CHAPTER SIX
Amelia's POV
Monday came faster than I expected. I woke up before my alarm, excitement already buzzing through me. A new week meant a new start — maybe even another chance to talk to Kamen.
I got to class unusually early. The air felt crisp, the campus still quiet except for the rustle of leaves and a few distant voices. For once, I liked the stillness. It made me feel… ready.
When the Physics teacher walked in, the spell broke. Kinematics. That single word was enough to make my confidence fade. Equations filled the board faster than I could copy them, and though I tried to keep up, it all blurred into symbols that didn't make sense.
Kamen, on the other hand, was calm as ever — focused, unbothered, pen moving with ease. He made it look effortless.
By recess, I decided I couldn't stay confused. Maybe he could help me. Maybe we could actually talk. But when I turned toward his desk, his chair was empty. He'd already left.
I told myself it didn't matter — that I'd catch him later — but when he came back, I didn't even notice. One moment he wasn't there, the next he was, quiet as always, his expression unreadable.
During the free period before lunch, I gathered my courage and went over.
"Hey," I said softly. "About the physics class… I didn't really get much of it. Could you maybe—"
He didn't even look at me. Just kept staring ahead like he hadn't heard a word.
"Kamen?" I tried again.
He finally turned his head, eyes dark and distant — then stood up and walked out of the class without saying a thing.
I froze, the words I'd rehearsed dissolving in my throat. Around me, conversations buzzed like nothing had happened. But inside, my thoughts tumbled.
Had I said something wrong? Did I annoy him? Maybe he just didn't want to talk. Still, the sting of rejection settled deep.
⸻
Kamen's POV
He hated this day. Every year, it came like a wave he couldn't stop — the memories, the guilt, the what-ifs.
He walked out of the classroom before his emotions caught up with him. The walls felt too tight, the voices too loud. He needed space. Somewhere no one would ask questions or look at him with pity.
The library was his refuge — silent, still, filled with the smell of old paper and dust. He sank into a chair in the far corner, out of sight.
Today marked another year since his father's death.
No one at school knew. Not Amelia. Not anyone. And he intended to keep it that way.
If his father hadn't gone out drinking that night, he'd still be alive. Kamen still remembered the sound of the front door slamming, the smell of alcohol on his breath, the words his mother whispered that night: "He'll be fine."
But he wasn't.
Kamen had woken up early the next morning to grab something from the car — and found his father's body instead. Cold. Still. Gone.
That image never left him. It had carved itself into his memory, a wound that never fully healed.
The family had to grow up overnight. His sisters took charge, working extra hours just to keep the house running. There were no debts to pay, but there also wasn't enough to live easily. Every bit of comfort came at a cost. Every dream required sacrifice.
And here he was, in a school he never wanted, carried on the backs of their effort and exhaustion. How could he ever explain that to someone like Amelia — someone who still believed the world was kind?
He rested his head against the library wall, closing his eyes.
He didn't mean to shun her. He just didn't have the strength to be seen today.