The next day passed by in a haze.
Elora questioned herself endlessly.
Was this right?
Was hoping Marcus would become something more than a stranger in her life a mistake?
Was she repeating an error she had once sworn she would never make again?
“Hey.”
The sound came suddenly.
Sarah walked into the empty classroom and sat beside her. She looked frustrated at first, but the moment she noticed Elora’s expression, it faded.
“What’s the matter?”
Elora sighed and turned to her. If there was anyone who could understand her, it was Sarah. Slowly, she let everything spill—her fears, her beliefs, the assumptions she had built walls around.
Sarah listened quietly before smiling softly.
“You’re not afraid to fall in love,” she said gently. “You’re afraid of being the only one who falls.”
Elora looked away. She knew she’d been seen. There was no denying it now.
“I know you well enough to say this,” Sarah continued. “Everyone isn’t the same. You should give him a chance. He is a great guy. But it’s your choice—no pressure.”
With that, Sarah left.
Elora stared at her phone, her thumb tracing the screen as she reread the messages from last night. A small smile tugged at her lips before she finally kept the phone aside.
“Maybe I am scared,” she whispered to herself.
“I won’t rush things… but if it’s meant to be, it will be.”
Memories flashed. The reason why she didn't want to trust too early reappeared in her mind. Shouts, plates cracked, echoes and screams followed every corner of the house. Somedays when she went hungry, tears rolling down her face. Her eyes turned cold. She sighed and closed the book in front of her resting her head on the table. As her eyes closed for a instant, all she could see was a blurred face and her in a white dress running through the valleys of Pitlochry, Scotland.
The following week was chaos.
The Annual Day preparations finally came together, the school prepared to close for summer break, and students welcomed a pause from their repetitive routines.
Marcus sat at his study table, jotting down notes. Exactly an hour later, with practiced efficiency, he closed the book and leaned back, sighing softly.
He closed his eyes.
And there she was.
Her face. Her smile. That sunshine personality anyone could notice within minutes of meeting her. He hadn’t met her in person, but Sarah’s stories filled the gaps effortlessly. He wouldn’t admit—ever—that he had taken a few screenshots.
After that night, he hadn’t texted. Not because he didn’t want to, but because life demanded his attention—football practice, an upcoming match, and a mindset that required focus.
There was this one instant during the practice where even though Marcus was in perfect discipline, his focus shifted to the strands of her hair. He missed the ball, the coach shouted and his friends teased. Everyone knew something was wrong, well at least now they did. It was too obvious.
Soon, it was the last day of school before summer break.
No one studied. Everyone was busy clicking pictures and discussing travel plans. Elora and Sarah painted a class banner for the final photograph, while Magnus and Stephan argued over a playlist. Others decorated the class board, laughter echoing through the room.
An hour later, the class assembled. Cameras flashed. Poses were struck. Memories were sealed.
Next year, they would all be in separate sections.
Sarah clicked several pictures of Elora being her usual goofy self—posing with a skateboard, pretending to steal something, wearing ridiculous glasses.
“I’ll post them!” Sarah warned.
“Over my dead body,” Elora laughed.
Later that evening, Marcus scrolled through Instagram stories—another habit he had developed—and stopped.
Sarah had posted them.
Elora was probably hidden, but Marcus recognized her instantly. He chuckled to himself and decided to text her again.
Marcus: Hey… what’s up?
Elora picked up her phone at the notification. Marcus?
She glanced at her reflection. Just a text.
Elora: Just finished dinner.
Marcus sent three pictures.
The same ones Elora had forbidden Sarah from posting.
Elora: Huh? How did you get these?
Marcus: Sources. Let’s say I found them while searching for goofy aesthetics.
Elora: I didn’t know goofy aesthetics were your type.
Marcus: They’re not. Usually.
Elora: Then what is your type? Do you have someone you like?
Marcus: I do.
Elora stared at the screen.
Should she ask about the girl?
It wasn’t her—of course not. She didn’t know him well enough to step into his private life. She chose silence.
Miles away, Marcus’s heart raced as he reread his message.
Will she ask?
But she was afraid of being the only one who fell.
And if she didn’t ask—she couldn’t get hurt.
At least, that’s what her mind told her.
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
That was something impossible, yet.
She didn't accept it but- 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦.
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