The rain started around nine. Soft at first—just a whisper against the glass—then steadier, almost rhythmic. I stood by the sliding door to the veranda, hands wrapped around a mug of instant coffee, the bitter steam curling into the quiet.
My mind was quieter too now, though never entirely still. It never really was. I had just settled in, laptop open, when I heard a knock.
Not on the door. On the glass. I turned.
Syron stood just beyond the balcony railing, the one I hadn't realized connected to mine. His shirt was plain white again, this time with grey joggers. His hair was damp—recently washed—and he looked... casual. Tired. Unbothered. Perfectly him.
I froze for a second, startled. He held something up—a folded note—then gestured toward the space beneath the railing.
I slid the door open, and the cool air slipped in like a sigh.
"Dropped this too," he said.
No smirk. No grin. Just that calm, even voice.
I took the note.
"It was taped to your door earlier. Guess it fell." He leaned against the railing, arms loosely crossed. "Didn't want anyone else reading it."
"Thanks."
The silence between us was soft, filled only by the tap-tap-tap of rain on concrete.
"I didn't know our balconies were this close," I murmured.
"New building," he said. "Some units are weirdly aligned."
A beat. "You okay?" he asked, still not quite looking at me.
I hesitated. "Do I look like I'm not?"
He turned his head then, and for the first time tonight, his eyes met mine—and held them.
"There's a difference between being quiet and holding everything in."
The words landed too precisely. Too gently.
I didn't answer. Just leaned back against the doorframe and looked up at the sky.
"I'm just tired."
"From everything, or someone in particular?"
That made me smile. Bitterly.
"You ask a lot of questions for someone who barely talks."
"I talk when it matters."
"Do you always show up when I least expect it?" He tilted his head, as if considering.
"Only when it looks like you need me to." My breath caught—just slightly. Just enough to notice.
I didn't respond. Didn't know how.
Then, without warning, he stepped over. One leg, then the other, like the railing wasn't a boundary at all.
"What are you doing?" I asked, voice quiet but sharp.
"I'm not going to kiss you, if that's what you're thinking." The corner of his mouth tugged upward—barely—but his tone stayed flat.
"I wasn't," I lied.
We were only inches apart now. The air between us felt different. Heavier. His eyes flicked past me, toward the inside of my unit.
"You cleaned."
"Yeah."
"Alone?"
"Obviously."
He nodded again, like he already knew the answer. Like he just needed to hear me say it.
Then, softer: "You don't have to pretend you're okay, Mace."
And just like that—with no warning, no permission—he took the mug from my hands, his fingers brushing lightly against mine.
He took a sip, handed it back, and said simply:
"Too bitter. Just like you."
I laughed—really laughed—for the first time in days. It caught me off guard, and I saw the faintest smile curve his lips. This time, he didn't hide it.
It lingered for a second longer than usual. Then it was gone.
He glanced at the sky, still drizzling quietly, then looked at me with that same unreadable calm. Like he hadn't just stepped over some invisible line. Like he hadn't just touched something I'd been guarding for weeks.
"Goodnight, Mace." He said it like it was nothing.
And with that, he turned, stepped back over the railing, and disappeared onto his side of the balcony.
No explanation. No goodbye. Only silence.
I stood there, the mug still warm in my hands, watching the steam rise lazily between us. And for a long while, I didn't move.
The condo was quiet again. The kind of quiet that used to press against my chest—like an emptiness I had no name for. But now... it felt different.
I wasn't happy. I wasn't healed. I wasn't even sure what had just happened. But the silence he left behind didn't feel suffocating this time.
It felt... still. Steady.
Like for once, someone didn't try to fix me. Didn't ask me to explain. Didn't need anything from me—except for me to be present.
And somehow, that made it worse. Because now, I couldn't stop wondering— Why does he make silence feel less lonely?
The next day, University Week was coming up, and my classmates had apparently made it their personal mission to sign me up for the pageant.
I kept shaking my head, insisting no, but the more I refused, the more amused they seemed. Of course.
I rolled my eyes. Damn these people. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to tune out the teasing. My head was starting to ache.
We had an hour of vacant time, and after someone had the nerve to write my name on the whiteboard under contestant, I grabbed my bag and walked out. I needed air—and quiet.
