Germany did not welcome people back.

It merely allowed them to stand on its soil again.

The sky above Frankfurt Airport was the color of unfinished apologies when Aloisia Schmidt stepped out of the terminal, coat perfectly structured, posture straighter than the metal railings lining the exit. Russia had carved something into her. Not warmth. Not softness.

Precision.

At twenty-eight, she no longer resembled the girl who once waited outside lecture halls with coffee for Fenja Vogel.

Now she looked like someone who prescribed pain management plans and expected obedience.

Her phone vibrated.

Mother.

She stared at the screen for three seconds before answering.

“Du bist angekommen?” her mother asked, voice bright, anxious.

“Yes.”

“You’ll come home directly?”

“I said I would.”

A pause. Hesitation lived in that silence.

“You know… Fenja will be there tonight. We are having dinner to celebrate the engagement.”

Aloisia’s expression did not change.

“I am aware.”

“You haven’t seen her in years. Please behave.”

Aloisia almost smiled. It did not reach her eyes.

“I always behave.”

She ended the call.

The Schmidt family home stood the same as it always had. Tall. Imposing. White exterior. Generational money whispering through its windows.

Aloisia paused before the gate.

Seven years.

Seven years since she left without a goodbye. Without a confrontation. Without asking a single question.

Because she did not need to ask.

She had seen enough.

Graduation day.

Confetti. Laughter. Flashing cameras. Future plans.

And then—

Gerlach’s hands on Fenja’s face.

Gerlach’s mouth on hers.

Fenja frozen.

Aloisia watching.

That image had followed her to Russia like a parasite.

She had not screamed.

She had not demanded answers.

She had simply walked away.

And built a life sharp enough to survive the memory.

The gate opened.

Inside, warm lights glowed. Voices echoed. Laughter.

Her family had always loved celebrations.

She stepped in.

The first person she saw was Gerlach.

Older by a few lines around his eyes, but still carrying that open, confident demeanor. He approached her immediately.

“Aloisia.”

No hug. They were never that kind of siblings.

“You look well,” he said.

“I am.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“I said I would.”

He hesitated. “It means a lot. To all of us.”

She gave a small nod.

“And where is the bride?” she asked, tone neutral. Clinical.

Gerlach smiled, almost shyly.

“In the living room.”

Of course.

Aloisia removed her coat and handed it to the staff. Then she walked forward.

And saw her.

Fenja Vogel stood near the fireplace, laughing softly at something Aloisia’s mother said. She wore a simple cream dress. No excessive jewelry. Hair longer now. Softer around the edges.

Twenty-seven.

Older. But still unmistakably her.

The girl who once fell asleep on Aloisia’s shoulder while coding at three in the morning.

The girl who cried when her first app failed.

The girl who promised forever at seventeen.

Fenja looked up.

Their eyes met.

Time did not slow.

It hardened.

Fenja’s smile faded first.

Aloisia’s expression remained untouched.

Polite.

Indifferent.

Like observing a stranger in a waiting room.

Fenja recovered quickly. Too quickly.

She stepped forward.

“Aloisia,” she said gently. “You’re back.”

“Yes.”

No warmth. No bitterness. Just a word.

“It’s been years.”

“Indeed.”

Silence stretched.

Fenja searched her face for something. Anything.

There was nothing to find.

Gerlach slipped an arm around Fenja’s waist.

“We’re getting married in three weeks,” he announced, pride clear in his voice.

“I heard,” Aloisia replied.

Her phone buzzed. She looked down at it.

Not because the message was urgent.

But because she refused to look at Fenja longer than necessary.

Fenja noticed.

Of course she did.

Dinner was a theatre performance.

Fenja played her role beautifully.

She leaned into Gerlach when she laughed.

She touched his hand when speaking.

She adjusted his tie once, gently, smiling up at him.

Every movement deliberate.

Every gesture visible.

Aloisia did not look up from her phone.

Occasionally she answered work emails in Russian. Occasionally she nodded when spoken to. She never once allowed her gaze to linger on the couple.

Inside, however—

There was no jealousy.

Only something colder.

Disgust.

She believed she understood now.

Fenja had not only betrayed her.

She had aimed higher.

The Schmidt name.

The wealth. The status.

Of course.

It made sense in a clean, logical way.

Love at seventeen. Ambition at twenty-one.

People evolved.

Aloisia took a sip of wine.

Her hand did not shake.

Across the table, Fenja’s smile faltered for half a second.

Why wasn’t she reacting?

Why wasn’t she angry?

