Emma's POV
"Jones!"
The sound reached me as if from underwater.
Lockers slammed. The hallway buzzed with end-of-day chaos, but I stood in the middle of it all, suspended — body present, mind somewhere far beyond these walls.
"Emma Jones."
Sigh…
I blinked, turning toward the voice.
Ms. Jade stood a few steps away, one eyebrow raised in playful suspicion, her arms folded loosely across her cardigan.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
"Sorry, yes, Ma'am."
She studied me for a moment, then laughed lightly.
"I was beginning to wonder if you've been using a hearing aid all semester and I simply never noticed."
I forced a small smile. "No, Ma'am."
"Hmm." She tilted her head, not unkindly. "You've been drifting lately."
Drifting.
That was one word for it.
My phone felt heavier in my pocket these days. Even when it didn't vibrate, I felt phantom notifications — imagined buzzes that sent my pulse racing before disappointment settled back in.
Four days.
No, five.
Not that I was counting.
Ms. Jade's voice softened. "Walk with me."
We stepped out of the traffic of students and toward the quieter end of the corridor where the bulletin boards displayed faded academic achievements and outdated announcements.
"There's something I wanted to tell you," She began.
I straightened slightly, instinctively alert.
"There's an opening for teaching assistants at the elementary level next term. It's competitive, but when I heard about it, your name came to mind immediately."
For a second, I just stared at her.
Mine?
"You'd need to take a three-month preparatory course after finals," she continued. "But I think you'd be excellent at it. You're patient. You listen. And when you speak, people tend to lean in."
The hallway noise seemed to dull.
Lean in.
I hadn't felt like someone worth leaning toward lately.
"Oh," I managed. "That's… I'm honored. Thank you."
She smiled, that same warm, unfailing smile she carried even on exam weeks. "You told me once you wanted to teach history. Remember? You said stories shape how people see themselves."
I did remember.
It had been a random Tuesday after class.
I'd stayed behind to ask about a research topic, and we'd somehow ended up talking about childhood and influence and how history isn't just dates but decisions.
Back then, I'd felt certain about everything.
Now certainty felt like a luxury.
"I meant it," I said quietly.
"I know." She adjusted the stack of papers in her arms. "Reach out after finals. I'll guide you through the process."
Just like that, she began walking away, offering a small wave over her shoulder.
"Don't disappear on me, Jones," she called lightly.
Disappear.
The word lingered long after she turned the corner.
I stood there for a moment longer, absorbing the echo of her confidence in me.
It was strange how one sentence could feel like oxygen.
I hadn't realized how tightly I'd been holding myself together these past few days — how much of my energy had been funneled into waiting.
Waiting for a call.
Waiting for a text.
Waiting for an explanation that might never come.
And in that waiting, I had somehow shrunk.
Not visibly.
But internally.
I'd measured my days in silence.
Measured my worth in response times.
Measured my importance in how often my phone lit up.
Which was ridiculous.
Embarrassing, even.
I had always been more than someone's girlfriend.
Hadn't I?
A group of juniors brushed past me, laughter trailing behind them. One of them nearly knocked into my shoulder before apologizing quickly.
Life moved on.
People moved on.
The world did not pause because one person went quiet.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
No notifications.
The screen reflected my own expression back at me — composed, but thinner somehow.
I opened our chat.
The last message sat there like a timestamp.
Sorry for not answering, quite occupied.
Adjusting.
That's what he'd said.
College is intense.
Schedules are tight.
I won't distract you.
The memory of my own words stung.
Why had I said that?
Why had I made myself smaller before anyone asked me to?
I locked the phone and slid it back into my bag.
Ms. Jade thought I'd make a good teacher.
She thought I was steady.
Patient.
Worth recommending.
And here I was unraveling over silence.
The contradiction unsettled me.
Maybe drifting wasn't about losing direction.
Maybe it was about forgetting you had one in the first place.
If he wanted to talk, he would.
That wasn't bitterness.
It was fact.
And I was done filling in silence with excuses.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped back into the hallway.
The noise didn't overwhelm me this time.
It flowed around me.
I wasn't drifting.
I was deciding.
And whatever happened next —
I would not disappear.
Mervins's POV
Night had settled over campus by the time I left the training facility.
Everything here moved fast. Faster than home. Faster than I could think.
I walked slowly toward the dorms, phone heavy in my pocket.
Emma's number sat there.
Cy had sent it the day after Dad deleted it.
No questions. Just the number.
Cy always understood things without them being said.
I had stared at the message for a long time before saving it.
I hadn't called.
Not yet.
Part of me wanted to hear her voice more than anything. The other part… wasn't sure what I would say if she asked the questions I'd been avoiding.
Why didn't you call?
Why do you sound different?
The truth was messy.
Someone brushed past me as I reached the entrance of the hostel.
He pushed the door open and disappeared inside.
I stood outside for a while longer.
The night air felt cooler now.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
For a second, my heart jumped.
Emma.
But when I pulled it out, the screen showed a message from an unknown number.
Just four words.
"Stay away from her."
I stared at the screen, confused.
Another message appeared before I could respond.
"You've done enough damage already."
My chest tightened.
Who the hell—
The third message came immediately after.
"You should have left Emma alone."
A strange feeling settled in my stomach.
Because only a handful of people back home would ever send something like that.
And one name surfaced in my mind almost instantly.
Trayton.