Sam's POV
Mondays always feel heavier.
Not because of the classes or the endless chatter that fills the hallways, but because of how easy it is to pretend — to walk through another day like nothing ever happened.
I was good at pretending. At least, I thought I was.
Until Liam Fernandez decided to ruin that for me.
It's been three days since that afternoon under the banyan tree. Three days since he said things I still don't know how to process. Three days since I started hearing his voice in my head every time I tried to convince myself I was fine.
"You don't have to keep fighting alone."
Yeah, right.
But the stupid part?I wanted to believe him.
And that scared me more than anything.
The morning started like any other.Aunt Luna humming while checking her emails, Aunt Dena burning toast again, and me pretending that the knot in my stomach was just hunger.
"Sam, honey, you look pale," Aunt Dena said, her brows furrowing. "Are you sleeping properly?"
I forced a smile. "Yeah, just… school stress."
Luna looked up from her tablet, her eyes sharp behind her glasses. "Is it about that project again? Or someone in your class?"
I hesitated. The truth sat at the edge of my tongue — someone was the right word — but I just shook my head. "It's fine, really."
Luna exchanged a look with Dena, the kind that said they didn't believe me.I quickly grabbed my bag and kissed them both on the cheek before they could start another round of questions.
"I'll be late if I don't leave now!" I called, already halfway out the door.
By the time I reached school, the sky was a dull gray, clouds hanging heavy over the campus like they were waiting to break.
Inside, the hallways buzzed with the usual chaos — the clatter of lockers, sneakers squeaking, someone laughing too loudly from the other end. Zoe was waving from our classroom door, her bright smile like a flashlight in fog.
"Sam! You made it before the bell — that's a miracle!"
I managed a small laugh and slipped into my seat beside her.She leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Guess what? Siya just tried to flirt with Liam during homeroom and he—" she snorted, "—straight-up ignored her."
I blinked. "He… ignored Siya?"
"Completely. Didn't even look up. I thought she was going to explode."
I tried to hide my smile. "That's mean."
"Mean, but satisfying," Zoe whispered. "You should've seen her face. It was like watching a Wi-Fi signal die."
"Zoe!" I giggled despite myself.
"Hey, laughter looks good on you," she said softly, and for a second her usual playfulness melted into quiet care.
I looked down, brushing my pen cap against the desk. "I'm trying."
"I know." She nudged me lightly. "And you're doing better than you think."
I wanted to say thank you.But the words got lost somewhere in my chest.
Liam walked in a few minutes later.
And just like that, the air changed.
He didn't look at me, not directly — but I still felt it. That quiet awareness that existed between us now. Like gravity. Unspoken, constant, impossible to ignore.
He looked… tired. His uniform shirt was slightly untucked, his tie loose, his eyes shadowed. The kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix.
I caught myself staring, then quickly turned to my notebook.
Get a grip, Sam.
But the thought didn't stop my heartbeat from stuttering when he walked past my desk — his sleeve brushing mine for just a second.
It shouldn't have meant anything.
It did.
We didn't talk the whole morning.Not during the lecture, not between classes, not even when Zoe went out to get a marker and left the two of us alone for a few minutes.
He was scribbling something in his notebook — pen moving fast, focused — and I pretended not to care. But every now and then, I caught him glancing at me, like he wanted to say something but couldn't.
By lunch, I was halfway convinced I was imagining it.
That's when Zoe's phone buzzed, and she frowned. "Uh, guys, I need to go. The student council just texted — they need me for some registration thing."
I blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah. I'll be back before class starts!" she said, grabbing her tray and heading out.
And just like that — it was me and Liam again.
Great.
We sat in silence for almost two minutes, the sound of chatter around us loud enough to make the silence louder. I was staring at my lunch, poking it with a fork like it was a chemistry experiment.
He finally spoke first.
"You still avoiding me?"
My eyes snapped up. "I'm not avoiding you."
His lips curved faintly. "You haven't said more than five words to me all day."
"That's not avoidance. That's… selective communication."
"Selective, huh?" He leaned back slightly, watching me. "So what do I have to do to get on your 'selected' list?"
I scowled. "Stop being annoying?"
"I thought that was my charm."
"You thought wrong."
He chuckled under his breath, the sound soft but enough to make my stomach flip. I hated that I noticed it.
"Look," he said after a beat, his voice quieter. "About that day… I didn't mean to make things weird."
I frowned. "What day?"
"The banyan tree. What I said."
"Oh."The word came out smaller than I meant. "It's fine."
"It's not. I just—" he hesitated, eyes flicking toward his tray, then back at me — "I'm not great at this. Talking. Saying things the right way."
