Jay-Jay's POV
The rest of the day dragged like wet cement. Mica stayed glued to my side through classes, her arm looped through mine like a lifeline, but even her chatter couldn't fill the hollow ache in my chest. Every buzz of my phone made me jump — hoping for Keifer, dreading silence.
Nothing.
"Need anything?" Rakki texted from her lecture.
"Ice cream after?" Freya added.
"We got you," Grace chimed in.
I typed back quick "Thanks. Later" but didn't tell them everything. Not yet. The girls deserved the full story together, not fragments.
Back at the flat, Rakki took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug. "Spill. Now."
Mica filled them in while I curled on the couch, knees to chest. Freya's eyes flashed. Grace hugged a pillow tight. Rakki paced. "He needs space? Fine. But you don't get left alone."
"We're doing girls' night," Freya declared. "Pizza. Bad movies. No boys allowed."
Pizza came. Movies played — rom-coms where everything magically worked out. Laughter bubbled, forced at first, then real. But every glance at my phone stabbed.
7 PM. Nothing.
9 PM. Still nothing.
11 PM. Door stayed shut.
"Text him?" Grace asked softly.
Tried three times. No reply.
Rakki's jaw set. "His loss."
But it wasn't just his.
Sleep came fitful, dreams tangled with library shadows and Keifer's pained eyes. I woke to rain tapping the window, phone dark.
8:47 AM.
A knock.
I bolted up, heart slamming. Rakki cracked the door, peering out. "It's him."
"Tell him to come in," I said, voice steadier than I felt.
Keifer stepped inside, hair messy like he hadn't slept, bracelet loose on his wrist. Eyes tired, but clear. No anger. Just… regret.
The girls slipped out quietly, giving us space. Door clicked shut.
"Hey," he said, voice rough.
"Hey."
He stood there awkward, hands in pockets. "I'm sorry."
"For?"
"Not talking. Walking away. Leaving you wondering." He ran a hand through his hair. "I needed to cool off. Process. But I should've said that better. Texted. Anything."
Hurt twisted sharp. "Felt like you didn't want me."
His face crumpled. "Never." He crossed the room in two steps, dropping to his knees in front of the couch, hands gentle on my legs. "I was mad at him. Scared for you. Never at you."
Tears slipped free. "Then why the silence?"
"Stupid pride," he admitted. "Didn't want to explode. Say something dumb. But it hurt you worse."
"Yeah." I cupped his face, thumbs tracing jaw. "It did."
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, leaning into my touch. "Won't happen again. Promise."
I searched his eyes — raw, honest. "Talk to me next time. Even angry."
"Always."
He rose slow, pulling me up into his arms. Tight. Safe. Forehead to forehead.
"Love you," he breathed. "Fierce queen."
"Love you too," I whispered. "Even when you're stupid."
A broken laugh escaped him. Kiss followed — soft, apology poured into every second.
Outside, rain fell.
Inside, trust rebuilt.
Stronger.