Rayyan woke the next morning feeling the weight of everything on his shoulders — money running out, part-time job struggles, classes piling up, and the quiet fear that tomorrow might be worse than today.
But one thing kept him moving.
Monica's voice from last night:
"Tomorrow, we talk. I'll help you."
Those words felt like a tiny light in a world that had grown too dark.
But, the message that Lisa sent yesterday that she wanted to meet him, is haunting him from the other side.
He went through his morning classes mechanically, copying notes, nodding at lecturers, trying his best to focus — but his mind kept drifting back to the café, to Monica's serious expression, to the way she looked at him like she actually cared.
By lunchtime, Rayyan's stomach twisted with nerves.
As he walked into the campus café, he saw her immediately — sitting at their usual table, chin resting on her palm, chewing her straw absent-mindedly.
When she spotted him, her entire face softened.
"There you are," she said. "Sit."
Rayyan obeyed, trying not to look too nervous. Monica pushed food toward him.
"Eat first."
Rayyan took a slow breath. "Monica… about yesterday—"
"I'm not angry," she interrupted gently. "Just… disappointed you didn't tell me the truth sooner."
He looked down.
"I didn't want to trouble you."
Monica sighed.
"Rayyan, do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Trouble me? You walked miles to that hotel. You washed dishes until your fingers almost bled. You were so exhausted. And you think telling me is trouble?"
Rayyan swallowed hard.
"I'm used to doing things alone."
"I know," she said softly. "But you don't have to."
She took a breath, straightened up, and reached into her bag.
"I talked to my father last night."
Rayyan froze.
"You… what?"
"Relax," she said. "I didn't tell him everything. But I told him enough — that you're hardworking, smart, responsible, and struggling after losing your allowance."
Rayyan's face warmed with embarrassment.
"Monica… you shouldn't have—"
"I should," she insisted. "Because you needed help. And my dad? He knows people. A lot of people."
Rayyan stared.
"What are you trying to say?"
Monica pushed a small card across the table.
"My father's friend — Mr. Samuel Goh — needs a home tutor for his 11-year-old son. Someone patient. Someone good at Maths and Science. Someone responsible."
Rayyan blinked.
"A… tutor?"
"Yes," Monica said proudly. "You'll be perfect."
He looked down at the card.
$50 per hour.2 hours each session.3–4 days per week.Flexible timing.Transport provided.
His chest tightened.
"Monica… this… this is too much."
"It's not charity, Rayyan. It's a job. A respectable one. And you deserve it."
His eyes grew wet and he quickly looked away.
"I don't know what to say."
"Say yes."
He hesitated.
Then slowly, softly—
"…Yes."
Her smile bloomed like sunrise.
"Good. I'll pick you up at 10 a.m. tomorrow. We'll meet Mr. Samuel together."
"Monica… you don't have to send me."
"I do," she said firmly. "You're not walking long distances again. Period."
He laughed under his breath.
But before he could thank her—
A chair dragged loudly beside them.
Scrrrrch.
Someone sat down abruptly.
Rayyan's heart dropped.
Lisa.
Her face pale. Her eyes sharp. Her breathing uneven. She looked like someone who hadn't slept, someone holding too many secrets behind tired eyes.
Monica stiffened instantly.
Lisa didn't greet her.
She didn't even look at her.
Her eyes were locked on Rayyan.
"I need to talk to you," she said bluntly. "Privately."
Monica began to stand to give them space.
But Rayyan reached out and held her wrist gently.
"Stay," he said quietly.
Monica blinked, surprised — but she sat down again.
Lisa's eyes flashed.
"Oh… so now you're protecting her?"
Rayyan's voice remained steady.
"What do you want, Lisa?"
Lisa swallowed hard, her fingers trembling slightly as she spoke.
"I need money," she said quietly. "Two hundred dollars. Please. I'll pay you back next week. It's urgent."
Rayyan froze.
"Lisa… I—I don't have that kind of money."
Her expression hardened immediately.
"What do you mean you don't have money? It's the beginning of the month. Ayden's father sent your allowance already. You should have plenty."
Rayyan's heart sank as shame crept up his spine.
"No, Lisa," he said softly. "His support stopped. I'm working part time now. I'm trying to manage."
Lisa laughed — loud, sharp, bitter.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"It's the truth."
Lisa leaned forward, anger boiling.
"You're lying. Suddenly you're broke?"
Her eyes cut to Monica.
"This is because of her, right?"
Monica stiffened.
Rayyan shook his head quickly.
"No. Monica has nothing to do with this—"
"Don't lie!" Lisa snapped. "You don't want to help me because she's here. Because you want to look good in front of her. You're such a selfish person, Rayyan."
Rayyan felt the words stab into his chest.
Lisa stood up abruptly, voice rising enough for everyone in the café to hear.
"You're HERE because of MY boyfriend, Rayyan! Don't forget that! Without Ayden, you'd still be nobody!"
Rayyan's breath caught.The room fell silent.Students turned to look.
Monica clenched her fists.
Rayyan lowered his head, face burning with shame and helplessness.
Lisa scoffed, shaking her head.
"You disgust me."
And with that, she grabbed her bag, stormed off, and disappeared out the door.
Rayyan stood frozen.
Silent.
Broken.
Humiliated.
Monica watched him with pain in her eyes.
"Rayyan…" she whispered.
He didn't move.
He couldn't.
Something inside him felt shattered — a part he didn't even know existed.
Monica slowly reached out and placed a hand on his arm.
"Rayyan… look at me."
He did.
And the hurt in his eyes…was deeper than words.
"Tomorrow," Monica whispered, "we start over. New job. New life. Forget what she said."
Rayyan nodded weakly.
But inside?
He didn't know if he could.
Because sometimes…
The deepest wounds aren't the ones people see —they're the ones left behind by people who once mattered.