Why wasn’t she looking?

Fenja had imagined this moment for years.

She imagined Aloisia returning and seeing her engaged. Imagined pain flickering across those cold grey eyes. Imagined some crack in that composure.

Instead—

Nothing.

It felt worse than hatred.

It felt like being irrelevant.

After dinner, Fenja followed Aloisia into the hallway.

“Aloisia. Can we talk?”

Aloisia stopped walking.

“No.”

The word was immediate.

Fenja inhaled slowly. “You left without saying anything.”

“Yes.”

“You disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“At least tell me why.”

Aloisia finally turned.

Her gaze was steady. Controlled. Surgical.

“Why?” she repeated.

Fenja nodded.

Aloisia stepped closer.

“On graduation day,” she said quietly, “I saw you.”

Fenja’s heart skipped.

“Saw me?”

“With my brother.”

The blood drained from Fenja’s face.

“It wasn’t—”

Aloisia raised a hand.

“I am not interested in revising history.”

“You think I cheated?” Fenja whispered.

“I do not think,” Aloisia replied. “I saw.”

Silence.

Fenja’s chest tightened.

“He proposed to me that day,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “I rejected him. He kissed me without asking. I froze. That’s what you saw.”

Aloisia’s expression did not change.

“Convenient explanation.”

“It’s the truth!”

“You are marrying him.”

Fenja faltered.

“Yes.”

“So clearly, you reconsidered.”

“That’s not—”

Aloisia stepped back.

“Spare me. I did not come here for emotional theatrics.”

“You didn’t even confront me,” Fenja said, frustration rising. “You didn’t ask me anything. You just left.”

“I saw enough.”

“You always do that!” Fenja snapped. “You see something once and decide it’s the entire truth.”

A flicker.

Tiny.

But present.

Aloisia’s jaw tightened.

“I make decisions based on evidence.”

“I was crying after that kiss!” Fenja said. “Did you see that?”

A pause.

No.

Aloisia had not waited long enough to see anything beyond the kiss.

Fenja laughed bitterly.

“You left me with no explanation. Do you know what that did to me?”

“I assumed you were occupied.”

The cruelty in that sentence landed perfectly.

Fenja stared at her.

“You really believe I’m marrying him for money or status, don’t you?”

Aloisia said nothing.

Silence was answer enough.

Fenja’s eyes burned.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Believe whatever makes it easier for you.”

Aloisia’s phone buzzed again.

She looked down.

Conversation over.

Fenja stepped back, something inside her twisting violently.

“Congratulations on becoming a physiatrist,” she said coldly. “Russia suits you.”

Aloisia slid her phone into her pocket.

“It taught me clarity.”

And with that, she walked away.

Fenja remained in the hallway long after.

Her revenge suddenly felt hollow.

She had imagined satisfaction.

Instead she felt… unseen.

Inside the living room, laughter resumed.

Gerlach called her name warmly.

She wiped her eyes quickly and returned.

If Aloisia wanted indifference—

Fenja would give her a performance worth watching.

Even if Aloisia refused to look.

Upstairs, in her old bedroom, Aloisia stood by the window.

Germany looked unchanged.

But she knew better.

She closed her eyes briefly.

He kissed her.

That image again.

Fenja’s lips under Gerlach’s.

Fenja’s hand on his shirt.

Frozen or not—

She had chosen to stay after.

And now she was choosing marriage.

Aloisia exhaled slowly.

Hatred was easier than heartbreak.

And she preferred easy things.

Downstairs, Fenja laughed too loudly at something Gerlach said.

Aloisia did not move toward the sound.

She remained still.

Cold.

Controlled.

Winter had returned.

And winter did not beg for explanations.

The Schmidt residence had never been quiet during a celebration. It hummed. Crystal glasses chimed against one another. Polished floors reflected chandeliers like captured constellations. The house did not throw parties. It staged declarations.

Tonight was the engagement celebration of Gerlach Schmidt and Fenja Vogel.

And one door upstairs remained closed.

...UPSTAIRS...

Aloisia Schmidt sat at the desk in her childhood bedroom, the window slightly open to let in February air that bit at the curtains. Her posture was perfect. Her expression unreadable. On the desk lay a patient file from Munich University Hospital, recently transferred to her supervision for consultation.

Lumbar spinal cord trauma.

Chronic neuropathic pain.

Rehabilitation resistance.

Her pen moved in neat, decisive strokes.

Pain required structure. Rehabilitation required discipline. Emotions required neither.