Yashina and Susmita were in a JPIA meeting, and the rest of our friends had suddenly discovered their academic guilt and were cramming for a quiz in our minor subject.
I'd already studied. I wasn't worried.
I took a short way to the cafeteria, hoping food would help me decompress. Just hearing all the noise earlier had left me drained.
"One lasagna and a bottle of water, please," I told the lady, zoning out while she prepped the tray. "Thank you."
I carried my food to a table in the farthest corner, hoping to be left alone. It wasn't until I sat down that I noticed—of all places—I'd picked a spot surrounded by couples.
Seriously?
I sighed and started eating. The lasagna was warm, cheesy—comforting in the way only cafeteria food can be when your brain's fried. I glanced to the side, toward the wide windows where the field stretched out below.
The clouds were still heavy. But somehow, the sky didn't look quite as gray anymore.
While chewing, I noticed a bit of commotion near the cafeteria entrance. Heads were turning. People were whispering. I raised an eyebrow.
What now?
I was about to look away when I caught sight of someone walking in. Tall. Familiar. But I couldn't see his face clearly—some students had stood up, blocking my view.
Still, something about the way he moved—
I took a sip of water and tried to sneak a better look. The moment I recognized him, I nearly choked. Oh, for goodness' sake. It's Syron. Again.
He walked straight to the counter like he didn't notice the attention—or just didn't care. Same snob face, brows slightly furrowed like the world annoyed him.
Why the hell does he look that good while being that rude? Seriously, how does someone pull off handsome with a permanent scowl?
I cleared my throat, glancing around. The girls were practically collapsing—sighing, fixing their hair, whispering like middle schoolers.
I smirked and turned my gaze back to the field outside. The sun was blazing. I couldn't imagine stepping out into that kind of heat. The kind that makes your skin itch the moment it touches you.
I finished eating without glancing at Syron again. He was gone by the time I stood up. The cafeteria had quieted down too, like he'd taken all the air with him.
Later, the quiz ended and everyone started heading off. Jhay had work. Mia had a family dinner. Jersey was off to practice, and Susmita and Yashina had been called to the CBAA office again.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and was about to leave the room when I froze.
Kevin.
Standing near the hallway, holding his phone, typing like he wasn't deliberately waiting there. I rolled my eyes. What is this idiot doing here?
I didn't acknowledge him. Just walked forward, pretending not to see. Maybe—just maybe—I could pass without drama.
Of course not. He looked up at just the right time.
"Mace!"
Oh, for f*ck's sake.
I kept walking, fast. Not looking back. Why is he here again? The school's huge. Why do I keep bumping into the one person I'd pay to avoid?
"What?!" I snapped when I realized he was following me—all the way to the front of the gym.
Now people were staring.
"I'm sorry!" he blurted.
I nearly rolled my eyes so hard they got stuck. That same damn apology again.
"Don't you have anything else to say besides sorry?" I said, irritation clear in my voice. "What do you want me to do with that? Frame it? Eat it?"
He looked away, unsure. Hesitating. As if the word was supposed to be enough.
There was a time his presence made my heart skip. When just seeing him—waiting for me—felt like a fairytale moment. Now? I didn't even want to see his shadow.
He ruins things. Just when I find a bit of peace, he shows up like a glitch in the system.
"Let's get back together."
His voice was calm. Gentle. Like he thought that tone still worked on me. Like he believed the right softness would undo everything.
I smirked. "Do you seriously think I'd say yes to that?"
Kevin didn't reply. Just stood there, jaw tight, probably expecting me to soften, to pause, to look back the way I used to.
But I didn't. I turned and walked away. No goodbyes. No second glance. Just the steady sound of my footsteps echoing through the hall.
I didn't stop walking until I reached the outdoor bleachers near the field—far from everyone, far from anything loud or expectant.
The sun had mellowed out a little, casting everything in a low golden hue, like the day was starting to exhale.
I sat down. My hands were still tense from how hard I'd been gripping my bag strap. I let them rest on my lap and just... breathed.
Let's get back together.
The words repeated in my head, but they felt so distant now—like something I might've dreamed months ago, back when I still thought apologies meant change and longing meant love.
But today—after everything—I didn't feel anything.
Not anger. Not sadness. Not even the need to scream. Just... nothing. And that scared me a little.
Because if I felt nothing for someone I used to give everything to, then what was left? What part of me was still mine?