Imogen's POV
I just sat there, staring at my hands like I could still feel the warmth of his wrist in them — like something soft and breakable had slipped through my fingers and hit the ground in pieces.
The moment he walked away, the world kind of… folded in on itself.
My chest tightened, my throat burned, and the tears I'd been holding on by sheer force finally broke free.I covered my face with both hands, the first sob ripping out of me before I could even swallow it down.
God, it hurt.More than I expected.More than I deserved.
I curled in on myself, pulling my knees up to my chest like that could keep the rest of me from falling apart right there on the grass.
"I'm so sorry, Tom," I whispered into my palms — a useless little apology that he was too far away to hear.
And somehow, that made the ache even worse.
Tom's POV
Monday hit like a brick to the face.
I walked through the school gates with one mission: ignore Imogen, ignore the feelings, ignore the entire goddamn mess.Pretend nothing happened. Pretend she didn't look at me like that. Pretend I didn't care.
Cold. Detached. Distance — that was the fucking plan.
And for the first half of the day, I stuck to it. I kept my head down in the halls, slipped out of classrooms the second the bell rang, didn't give her even a chance to catch my eye. Every time I felt her gaze on me — and I swear I did — I turned in the opposite direction like my life depended on it.
By lunch, I was exhausted.
I walked into the cafeteria, tray in hand, already bracing myself. I knew where she sat. So I kept my eyes down… but of course the universe hates me.
Luke was leaning toward her, chattering about something stupid — he always talks too much. Imogen sat across from him, her fingers tracing the rim of her drink absentmindedly. She nodded, but there was something off about her smile. It wasn't the bright one she used to throw my way. It was weak, tight, like she had to force it onto her face.
But she still looked at him even though her eyes drifted to me. And me? I was just the idiot standing in the middle of the lunchroom with a tray like a lost fucking child.
So I walked on. Didn't slow down, didn't think. Just kept moving until I reached the back corner of the room — the part no one sits in unless they have no one else.
I put my tray down and sat. The cafeteria was loud, a blur of laughter and voices and people who weren't falling apart inside their own skulls.
I stabbed at my food without tasting any of it.
This was my life — the one I'd always known. The one I'd grown up with.Alone. Invisible. The weird kid with no one to sit with.
No Imogen's laugh.No stupid bear jokes.No warm glances that made me forget who I was for five seconds.
Just me, my lunch, and the ache in my chest that felt like someone dug a fist in and twisted.
Tyler was across the room with his fucking goons, throwing his head back laughing like he owned the fucking place. He didn't even need to look at me for me to feel it — that sick satisfaction he probably got from knowing I was exactly where he wanted me: out of the way, miserable, forgotten.
Back where it all started.
Back where I belonged.
Or at least… where everyone else seemed to think I did.
I kept my eyes locked on the back of Tyler's head, burning imaginary holes into his skull. I swear if looks could kill, that asshole would've dropped dead on his lunch tray. Every laugh he let out made my jaw clench harder. My fingers curled into fists under the table, knuckles aching.
I was so focused on hating him that I didn't even hear the footsteps at first.
But then a shadow fell across my table.
"Okay, what the fuck is your problem?"
My head snapped up.
Luke stood there, arms crossed, staring down at me like I'd personally offended the universe. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp, expression carved with something between anger and… confusion? Irritation? Hell if I knew. His presence was loud as shit, even though he hadn't raised his voice.
For a second, I just blinked at him, thrown off.
Why the fuck was he here? The cafeteria noise faded around us — like suddenly we were in some weird, quiet bubble while everyone else kept living their normal, messy, loud lives.
Luke's expression didn't soften. If anything, it hardened.
He leaned forward a little, palms planted on the table, voice low enough that only I could hear it.
"I'm serious, Tom. What the hell is going on with you?"
My pulse spiked. Why was he asking that? Why now?