Lunch came slower than usual.
The sun that day wasn't just hot—it was vindictive, pressing down on the cracked courtyard tiles like it had a personal grudge against every living thing beneath it. The air shimmered above the metal railings, and even the birds seemed too tired to sing. Liana sat beneath the old mango tree where she always did, but the shade felt thinner now, the breeze less generous. Her laughter, once bright and contagious, came out quieter—half-hearted, like a song she no longer knew the words to.
Diana and Amira sat across from her, sharing a packet of plantain chips, their voices animated as they scrolled through TikTok trends and gossiped about which teacher was secretly dating another.
But Liana's mind was far away—half in the clouds, half behind the science block.
Her gaze, uninvited yet relentless, drifted there again.
That's where he was—where Derek leaned lazily against the wall, surrounded by his friends, tossing a basketball from one hand to another. He laughed at something one of them said, and that sound—carefree, deep, unbothered—hit her like static. She told herself not to look, but her eyes never listened.
She looked anyway.
And then, somehow, as though pulled by invisible strings, he looked back.
For a second, time stilled.
The chatter around her dimmed, the mango leaves swayed in slow motion, and all she could hear was her own pulse rushing in her ears. His gaze caught hers, held it—and though she looked away first, pretending to adjust her bag or check her phone, the echo of that half-smile stayed.
She hated that she noticed how his shirt fit him better now, or how his hair had grown just enough to curl at the edges. She hated that it didn't sting anymore to see him smile—that it confused her instead.
Trevor's absence that morning only made it worse.
His usual seat at the front row—empty. His text messages—silent. His warmth—missing.
He'd been distant lately. Not cold, but quiet. A quiet that made her feel like she was slowly fading out of his world.
Maybe he's busy, she told herself. Maybe he's just tired.
But even lies, when repeated long enough, begin to lose their comfort.
"Are you even listening?" Diana's voice cut through her thoughts like a bell.
Liana blinked. "Huh?"
Diana rolled her eyes. "You've been staring into space for the last five minutes."
Amira leaned closer, smirking. "Don't tell me you're daydreaming about Derek again."
Liana's face heated. "What? No! I was just—thinking."
Diana exchanged a look with Amira that screamed we don't believe you. Then, lowering her voice dramatically, she said, "Well, since you're not thinking about him, you might want to know he's been thinking about you."
Liana frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"People are saying Derek asked Mr. Lewis if he could perform at Talent Week—with you."
Liana froze, her heart stumbling. "What?"
Amira's jaw dropped. "Wait, for real?"
"That's what I heard," Diana whispered. "He told the music teacher he wanted to do a duet."
Liana's laugh came out nervous and thin. "That has to be a joke."
But it wasn't.
Because just a few minutes later, as if summoned by her denial, Derek appeared across the courtyard. He walked toward them with that same careless confidence, his hoodie unzipped, his hands buried in his pockets. His friends trailed behind, whispering like they were watching a scene unfold in a drama they'd already predicted the ending of.
The entire courtyard seemed to go silent. Even the wind held its breath.
"Hey, Liana," Derek said when he stopped in front of her.
She looked up. "Hi," she managed, careful not to sound too friendly, too open.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking oddly unsure. "So, I, uh… talked to Mr. Lewis. About performing together."
Liana blinked slowly, trying to process. "You actually did?"
He nodded once. "Yeah. I figured we could do something like that 'Glass Hearts' song. You play. I sing. It'll be cool."
Her friends' heads turned so fast they almost collided. They didn't even bother hiding their wide eyes or sly smiles. Liana, on the other hand, felt her stomach twist. Glass Hearts. That song was supposed to stay buried with all the feelings she'd written into it.
"Um…" she stammered. "I don't know, Derek."
"Come on," he said softly. "It's just one performance. You can't still be mad about—"
"I'm not mad," she interrupted too quickly. "I just don't think it's a good idea."
He tilted his head, studying her. "Okay, maybe not. But you wrote that song for me. Maybe it's time we make it mean something else."
Her chest tightened. Her throat felt full. She wanted to tell him he was wrong—that the song didn't mean anything anymore—but her silence betrayed her.
Before she could respond, the bell rang, loud and merciful. Students scrambled toward their classes, laughter and noise filling the air again. Derek gave her a small nod, half-smile still in place, and walked away.
Her heart, traitorous thing, followed his retreating figure.
Later that day, the music room smelled faintly of wood polish and dust. The piano gleamed under the window light, and Mr. Lewis sat at his desk humming some old jazz tune when Liana entered.
"Ah, Miss Liana," he said with a knowing grin. "Perfect timing. Derek already signed your names down for the duet list. You two are performing next Friday."
"What?" she gasped. "But I didn't—"
"You'll thank me later," he interrupted, chuckling. "You two have real chemistry on stage."
She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught somewhere between indignation and confusion. Chemistry? Was he talking about music—or something else entirely?
When she left the room, her mind was spinning. She didn't even see him until she collided with his chest outside the door.
Trevor.
His expression wasn't warm. It wasn't even neutral. His jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed.
"You and Derek?" he asked, his voice flat but sharp.
She swallowed. "It's not what you think."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because I think it's exactly what it looks like."
"Trevor—"
He cut her off, his voice quieter now, but it hurt more that way. "You write a song about him. You defend him. Now you're performing with him. What else am I supposed to think?"
Liana's heart sank. "I didn't ask for this. He—he just showed up. You weren't even in school today."
"I had to help my dad," he said curtly. "But I checked my phone, and everyone's talking about you two like it's some new thing."
She took a shaky breath. "Do you trust me or not?"
The silence between them stretched like a crack widening in the floor. His hesitation told her everything before his words did.
"I don't know anymore," he whispered.
And then he walked away. No raised voice. No dramatic exit. Just quiet footsteps echoing against her breaking heart.
That night, Liana sat at her desk, her homework untouched. The Bible lay open beside her, pages fluttering gently under the fan. It had fallen to Romans again—Romans 7. Her eyes followed the words but didn't truly read them.
"For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing."
Her vision blurred. She whispered to the empty room, "The good I want to do… I don't do."
Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed her hand over her eyes, her chest trembling. "God, am I failing You again?"
The room didn't answer. But the silence wasn't empty—it was heavy, like Someone was listening.
Her phone buzzed on the table, breaking the stillness. Derek's name glowed across the screen.
Derek: Hey. Sorry if today was awkward. You okay?
She stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Liana: I'm fine.
Derek: You sure? You didn't look fine.
She hesitated. He always noticed. He saw the small things—the things Trevor used to see. That scared her more than anything.
Liana: It's just been a long day.
Derek: Then don't overthink it. You're strong. You've always been.
She smiled faintly before catching herself. Her conscience whispered, That's how it starts.
Setting the phone down, she muttered under her breath, "Why does sin always wear such a kind face?"
The light went off. Shadows filled the room.
But as she drifted toward sleep, the dream returned—vivid, haunting.
A white horse galloped across a blood-red sky. Armies clashed beneath it, angels and shadows locked in battle. And on the horse sat the Rider, robe drenched in light and crimson. This time, when He turned, His eyes met hers—fierce, sorrowful, infinite.
"Choose whom you serve," a voice whispered through the wind.
Her eyes shot open, breath ragged. Her room was dark again, still, the fan humming softly.
And in that trembling silence, Liana finally understood—
The real war wasn't between Derek and Trevor.
It wasn't about who she liked or who noticed her more.
It was between Heaven and her heart