The school's after-class noise was just a faint static in the background. Andrew's feet dragged, heavy and slow, as if the day's whispers were actual weights hooked onto his spine.
Creepy, isn't it?Do you think he'll do it again?That's why he transferred, right?
The voices from earlier were louder than the traffic now, sharp little needles in his memory. He grit his teeth. It sucked how easily their words cut, how a memory he'd shoved down so hard was clawing its way back out.
He'd told himself he was the good guy back then. She needed to know the truth about her boyfriend. He hadn't been stalking her; he'd just... cared. Too much, probably. But since when was caring a crime?
But then he remembered her face when she'd finally turned on him. The fear. The way she flinched, like his existence was toxic. That was the real punch to the gut—that his genuinely good intentions had somehow gotten warped into something predatory in everyone else's eyes.
"Was it my fault?" he mumbled, the autumn wind pulling at his hair. "Should I have just shut up? Would it have been better if I'd never said anything?"
He stopped near a little park a few blocks from school. It was quiet: just some benches, a patch of long grass swaying. He dropped onto a bench, staring at his hands. Pale knuckles. Empty palms that had been shaking all day. For the first time since he'd started at this school, the wall around his chest felt ready to buckle.
Back inside the classroom, Sophia and Ryan lingered by the door, long after the bell.
"This is a mess," Ryan muttered, running a hand through his hair, his usual laid-back vibe completely shot. "If people keep this up, Andrew's going to ghost everyone again. He'll convince himself he's better off solo."
Sophia crossed her arms, a stubborn glare still hot in her eyes. "Let them talk. I don't care what garbage they're spreading—I know who he is. But…" Her voice dropped a gear. "I can't stand the thought of him going through that isolation again. Not here. Not with us."
Ryan nodded, looking grim but totally focused. "We gotta figure out a plan."
But by then, Grace was already out the door.
Her heart was thumping hard as she flew down the street, checking every corner, every side alley. She hadn't even processed it—she just knew she couldn't let him walk away and disappear into his head like that.
Finally, she saw him in the park. Easy to spot: shoulders slumped, head bowed, lost in a silence that looked way too heavy for one person.
"Andrew," she called out, soft, almost tentative.
He looked up, jumpy. His eyes—dark and totally guarded—met hers, and for a second, he looked ready to shove her away with that blank, unreadable mask. But Grace didn't give him the chance. She hustled across the grass, a little out of breath, and sat right next to him.
Neither of them spoke for a bit. The evening air felt cool, just the sound of leaves scratching against each other.
Grace finally broke the quiet. "You honestly don't have to stress about what they think," she said, her eyes on the pale, fading sky. "People will always find something to whisper about. But they don't actually know you... not like I do."
Andrew's mouth went into a thin, tight line. He let out a short, cynical laugh. "You really think that? Grace… you heard them. Every word. Maybe they're right. Maybe I was too much back then. Maybe I genuinely scared her without realizing it."
Grace finally turned to face him, her voice rock-solid now. "No. I don't buy it for a second. You tried to do the right thing. And okay, maybe people totally misread the situation—but that doesn't mean you were wrong for giving a damn."
She curled her hand into a fist in her lap, nails digging in a little as she pushed herself forward. Then, quieter, she admitted, "When I first got here, I literally had to force a smile on my face every morning. I didn't want anyone to see how genuinely lonely I felt. I thought… if I just faked it long enough, maybe someone would like me."
Andrew blinked, completely thrown by her honesty.
"But somewhere along the way," she went on, her voice shaking just a bit, "that fake smile became real. Because of Sophia's constant nagging. Because of Ryan's stupid jokes. And… because of you."
Andrew's breath hitched. He turned his whole body toward her, taking her in. Grace was looking straight ahead, but her eyes were glistening in the last rays of sunlight.
"These moments," she whispered, "laughing, walking home, even just sitting next to you in class… they're honestly the best times I've ever had. I seriously don't care what anyone says about you. I know you. And you've made me happier than I thought I could be."
Her words cut through the haze in his chest, melting something that had been frozen for way too long. For the first time all day, Andrew felt his walls crack—not from weakness, but from the incredible warmth she was radiating.
"Grace…" he murmured, his voice low, almost ragged with feeling.
Grace finally looked at him, her eyes soft and completely steady. Without overthinking it, she reached out and took his hand. His fingers flinched in surprise, then slowly, tentatively closed around hers.
It was a small, simple touch, but it sent a shock of warmth through both of them.
"See?" she said with a faint smile. "You don't have to be alone anymore. Ever."
Andrew swallowed hard, his chest aching in a way that felt almost too much to handle. His gaze flickered to her mouth, then back up to her eyes, but he held back, pulling in a shaky breath. "Grace… are you sure? After everything you've heard about me—"
"I don't care about ancient rumors," she interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. Her free hand lifted, almost on instinct, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead. That soft touch made him shiver, his defenses falling away piece by fragile piece. "I care about you."
The world around them seemed to dissolve—the park, the leaves, the sunset—until there was only the two of them on that quiet bench. Andrew's heart was hammering, so loud he wondered if she could hear it.
He leaned in closer, hesitated, backed up half an inch as a flash of doubt crossed his mind. But Grace didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her head just a little, her thumb stroking the back of his hand like a promise.
"Andrew," she whispered, their breaths mixing, "you don't have to hold back."
Something inside him just broke. Slowly, as if terrified the moment would shatter, he leaned forward again. Their noses brushed, a soft, unsure contact, and then their lips met—tentative at first, a feather-light touch that felt more significant than any dramatic statement.
Grace's eyes fluttered closed, her pulse racing. She leaned into him, deepening the kiss with a quiet confidence, and Andrew finally let himself be pulled into her warmth. All the old pain, the loneliness, the crushing weight of the whispers—it all dissolved into nothing against the real, solid presence of her.
When they finally pulled back, neither of them spoke right away. Grace rested her forehead against his, her breathing uneven but full of quiet happiness. Andrew closed his eyes, a rare, completely unguarded smile softening his face.
In that silence, under the last glow of the evening sky, the world didn't feel like such a cruel place anymore. For the first time in forever, Andrew actually believed he wasn't defective, wasn't doomed to be misunderstood forever.
Because she was there. And she had chosen him.