She hadn't spoken to anyone in three days. Not even him.
Her phone screen lit up again—Kelvin—but she didn't touch it. Not to decline, not to accept. Just let it ring until it died on its own, like the version of herself that said yes too easily.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling fan. It wasn't spinning, but her thoughts were—around and around like a storm with no center.
"Why didn't I just say no?"
"Why didn't I leave when I still had the chance?"
"Why am I still scared of losing him after what he did to me?"
She clutched her pillow tightly, fingers trembling. She hadn't cried. Not once. It was like her body was holding its breath, waiting for permission to fall apart. But it never came.
That bathroom… the sound of the lock clicking shut… the smell of soap and cheap air freshener… his hand on her wrist, his voice saying, "Just relax, nothing will happen."
Except something did happen. Something she didn't want.
And now her mind kept replaying it like a broken record she couldn't throw away.
---
Sunday came like a whisper, and somehow she found herself in church. Her mother's voice echoed in her head—"You can't hide from God, even if you hide from yourself."
She sat near the back, away from the choir stand, the altar, the world. She didn't want to be seen. She didn't want anyone asking why her eyes looked swollen when she hadn't cried.
And then he walked in. Tristian.
The boy with the soft eyes and gentle voice. The boy who always said "Good morning" like it was a prayer. The boy who once told her, "You deserve someone who listens to silence and still understands you."
Their eyes met.
And for a split second, she wanted to disappear. But Tristian didn't look away. He smiled—not the kind of smile that demands a response, but the kind that says "I see you… even if you don't want to be seen."
She blinked fast, then turned away.
Her mind whispered, "He doesn't know what happened."
But her heart replied, "And if he did… would he still smile at you?"
---
After the closing prayer, she walked out quickly. She didn't want conversation. Not today.
But she felt him behind her. Not too close. Just there.
"Hey," Tristian said gently.
She paused.
"I was going to ask how you're doing," he continued, "but I think I already know."
Her throat tightened. She nodded, just once.
"If you ever want to talk," he said, "I'll be here. No pressure. No questions."
And just like that… he was gone.
She stood there for a long time, staring at the church gate, trying to decide which was scarier—the boy who broke her, or the one who might be willing to help her heal