CHAPTER SEVEN
Amelia's POV
The next morning, anxiety followed me like a shadow. Maybe it was because I half expected Kamen to say something — anything — about yesterday. Or maybe it was just the echo of how cold he'd been.
During recess, I kept glancing toward the door, pretending to read while my eyes darted across the corridors every few minutes. Nothing. No sign of him. Lunch came and went the same way.
Each time he walked past without a word, my heart sank a little lower. I told myself I was being foolish — that one awkward moment shouldn't matter so much. But it did.
When the final bell rang, I found myself waiting by the classroom door, nerves twisting in my stomach. As Kamen stepped out, backpack slung over one shoulder, I moved quickly to his side.
"Kamen, wait," I called, walking beside him. He slowed, but didn't stop.
Before I lost my courage, I guided him toward the quiet hall by the lockers. "Why did you embarrass me like that yesterday?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "You didn't even apologize."
He looked at me — that same unreadable face, calm but cold. "Sorry," he muttered, almost under his breath. It didn't sound like he meant it.
He turned to leave, but I caught his wrist. "Did I do something wrong? Why are you treating me like this?"
He shook his head, eyes flickering with something I couldn't read — maybe anger, maybe pain. "No," he said quietly. "And you shouldn't care. My life… it isn't your business."
Before I could reply, he pulled away and walked off, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until they disappeared.
I stood there for a long moment, staring after him, my heart heavy. Maybe I was foolish to care. But somehow, I couldn't stop wondering what he was carrying behind those walls he built so high.
⸻
Doja's POV
Is it just me, or has Amelia been acting like a ghost all week? Always drifting through the halls like her mind's somewhere else. I finally cornered Anita in our dorm to ask if she'd noticed.
Anita barely looked up from her notebook. "She says she's fine," she said, shrugging. "Probably just stressed. You know Amelia — she worries about everything."
But I wasn't buying it. I'd seen her yesterday, sitting at Baeta Park with a boy — that boy. Quiet, serious, mysterious Kamen. The kind of guy every girl secretly notices but pretends not to. I bet that's what's got her all tangled up.
Amelia is like our unofficial guardian angel — always quoting scripture, always praying for "the lost ones" (meaning me and Anita, obviously). She calls us her "beloved sinners." Sweet, but a little dramatic if you ask me.
Don't get me wrong — I'm Christian too. I pray, I go to church, I believe in God. But come on, what's wrong with a little color in my clothes or dancing once in a while? If God gave me joy, why should I hide it?
I keep telling Amelia she should relax — laugh, live, do something spontaneous for once. But the moment I try, she gives me that look and says something like, "Doja, remember the narrow path." I just roll my eyes.
Sometimes I wonder if faith always has to feel so heavy for her.
Still, I miss seeing her laugh. So today, I made up my mind.
"Let's go out and catch some cruise," I told Anita, tossing my phone on the bed. "If we leave Amelia in her thoughts any longer, she's going to sink."
Anita looked uncertain. "You really think she'll come?"
"Oh, she will," I said with a grin. "She just needs the right push."
And maybe, I thought quietly, we all do.