The next morning felt... off.
Zayden and I were quiet as we walked to school. We were side by side, but it didn't feel like we were together. It felt like we were just two people heading in the same direction, carrying different burdens.
Yes, we were walking together. But there was something awkward between us. Like we both had something to say but neither of us had the courage to start.
"Zayden," I said softly as we walked down the hallway.
He turned to me, his expression gentle. "Hmm?"
"Thank you..." I murmured, my eyes fixed on the floor. "Because... somehow, I felt lighter last night. I let some of the pain out. Even just a little."
He gave a faint smile. "Anytime, Kiera."
When we reached the classroom, we paused—just for a moment. Zayden and I looked at each other. No words. Just a silent exchange. A small, tired smile from both of us.
I stepped inside and sat in my usual seat.
Then I noticed it.
"He's not—" I whispered instinctively, turning to my side.
But he wasn't there.
Bryce had moved seats.
He was now on the other row. Far. Too far.
I stared for a few seconds, foolishly hoping he'd feel it. That he'd turn around. That he'd at least meet my eyes.
He didn't.
He never did.
And that stung more than I was ready to admit.
---
Professor Marciano arrived. He always looked serious, but he had this dry sense of humor that only really worked when you were exhausted with life.
The subject: Algorithms and System Behavior.
"Alright, class," he began as he wrote the title on the whiteboard. "Let's talk about behavior—not just of systems, but of people. Because sometimes, failures don't just happen in code. They happen in life too."
Some students chuckled. Me? I didn't.
My eyes drifted again to the empty seat beside me. And then to Bryce—still unmoved. Still unreadable.
"Let me give you a scenario," the professor said as he started scribbling on the board.
If a system promises to return a value… but never does… what do we call that?
"Deadlock," someone answered from the front.
"Correct!" the professor responded. "Deadlock. Now, in real life, what happens when someone promises to come back... but never actually does?"
The entire room went silent.
Then a voice broke through.
A familiar one.
"Then trust dies."
Some students laughed. Shallow. Forced.
But me?
I froze.
Because that voice—was Bryce's.
He wasn't even smiling. Just a faint, bitter curve of his lips.
"You know what that feels like, sir?" he said, voice calm but laced with quiet, painful weight. "When someone says they'll come back... and doesn't. When they promise to stay, but you end up watching them slowly choose not to."
He didn't look at anyone in particular. But I felt it—I knew—he was talking about me.
His voice never rose. It didn't need to.
"Sometimes systems fail because of a bug," he continued. "And sometimes people fail because of something worse—because the part of them that's supposed to care just… stops working."
The professor raised an eyebrow. "And what do you call that kind of bug, Mr. Alcaraz?"
Bryce didn't flinch.
He looked down at his desk.
Then up again—eyes cold, calm, and burning all at once.
"An emotional bug," he said. "The kind you don't notice until it breaks everything."
The class fell silent.
The professor nodded, intrigued. "Interesting. And what triggers that?"
Bryce leaned back in his chair. Hands in his pockets. His voice steady—almost detached.
"When the person you saved..." "…becomes the very reason you're dying inside."
Silence.
"When you chose to save someone because you couldn't imagine losing them—only to end up being the one they slowly let go of."
"It's like you're the one burning down, and they're the one holding the match—yet they're also the first to ask why it hurts so much to watch you fall apart."
A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Me?
I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
Because every word felt like a direct hit.
Because I knew that pain.
But I didn't know he felt it too.
The professor cleared his throat. "Alright, class. That's... heavier than I expected, but a valid analogy nonetheless."
A few tried to laugh it off, breaking the tension.
But the air didn't clear.
Bryce leaned back like he hadn't just torn open something unsaid.
As for me, I sat frozen.
Because maybe...
Maybe I wasn't the only one hurting.
Maybe he didn't move away from me…
…because he wanted distance.
But because being near me…
was killing him more.