table stayed clenched so tightly I thought she might bruise her own palm.
I slid my hand over, gently uncurling her fingers. She didn’t resist, just let out a shaky breath, almost like she’d been holding it in since Marina sat down.
"Val..." I said softly.
Her head turned toward , eyes sharp at first, defensive, but then they softened. I saw it—just for a second—the shine of tears she wouldn’t let fall.
"I was an," she whispered, voice low so no one else could hear. "I was really an to her."
I gave her hand a squeeze. "You were hurt."
She shook her head, glossy strands falling forward. "No. I hurt her. And I know she didn’t deserve it, not all of it." She paused, her throat working as she swallowed. "But I can’t... I can’t do it, Kai. I can’t sit there and act like it’s fine when it’s not."
Her eyes t mine, wide and trembling. "I can’t share you. Not even with her. Especially not with her."
The words cracked in the middle. Val—the girl who could burn an entire room down with a single glare—looked like she was about to break.
And that made my chest squeezed so tight it hurt.
"Hey," I murmured, shifting closer. "You don’t have to."
Her lip trembled, and she tried to cover it with a tiny scoff. "I know it hurt you too. She’s your friend. She’s been your friend since forever. And I just—"
Before she could spiral, I tugged her into , wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She resisted for about half a second, then lted into my chest, her forehead pressing against my shirt.
I rested my chin lightly on her hair. "You’re allowed to feel how you feel," I said quietly. "And so is she. But none of that changes how I feel about you."
Her fingers twisted into the fabric at my side, holding on like I might disappear.
I glanced around—too many curious eyes pretending not to stare. "Co on," I whispered.
She nodded, and I helped her up. Together, we walked out of the cafeteria, my arm still wrapped around her.
The noise of the room faded behind us, replaced by the softer echo of our footsteps in the hallway. Val stayed close, almost glued to my side, like she was afraid that if she gave an inch, the world would take away.
She finally spoke again, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "I don’t want to lose people. Not her. Not anyone. But if it cos down to it... if it’s her or you..."
Her eyes were glassy now, shimring with everything she was too stubborn to let fall.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
All I could do was nod, slow and steady, because if I spoke, I wasn’t sure what would co out.
So I just pulled her into again, holding her tighter this ti.
And as I did, sothing hit —sothing I hadn’t let myself put into words until right then.
That this wasn’t easy. That it wasn’t supposed to be.
But maybe the hard parts—the ugly, ssy, painful parts—were proof that what we had was real.
And at that mont, I realized... loving Val wasn’t about choosing the smooth path. It was about holding on, even when the road cut both of us open.
---
To be continued...
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