Below, laughter erupted.

Aloisia did not look up.

Her phone vibrated.

She ignored it.

It vibrated again.

A third time.

Annoyance flickered across her face. She picked it up.

💬 Fen: Why aren't you here?

Aloisia stared at the message for a full ten seconds before typing.

💬 Aloi: I'm busy.

The reply came almost instantly.

💬 Fen: An excuse? Why? Are you jealous?

Aloisia’s jaw tightened.

Jealous.

An adolescent word.

She typed slowly.

💬 Aloi: Jealous of a cheater?

She pressed send.

Then placed her phone face down on the desk and returned to the patient file.

Her lips did not curve.

Her eyes did not soften.

She did not need to smirk.

She had delivered what she believed was a fact.

...DOWNSTAIRS...

Fenja stood in the center of the living room, surrounded by Gerlach’s colleagues and distant relatives. The champagne flute in her hand trembled almost imperceptibly.

Her phone screen glowed with Aloisia’s last message.

Jealous of a cheater?

For a split second, the noise around her dulled.

A cheater.

Seven years.

Seven years, and that was what Aloisia had reduced her to.

Fenja’s throat tightened. She locked her phone and placed it face down on the table.

She could picture Aloisia upstairs. Leaning back in her chair. Cold eyes glinting. Believing she had landed a precise strike.

Yes, it hit.

But not the way Aloisia imagined.

It didn’t wound Fenja’s pride.

It reopened something older.

Something that had never healed.

“Fenja?” Gerlach’s voice pulled her back. “Are you alright?”

She smiled immediately. Perfect. Bright. Controlled.

“Of course.”

He kissed her temple gently. She forced herself not to flinch.

Applause filled the room as Gerlach raised his glass to make a speech.

“My sister returned from Russia just in time for this,” he announced proudly. “It feels like the family is complete again.”

Fenja’s smile did not falter.

Complete.

If only he knew.

Throughout the evening, Fenja leaned into her role.

She adjusted Gerlach’s cufflinks.

She laughed at his jokes.

She let him hold her waist a little longer than necessary.

Every movement calculated.

If Aloisia would not come down to witness it, then the house would carry the sound upstairs.

Let her hear.

Let her imagine.

Let her think Fenja had moved on perfectly.

But the truth pulsed beneath Fenja’s skin.

She had not agreed to marry Gerlach purely out of revenge.

Revenge had been the spark.

But abandonment had been the fuel.

When Aloisia disappeared without a word, Fenja had searched. Called. Texted. Visited the Schmidt house only to be told Aloisia had left for “opportunities abroad.”

No explanation.

No confrontation.

No goodbye.

Just absence.

Eventually, anger replaced confusion.

And when Gerlach reappeared two years later with steady affection and a patient persistence, she had convinced herself of something dangerous:

If Aloisia could leave without explanation, then perhaps she had never truly loved.

That thought had hurt more than betrayal ever could.

So when Gerlach proposed again last year, Fenja said yes.

Not because she loved him the way she once loved Aloisia.

But because she was tired of being the one left behind.

...UPSTAIRS AGAIN...

Aloisia closed the patient file.

The noise from downstairs had intensified.

She walked toward the window.

From here, she could see part of the garden where guests spilled out with drinks.

She spotted Fenja instantly.

Of course she did.

Cream dress catching the light. Hair moving in the wind. Gerlach’s hand resting comfortably at her lower back.

It should have felt like something.

Instead, it felt like confirmation.

Aloisia turned away from the window.

She did not want to analyze why her chest felt tight.

The party ended near midnight.

Guests left in waves of perfume and laughter.

Doors shut. Engines faded.

Silence reclaimed the house.

Fenja climbed the stairs slowly, heels in hand. She paused outside Aloisia’s door.

A thin strip of light glowed beneath it.

She almost knocked.

Almost.

Instead, she whispered softly, though she knew Aloisia could not hear.

“You didn’t even ask.”

Then she walked to the guest room prepared for her and Gerlach.

...THE NEXT MORNING...

The Schmidt breakfast table was always formal. Even on ordinary days.

Porcelain cups. Silver cutlery. Fresh bread arranged like an art installation.

Aloisia entered precisely at eight.

Hair tied back. Phone already in her hand.

She sat without greeting anyone.

Moments later, Fenja entered with Gerlach.

She looked composed.

Too composed.

“Good morning,” Gerlach said cheerfully.

Aloisia nodded once without lifting her eyes from the screen.

Fenja watched her carefully.

No eye contact.

