The sound of the dial tone was a physical ache in Layla's ear. Sarah had hung up before Layla could even draw breath to reply, leaving her standing in the absolute stillness of her bedroom. The rain continued to lash against the glass, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that felt entirely too loud.
Her hands were shaking so violently she almost dropped the phone onto the hardwood floor. She knows. The reality of it crashed over her in waves, suffocating and absolute. Sarah didn't just know; she was sitting across town with Liam, watching him bleed out emotionally from a wound Layla had inflicted. The single most important friendship in Layla's life had just vanished into thin air, replaced by a wall of righteous fury.
Driven by a sudden, desperate spike of adrenaline, Layla threw open her bedroom door and crept down the dimly lit hallway, her bare feet making no sound against the stairs. She needed to get out. She couldn't breathe under this roof, not with her mother sleeping peacefully just down the hall, completely unaware that her daughter's world had just imploded.
Stepping out onto the covered front porch, the damp, midnight air hit her face, crisp and biting. She pulled her sweater tighter around her chest, staring blindly into the darkness of the suburban street. But no matter where she turned her head, her gaze was magnetically pulled to the right.
To Jade's house.
The light on his second floor was still on, casting a soft, golden square onto the wet driveway below. It was an unbearable proximity. He was right there, the catalyst for the entire disaster, separated from her by nothing more than a patch of grass and a low wooden fence. For a wild, fleeting second, she felt a surge of pure anger toward him. He had pushed his way into her room; he had used her doubts against her. But as she leaned her head against the cold porch railing, the anger dissolved back into a sickening puddle of guilt. She hadn't pushed him away. She had pulled him closer.
Her phone buzzed in her hand again. Her heart leaped into her throat, a desperate hope flaring up that it might be Sarah calling back, or Liam finally typing a response.
It was a text from an unsaved number, but she recognized the rhythm of the typing instantly.
Jade: I saw you go outside. Are you okay?
Layla stared at the glowing screen, a harsh, humorless laugh escaping her lips. Am I okay? She looked over at his window, seeing the faint silhouette of his figure shifting behind the curtains.
Layla: Sarah knows. Liam told her.
There was a long pause. The typing bubbles appeared, lingered for an agonizing minute, and then vanished.
Jade: I'm coming down.
Layla: Don't. Stay there, Jade. Seriously.
She shoved the phone into her pocket, refusing to look back at his house. The last thing she needed, the absolute absolute worst thing that could happen, was for her mother or Jade's parents to catch them whispering on a driveway at midnight after everything that had happened in Thailand. The fantasy of the resort was dead. They were back in Montreal now, where actions had permanent, concrete echoes.
She retreated back into the house, locking the front door with a heavy, definitive click that felt entirely symbolic.
Climbing back up to her bedroom, she sat on the edge of the mattress, the silence of the house wrapping around her like a shroud. She opened her chat history with Liam. The single sentence she had sent earlier, Please tell me we can talk, sat there, completely abandoned, marked only by a cold, gray checkmark.
She knew him well enough to know what that silence meant. Liam wasn't a guy who played games or withheld his feelings to be cruel. If he was silent, it was because the door was shut. He had given her his trust on the terrace, completely and unreservedly, and she had handed it to Jade less than an hour later.
Layla pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in the fabric of her sweater as the first real sob broke through her throat. She was trapped in her own room, a few yards away from the guy she couldn't stop thinking about, and completely exiled from the people she actually loved. And the worst part was, tomorrow morning, she would have to go downstairs, look her mother in the eye over breakfast, and pretend that everything was perfectly fine.
When the morning sun finally broke through the gray Montreal fog, it brought no relief. Layla hadn't slept a wink. The continuous rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle, matching the hollow, exhausting ache behind her eyes. Every muscle in her body felt stiff as she finally pulled herself out of bed, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked ghostly, her eyes rimmed with red, her skin pale and drawn.
She checked her phone one last time. Still nothing. No texts from Liam, no follow-up from Sarah. Just a vacuum of absolute silence.
"Layla? Breakfast is ready, sweetie!" her mother's cheerful voice drifted up the stairs, slicing through the heavy morning quiet.
The sound made Layla's stomach violently twist. She couldn't stay up here forever; hiding would only make her mother suspicious. Forcing herself to change into a clean pair of sweatpants, she took a deep, shaky breath, actively trying to swallow the panic rising in her throat, and walked downstairs.
The kitchen was bright, smelling of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bagels, a devastatingly normal scene. Her mother was standing by the stove, turning around with a warm smile the moment Layla entered.
"There she is! My world traveler," her mom beamed, pouring a mug of coffee and sliding it across the counter. "You look like you're still running on Thailand time. Did you manage to get any sleep?"
"Not really," Layla managed to say, her voice sounding incredibly thin to her own ears. She took the mug, using the warm ceramic to stop her hands from trembling. "Just... a lot of jet lag, I think."
"I bet. It's a massive time difference," her mother said sympathetically, leaning against the counter. She closely examined Layla's face, her maternal instinct clearly picking up on the heavy energy, though she misdiagnosed the cause. "You must have packed a lot into those final days. How was the rest of the trip? Did you and Liam have a good time? I notice he didn't drop by to help you with your bags."
The mention of his name felt like a physical strike to the chest. Layla forced herself to take a sip of the scalding coffee just to buy herself a few seconds, the bitterness burning her tongue.
"Yeah, it was... it was really beautiful there," Layla lied, her heart hammering against her ribs so loudly she was certain her mother could hear it. "Liam was just really tired too, Ma. He wanted to go straight home to see Sarah and his parents."
"Well, that makes sense. I'm sure he'll be over later this week," her mother said smoothly, turning back to the stove to plate the food. "You'll have to show me all the photos you took by the beach."
"Definitely," Layla whispered, staring down into the black swirl of her coffee.
She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the cold glass of her phone. She was trapped in the ultimate nightmare: pretending everything was normal under her mother's roof, while right next door, Jade was waking up to the same reality, and across the city, the only people she truly cared about were actively erasing her from their lives.