The pendant rested in her palm like a secret. A delicate pair of angel wings—small, silver, feathered with grooves so fine they shimmered when the light kissed them. Rose let her fingers drift across the ridges, slow and reverent. It tickled the edge of her thumb, and for a fleeting moment, her lips curved into a soft smile. This was the gift. For him. The boy she had loved for longer than her memory could reach. It was his birthday today—his eighteenth. Adulthood. That fragile threshold where dreams and reality barely know how to shake hands.
She had spent days thinking about what to give him. Not something expensive. Not something loud. Just something that meant something. Something from her heart. Balancing a small cake in one hand and clutching the pendant in the other, Rose walked down the hallway quietly. Laughter floated from the end of the corridor—the kind only families made. From behind the slightly open door came the gentle voices of Mr. and Mrs. Romeo. "…he's grown so fast," Mrs. Romeo said fondly. "He's made us proud," her husband replied. Rose smiled. Yes, he had. He deserved their pride, their laughter, their warmth.
But as she took another step forward, something cold cut through the air. A voice—sharp and sweet as poisoned sugar. "Oh? Is that supposed to be a cake, or did your cat throw up on a plate?" Rose's heart stumbled. That voice. That tone. She turned instinctively. Emerging from the dim corner of the hallway was Hana—perfect, polished, and smiling with lips that never knew sincerity. Her laughter chimed like glass breaking in silk. Around her trailed the usual crowd—painted faces, glossy hair, and cruel amusement gleaming in their eyes.
Rose's fingers tightened around the cake box. She tried to hide it behind her back. A small, defensive gesture—like a child shielding a fragile treasure from thieves. "Still playing house, Rose?" another girl teased. "Didn't know you baked for people who don't even see you." Laughter. Soft. Practiced. Cruel. Rose swallowed. She should have walked away. She wanted to walk away. But their voices dug claws into her chest—the same voices that had followed her for years.
Before she could take a step, a hand clamped down on her elbow. "Ah—" she gasped. A tall boy grinned down at her. One of Hana's newer followers—the kind who thought cruelty made him interesting. "Come with us," Hana said, her voice lilting, syrupy. Rose frowned. "Why? What for?" Hana's smile widened. "We just want to talk." The word dripped with mockery. The group closed in. The air felt heavy, the hallway smaller. Rose tried to take a breath, but it caught in her throat.
That was when Hana began to speak. It wasn't a conversation. It was a performance. Her voice spun lies—dark, polished lies—about a girl caught behind the school, shame and bruises, secret meetings near the garage… twisted stories that oozed between words like oil. "Stop," Rose said, shaking her head. "That's not true. You know that's not true!" Lina—Hana's red-haired shadow—smirked with false pity. "She really believes that. Adorable." Hana put a finger to her lips, pretending to think. Then she smiled. That smile.
"I bet she won't even give him that cake," Hana said lightly. "Too scared. Too pathetic." That was the moment something broke inside Rose. Her fear burned away—replaced by something sharp and fragile, glowing in her chest. She stepped forward, voice trembling but strong. "I will give it to him. Because he matters to me. And you don't get to decide that." For a second, Hana's mask cracked. Just for a second. But then she laughed, shaking her head. "Still pretending you have courage? Cute."
She made a small gesture. The boy moved. He reached for the cake. "No—please, don't!" Rose's cry echoed down the hall. She tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened, cruel fingers digging into her arm. He picked up the knife—the one meant for candles—then dragged it across the cake. A crimson line of icing tore through the frosting like an open wound. The group burst into laughter. Rose stared at the ruined cake. It wasn't just frosting they'd cut—it was everything she'd hoped meant something.
Still, she lifted her chin. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm still giving it to him." Even in rubble, the words held something unbreakable. Hana's eyes darkened. She stepped closer, smile gone. "You think love makes you brave?" she said, her tone soft and mocking. "Love just makes you pathetic." The boy shoved Rose to the floor. Her knees struck the tile with a dull sound that echoed up her spine. The pain flared, but she forced her head up. "Let me go," she demanded, voice shaking.
Hana's smile returned—thin, venomous. "Oh, sweetheart, it was never meant to be funny." From behind her back, she drew something—a small knife, silver and glinting under the light. The same knife that cut the cake. The same one now slick with red icing. She crouched down before Rose, voice almost tender. "You wanted emotion, right? Here it is." "Don't," Rose whispered. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Hana laid the flat of the blade against Rose's chest. Not a cut—just a sting. Enough to make her flinch. Rose's breath broke in little gasps.
The sting burned, but the betrayal burned worse. Still, when she spoke again, her words didn't tremble. "You can do what you want, Hana. But you won't break me. Not today." The hallway froze. Even Hana blinked. Then— Ring ring. The sharp tone of a phone slashed the silence in two. The boy's grip loosened. Lina stepped back. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. Rose fumbled for her pocket. "Hello?" "Rose?" The voice was familiar. Steady. Strong. "Brother?" Her heart stuttered.
"I—I'm near the bridge. I need—" "I'm coming." No hesitation. The call ended. And like shadows recoiling from the light, Hana and her group stepped back. "Let's go," Hana muttered. Moments later, the hallway was empty. Rose stood still until her knees gave out beneath her. The strength drained from her body, trembling filling the spaces where courage had burned. The cake lay in ruins.
The pendant—her tiny pair of angel wings—slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a soft chime. Her vision blurred. The pendant shimmered faintly in the light, a small promise shining through the wreckage. Her lips moved, barely forming words. "You'll see him soon… I promise." And then the world blurred. She crumpled, collapsing onto the cold floor. Somewhere behind her, distant footsteps echoed—a sound moving closer, faster.
It wasn't over. Because love—the kind that's real—doesn't shatter. It bends. It bruises. It endures. And as darkness crept at the edge of her sight, she knew one thing for certain— Someone who loved her was coming. Fast.