No acknowledgement.

As if Fenja were invisible.

Aloisia’s mother cleared her throat delicately.

“Aloisia,” she began, “now that you’re back… we’ve been thinking.”

Aloisia took a sip of coffee.

“Yes?”

“You’re twenty-eight,” her father added. “It may be time to consider your own future as well.”

Silence.

Gerlach chuckled. “They’re planning your wedding already.”

Aloisia scrolled through her phone.

“My schedule is demanding.”

“That is not an answer,” her mother insisted gently.

“We would love to see both our children settled,” her father continued. “After Gerlach’s wedding, perhaps we can arrange meetings. There are suitable families.”

Fenja’s grip tightened around her teacup.

Suitable families.

Arranged meetings.

The thought of Aloisia marrying someone else twisted unexpectedly inside her.

Ridiculous.

She was the one getting married.

She was the one wearing the ring.

So why did the idea feel like suffocation?

Aloisia finally looked up.

Her expression was unreadable.

“I am not interested.”

“You will not stay alone forever,” her mother pressed.

“That is a medical improbability,” Aloisia replied calmly.

Gerlach laughed.

Fenja did not.

She kept her eyes lowered, pretending to butter her bread.

Her mind, however, was spiraling.

What if Aloisia agreed?

What if she found someone colder? More polished? Someone who did not argue or demand explanations?

Would that erase everything they had been?

Aloisia’s phone buzzed again.

She answered an email mid-conversation.

Her detachment was surgical.

Fenja felt it like a blade.

“Fenja,” Aloisia’s mother said warmly, “perhaps you can help us find someone suitable for Aloisia. You understand her generation better.”

Fenja looked up slowly.

Help find her a bride or a groom?

Her lips curved into a polite smile.

“Of course,” she said sweetly.

Under the table, her fingers dug into her palm.

Aloisia did not react.

Did not look.

Did not care.

Or at least, that was the performance she maintained flawlessly.

...AFTER BREAKFAST...

As chairs scraped back and conversations dispersed, Fenja lingered.

Aloisia stood, slipping her phone into her coat pocket.

“For someone so busy,” Fenja said quietly, “you seem to have time for breakfast.”

Aloisia glanced at her.

“This is my parents’ house.”

“So you can attend meals but not your brother’s engagement party?”

“Yes.”

Fenja stepped closer.

“You really believe I cheated.”

“Yes.”

“Even after what I said yesterday?”

“Yes.”

The repetition felt like slaps.

Fenja’s composure cracked slightly.

“You didn’t even wait that day,” she whispered. “You saw one second of something and built a lifetime out of it.”

Aloisia’s eyes darkened.

“And you are marrying him.”

“You left me!” Fenja’s voice trembled despite her effort to control it. “What was I supposed to do? Wait forever?”

“I did not ask you to wait.”

“That’s the problem,” Fenja said bitterly. “You didn’t ask anything.”

For a moment, silence pressed between them.

Heavy.

Unresolved.

Then Aloisia spoke, her tone glacial.

“Your choices are yours. Do not attribute them to me.”

Fenja swallowed.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I am consistent.”

And with that, Aloisia walked past her.

Cold.

Untouched.

Untouchable.

But as she reached the staircase, her steps slowed.

Just slightly.

Because somewhere deep beneath layers of discipline and ego, a question had begun to form.

What if she had left too quickly?

She crushed the thought instantly.

Certainty was safer than doubt.

Downstairs, Fenja stood alone in the dining room, staring at the untouched bread on her plate.

Revenge was supposed to taste satisfying.

Instead, it tasted like regret.

The war had not begun loudly.

It had begun with silence.

And silence, when stretched long enough, becomes unbearable.

Winter had returned to Germany.

But beneath the frost, something restless was shifting.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something that refused to die.

The invitation arrived on a Wednesday afternoon.

Cream envelope. Gold embossing. The university crest stamped with unnecessary grandeur.

Seven-Year Alumni Reunion

Class of Excellence

It was addressed to:

Dr. Aloisia Schmidt

Fenja Vogel

Gerlach Schmidt

The irony was almost theatrical.

Aloisia opened hers first.

She stood by the window in her temporary home office, scanning the formal script without emotion. Venue: the main auditorium. Dress code: semi-formal. Networking dinner to follow.

Networking.

Translation: public performance disguised as nostalgia.

She placed the card on the desk and returned to reviewing a rehabilitation protocol.

She had no intention of attending.

Downstairs, Fenja stared at her own invitation far longer than necessary.

