With a heavy heart and a growing knot of frustration in her stomach, Mia gathered her belongings from detention, the weight of each item mirroring the emotional baggage she was dragging behind her. Her backpack felt like it had been packed with bricks rather than books, and her feet moved reluctantly across the school hallway, as though they were resisting every step toward the library. The last place she wanted to go after enduring the never-ending torment of sitting through class with Kris Windsor was somewhere she might run into him again.
But she had no choice. There was work to be done, assignments piling up like a looming tidal wave, and if she didn't get a handle on them soon, she'd drown. Still, even that pressure felt preferable to another unexpected encounter with Kris.
As she pushed open the heavy oak doors of the library, the familiar scent of old paper and furniture polish washed over her. The place was quiet, hushed, reverent—nothing like the chaos in her head. The librarian, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun, looked up from behind the desk. Her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles, her mouth forming a thin, disapproving line. Mia felt the weight of that gaze pierce her, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She managed a small, sheepish, "Hi," barely louder than a whisper, and quickly shuffled away, ducking her head as she moved toward the back.
She slipped into her usual seat—a small cubicle wedged between two tall shelves that towered like silent sentinels. It was the only place that ever gave her a semblance of peace. Tucked away from the main walkway, the corner offered enough privacy to make her feel invisible, or at least forgettable. She dropped her bag with a thud, unzipped it, and pulled out her textbooks, their weight echoing the heaviness inside her chest.
But no matter how hard she tried to focus, her thoughts refused to cooperate.
Her mind was a carousel of spinning images: Kris smirking in class, the way his words had cut through her earlier like knives wrapped in silk, the humiliation that still clung to her like smoke. She tapped her pen anxiously against the edge of her notebook, jaw clenched tight as she braced herself to face three grueling hours of study. She couldn't shake the tension from her shoulders, the lingering dread that Kris would find some new way to get under her skin.
Then, she looked up.
And froze.
There he was. Kris Windsor.
He moved down the library's central aisle like he belonged there—shoulders straight, eyes fixed ahead, his gait unhurried but purposeful. He hadn't seen her. Or maybe he had. She couldn't tell. But he was walking directly toward the back section—toward her. Her stomach twisted. Her grip on the pen tightened.
She immediately ducked her head, pretending to be immersed in her open textbook, heart pounding. She waited for the moment he'd stop at her table, lean over with that arrogant smirk, and whisper something cutting and cruel—something only she would hear, yet that would echo in her thoughts for hours.
But it never came.
Without so much as a glance in her direction, Kris passed her table. He didn't pause. He didn't sneer. He didn't say a word. He just walked past, disappearing behind a tall shelf that led to the reserved study section. As if she wasn't even there.
Mia blinked. Once. Twice. Her mind struggled to make sense of what had just happened.
No jab? No comment? Not even one of his smug little looks?
A strange sensation unfurled in her chest—confusion, certainly, but also something softer. Something that felt dangerously close to disappointment. She hated the thought, but it crept in, unwelcome and persistent: Had she misjudged him? Was he not the relentless thorn in her side she had convinced herself he was?
Or maybe this was just another of his twisted games—he was ignoring her now, only to strike later when her defenses were down. The idea sent a fresh wave of unease crawling beneath her skin.
Three hours of detention had felt like punishment enough. But now, it was the unanswered questions and the gnawing discomfort of that silent encounter that tormented her most. The library, quiet and still, no longer felt like a safe haven. It had become the stage for a conflict that was no longer loud or obvious, but lingering and unspoken.
And somehow, that was worse.