"Could've fooled me," I murmured.
"Yeah?" His tone softened. "You think I'm better at it than I am?"
"No." I glanced up, lips twitching. "I think you just like making people overthink."
He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe I do."
We didn't talk after that. But the silence wasn't cold anymore. It was quiet. Familiar.
And when the bell rang, I swear I caught him almost smiling at me — not his usual smirk, but something gentler. Something real.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.By the final period, I was half-asleep, doodling absentmindedly when Ms. Clarisse announced, "Everyone, leave your notebooks on the desk. I'll check your notes before you go."
I sighed and dropped mine on the pile, eager to get home.
It wasn't until hours later, sitting at my desk after dinner, that I noticed it.
The folded piece of paper — tucked neatly between the pages of my notebook.
My heart skipped. For a second I thought maybe Zoe left a doodle or some random quote like she sometimes did. But the handwriting wasn't hers.
It was his.
Clean, sharp letters — unmistakably Liam's.
I shouldn't have said some of the things I did. You didn't deserve to be dragged into what people say about me — or about you.I don't know how to say sorry the right way, so I'm writing it instead.You don't have to forgive me. Just know that I mean it.— L.
I stared at it for a long time, my chest tight, heart beating too fast.It wasn't the kind of note that begged for attention.It was simple. Honest. Quiet.
Like him.
Before I knew it, my fingers traced the edge of the page, as if touching the words might make them more real.
He didn't have to do that. He didn't have to care.But he did.
And maybe that was what scared me most.
The next morning, I found him sitting on the school steps, earbuds in, sketchbook open beside him. He looked up as I approached, surprise flickering across his face before he quickly masked it with a grin.
"Morning," he said.
"Hey," I replied, tucking my hair behind my ear. "You left something in my notebook."
He smirked. "Oh? You found it."
"You're lucky I did," I said, crossing my arms. "Otherwise Ms. Clarisse would've thought you were confessing something weird."
He chuckled. "That'd be one way to get attention."
"Maybe don't do that next time."
"Next time?" he repeated, eyebrow raised. "So you're saying there'll be a next time?"
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. "Don't push your luck."
"I'll take that as a maybe."
We stood there for a second — the sound of students filling the courtyard around us, the world loud and bright — but in that little moment, it felt like none of it mattered.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
He looked confused. "For what?"
"The note."
His expression softened. "You don't have to—"
"I know," I interrupted. "But I want to."
He didn't say anything, just gave a small nod. And in that silence, I realized something — maybe apologies didn't always need to be spoken out loud. Sometimes, they could fit between two people standing under a gray sky, learning to forgive without saying the word.
Liam's POV
The note wasn't planned.
It wasn't something I sat down to think about, or even something I was sure she'd ever find.I just couldn't stop replaying that day in my head — the way her eyes dimmed when people whispered, the way I'd snapped without thinking.
I hated that part of me. The one that lashed out before understanding.
Victoria — my stepmother — always said I inherited that from my father. "Quick temper, quick guilt. Just like him."She said it like an insult, but she wasn't wrong.
That morning before school, we'd argued again.Something stupid — about grades, about "setting an example."She didn't even look up when she said it: "Your father didn't raise you to be mediocre."And I'd said something I shouldn't have. Something that made her go quiet in that dangerous way she did.
The whole drive to school, her words stuck in my chest like glass.
By the time I saw Sam, I was already on edge.And she noticed. Of course she did. She always notices the things I don't want people to see.
That's why the note happened.Because she deserved an apology that didn't sound like an excuse.
When I saw her reading it in class the next day — her expression soft, fingers tracing the paper — it felt like the first time in weeks that I could actually breathe.
After school, she found me again — just like I hoped she would.
When she said "thanks," I almost laughed.Not because it was funny, but because it felt so her — soft, awkward, but honest.
I wanted to tell her that I didn't deserve her kindness.That she didn't owe me forgiveness.But she said she wanted to thank me, and I didn't have the heart to take that from her.
So I just said, "You're welcome."
And she smiled — a small, real one.The kind that makes you forget how to breathe.
Later that night, I opened my own notebook and started writing.Not for class. Not for grades.Just… writing.
Words I didn't know how to say out loud.
Some people build walls to stay safe.Others build them hoping someone will care enough to climb.She doesn't know it yet —but I think I'm already halfway up hers.
When I finished, I shut the notebook and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.The room was silent, except for the faint sound of rain against the window.
I didn't know what this was — what we were — but for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like pretending.
Maybe silence wasn't empty after all.Maybe it was just another kind of conversation — one only the right people could hear.
And somehow, I knew she did.