University.

Where it began.

Where it ended.

Graduation day.

Confetti. Cameras. A forced kiss. A disappearing lover.

She swallowed.

This could be… something.

Not reconciliation.

But disruption.

If Aloisia would not react at home, perhaps public space would shift the balance.

Fenja folded the card carefully.

She knew Aloisia would refuse if she asked directly.

So she did not.

Instead, that evening, she approached Gerlach while he was reading in the living room.

“You’re going to the reunion, right?” she asked casually.

“Of course. It’ll be good to see everyone.”

She nodded.

“Aloisia won’t go.”

He looked up. “You think?”

“She hates things like that.”

Gerlach considered it.

“She should come. It’s been years.”

Fenja tilted her head gently. “You can convince her. She listens to you more than she listens to me.”

A strategic half-truth.

Gerlach stood immediately.

“I’ll talk to her.”

Aloisia was in the study when Gerlach entered.

“You’re going to the reunion,” he said without preamble.

“No.”

“It’s just one evening.”

“I am not interested.”

“It would mean a lot,” he insisted. “To the professors. To the alumni. They’ve invited you as a keynote mention. Russia. Your specialization. You’re the success story.”

She looked up slowly.

“I do not require validation from people who have not seen me in seven years.”

“This isn’t validation,” he replied. “It’s closure.”

The word lingered.

Closure.

Aloisia did not believe in it.

Still—

She disliked being cornered by assumptions of avoidance.

“Fine,” she said finally. “One hour.”

Gerlach smiled triumphantly.

Downstairs, Fenja pretended not to listen.

But she heard.

And a small, complicated spark ignited in her chest.

The next evening, the sky wore a bruised shade of purple as preparations unfolded.

Fenja emerged in a deep emerald dress. Elegant. Intentional.

Gerlach complimented her warmly.

Aloisia descended the stairs last.

Black tailored suit. Minimal jewelry. Hair perfectly arranged.

She looked less like an alumna and more like someone who owned the building.

“Shall we?” Gerlach asked.

“I’ll meet you there,” Aloisia replied.

Fenja frowned. “We can go together.”

“I prefer driving myself.”

Of course you do.

Fenja bit back the comment.

She watched as Aloisia exited first.

Control.

Always control.

The drive with Gerlach felt suffocating.

“You look nervous,” he observed gently.

“I’m not.”

“You wanted her to come, didn’t you?”

Fenja stared out the window.

“Yes.”

He smiled, misinterpreting her expression.

“She still matters to you as family.”

Family.

The word tasted foreign.

The university campus glowed under soft golden lights.

The auditorium entrance buzzed with voices, laughter, recognition.

And then—

Aloisia stepped out of her car.

Heads turned.

Conversations paused.

Recognition spread like wildfire.

“Is that Schmidt?”

“She looks incredible.”

“She’s a doctor in Russia now, right?”

“God, she hasn’t changed.”

She had changed.

They simply could not see it.

Fenja felt it immediately.

The gravitational shift.

The attention.

The hunger in the room.

Aloisia entered with calm detachment, greeting former professors politely. Students who once competed with her now hovered eagerly.

Fenja’s stomach tightened.

This had been a mistake.

Within minutes, a cluster formed around Aloisia.

Old classmates leaned in. Laughed too loudly. Asked about Moscow, about her specialization, about her success.

“Sit here!”

“No, next to me!”

“You remember when you topped neuroanatomy?”

Fenja stood a few steps away, watching.

She had known Aloisia was impressive.

But seeing it publicly displayed—

It unsettled her.

Gerlach chatted with former business majors, unaware of the tension radiating beside him.

And then—

A familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Aloisia?”

She turned.

Standing there was Meinrad Klein.

Her ex-boyfriend.

Before Fenja.

Before everything.

Tall. Well-dressed. Slightly older in demeanor but still carrying the easy charm that once drew her in.

“A long time,” he said warmly.

Aloisia regarded him for a second.

Then—

She stepped forward.

And hugged him.

Gasps.

Cheers.

“Wow!”

“Look at that!”

“They’re still perfect together!”

“Just kiss already!”

The auditorium erupted in teasing applause.

Fenja felt something snap inside her chest.

Not jealousy.

Not exactly.

Possession.

Aloisia pulled back from the hug calmly.

“It has been years,” she said evenly.

Meinrad smiled. “You look extraordinary.”

“So do you.”

More cheers.

“Schmidt and Klein forever!” someone shouted.

Fenja moved before thinking.

“That’s enough!” she snapped.

The room quieted.

She stepped forward, eyes sharp.

“This isn’t a circus. Stop demanding useless things.”

The laughter faltered.

A few awkward coughs.

Meinrad raised an eyebrow slightly.

Aloisia looked at Fenja.

Not angry.

Not surprised.

Just… assessing.

Fenja’s breathing was uneven.

Why did it matter so much?

You’re marrying someone else.

Remember that.

“Relax,” someone muttered. “We’re just joking.”

“Then joke about something else,” Fenja replied coldly.

Gerlach approached, confused.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aloisia answered before Fenja could speak.

She turned back to the group effortlessly.

“Excuse me.”

And just like that, she disengaged.

Control regained.

Fenja felt foolish.

Exposed.

Meinrad watched the exchange with quiet interest.

Later, during the seated portion of the event, fate seemed amused.

Aloisia found herself seated beside Meinrad.

Across from Fenja.

The stage lights dimmed as speeches began.

Fenja barely heard a word.

She watched as Meinrad leaned slightly toward Aloisia while speaking.

Watched as Aloisia responded with composed attention.

At one point, Meinrad’s hand brushed Aloisia’s arm lightly.

Fenja’s jaw tightened.

Gerlach noticed nothing.

Midway through the event, Meinrad spoke softly.

“I heard about Russia. You vanished.”

“I relocated.”

“You broke a few hearts.”

“I doubt that.”

He smiled faintly. “You broke mine.”

Aloisia regarded him with polite detachment.

“That was years ago.”

“And yet here we are.”

Across the table, Fenja’s patience eroded.

When applause filled the room after a professor’s speech, Fenja leaned forward.

“You seem comfortable,” she said coolly to Aloisia.

“I am.”

“With your ex.”

“He is a former acquaintance.”

“Looked like more than that.”

Aloisia’s eyes sharpened.

“Why are you concerned?”

“I’m not.”

“Then refrain from commentary.”

Meinrad observed silently, intrigue deepening.

After the Speeches

Music began. Wine circulated.

Clusters formed again.

Meinrad extended a hand toward Aloisia.

“Dance?”

A collective “ooo” rippled through nearby alumni.

Aloisia paused.

Fenja’s pulse quickened.

If she accepts—

“Why not,” Aloisia said calmly.

They stepped onto the floor.

Fenja’s vision blurred for a second.

The dance was simple. Formal. Nothing intimate.

But the room loved it.

Phones emerged.

Whispers ignited.

“Second chance romance.”

“They always looked good together.”

Fenja stood rigid.

Gerlach touched her shoulder. “You alright?”

“I need air.”

She stepped outside into the courtyard.

Cold night air hit her lungs sharply.

Why does this bother you?

Because she’s acting like nothing mattered.

Because she hugged him.

Because she looks fine.

Footsteps approached behind her.

Aloisia.

Of course.

“You left,” Aloisia stated.

“You danced.”

“Yes.”

“With your ex.”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Fenja’s composure cracked.

“Do you enjoy this?”

“Enjoy what?”

“Pretending I never existed.”

Aloisia’s gaze hardened.

“You are marrying my brother.”

“And you left me!”

The words burst out before she could restrain them.

“You left without asking! Without listening!”

“You were kissing him.”

“He forced that kiss!”

“And yet you are engaged to him now.”

“Because you disappeared!” Fenja’s voice trembled. “I thought you didn’t love me enough to fight!”

Aloisia stepped closer.

“I do not fight for what betrays me.”

“I didn’t betray you!”

The courtyard felt too small for the intensity building between them.

Inside, laughter echoed faintly.

Outside, tension coiled tighter.

“You think I wanted to marry him?” Fenja continued, eyes burning. “You think I dreamed of this?”

“Your actions suggest commitment.”

“My actions suggest survival!”

The word landed heavily.

Aloisia faltered internally for half a second.

Survival?

Before she could respond, the doors opened again.

Meinrad stepped out, glancing between them.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Aloisia replied immediately.

Fenja laughed bitterly.

“Of course it is.”

She turned and walked away toward the parking lot.

Aloisia watched her go.

For the first time that evening, something unsettled flickered beneath her composure.

Inside the auditorium, rumors already swirled.

Outside, old wounds reopened under university lights.

The reunion had done exactly what Fenja intended.

It disrupted.

But not in the way she expected.

Because instead of jealousy—

What she had uncovered was something far more dangerous.

Doubt.

And doubt, once planted, does not stay silent.