That day ended in a blink, like time itself had skipped over the moment—too fragile to hold, too tangled to stretch any further. The rooftop lingered in my thoughts, echoing behind my eyes long after the sky had faded to black. And just like that, the chaotic weekend unraveled, thread by thread, until all that remained was silence and the slow crawl of a new day.
Morning came the way it always did—uninvited, indifferent. Sunlight pierced through the slats of my blinds, casting pale stripes across the cold, shadowed walls. It warmed the room, but not the hollowness inside it. That stayed untouched. Quiet. Waiting.
I got up anyway.
And I went to college.
I thought Everything was same but it was not something had changed I don't know what but she was on my mind as the lectures went on and time passed my desire for her increased my heart was beating faster than a bullet train the lecture ended but not my thoughts
The hallway buzzed with life—shoes squeaking on linoleum, laughter echoing off lockers, the usual hum of people pretending everything was normal.
But nothing felt normal.
Not to me.
I moved through it all like a ghost, barely aware of the conversations brushing past me, the warmth of bodies and breath in the air. It all blurred. Too loud. Too bright. Too far away.
And then I saw her.
Alice.
Half a hallway away, her back to me, standing by a vending machine that flickered like it was struggling to stay awake. Her hair was pulled up messily, a few strands falling loose around her neck, catching the light just enough to stop me in my tracks.
She hadn't seen me.
I didn't move.
My heart did, though—lurching forward like it recognized something I hadn't yet caught up to.
I watched her press the buttons slowly, as if choosing a snack required careful thought, as if the world might split open if she picked the wrong thing. There was something in the set of her shoulders—tight, uncertain—that made me realize I wasn't the only one who hadn't slept well.
I should've walked away.
Given her space.
But my feet carried me forward anyway.
"Hey," I said, soft, like the hallway might swallow it.
She turned, startled—not scared, just… caught. Like she hadn't expected anyone to see her here, in this moment, in this quiet.
For a heartbeat, neither of us said anything.
Then her eyes softened.
"Hey," she echoed.
That one word held so much—recognition, weariness, a memory we hadn't named yet.
"I wasn't sure if I should say anything," I admitted. "After… y'know."
Her lips curved—half-smile, half-wince. "Yeah. The rooftop."
I nodded.
She looked down, her fingers still resting on the vending machine like it might keep her steady.
"Didn't think I'd see you this early," she said.
"I couldn't sleep."
She glanced up at that—met my eyes fully now.
"Me neither."
And for a moment, the hallway disappeared. The noise fell away. It was just us, caught between whatever we were and whatever we might be—trying to make sense of the space between.
"Do you… want to talk?" I asked. "Or I can shut up and stand here. Either one."
Alice let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but not quite.
"You're weird," she said.
"Little bit."
She stared at me.
Then she stepped aside, just a little, enough that the space beside her opened like an invitation.
"Then come be weird over here."
I smiled—the kind that starts somewhere deep and quiet—and took my place beside her.
But the moment barely settled before I felt it.
That shift in the air.
The hallway's rhythm changed.
Footsteps behind me. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
Then a voice.
"Well, look who crawled out of hiding."
I turned.
Three of them. The same guys from the bar. Sober now. Less sloppy. More dangerous.
The one in front—bruised temple, split lip, still nursing the dent in his pride—locked eyes with me.
"I figured you'd grow a pair eventually," he sneered. "Didn't think I'd find you holding her purse."
Alice stiffened beside me, but didn't speak.
I didn't break eye contact. My voice came out calm. Measured.
"I don't carry her purse. I carry the last guy who ran his mouth."
His grin faltered.
Behind him, the others shifted. A little too eager. A little too silent.
I stepped forward, slow and steady, planting myself between him and Alice without hesitation.
"You want to do this here?" I asked. "Hall full of people? Or do you just need an audience?"
"You've got a smart mouth for someone who needed her to save him," he growled.
"You've got a cracked head for someone who still thinks that was a win."
His jaw tensed.
Then he shoved me.
Hard.
My back hit the vending machine with a hollow thunk.
I stood upright again. Didn't touch him. Didn't blink.
I just stepped back into his space, my voice low and razor-edged.
"You think you're scaring me? You don't know what scary is."
Then it happened fast.
He swung.
But I was already moving.
His fist skimmed past my jaw as I ducked, stepping into him, shoulder slamming into his chest. He staggered back, unbalanced.
I followed.
Grabbed the collar of his shirt, shoved him against the lockers so hard the metal groaned.
"Still feel like finishing this?" I said, eyes locked on his.
He tried to push me off, but I held him there—just long enough to make the message clear. Then I let go.
He stumbled, red-faced, humiliated.
His friends didn't move.
Alice's voice cut through the tension.
"Careful," she said flatly. "He goes easy until he stops."
The guy's eyes flicked from me to her. Then down. His bravado slipped like wet paint off a wall.
"You're lucky we're in school," he muttered.
"No," I said. "You are."
He turned without another word.
They left. All three. No threats. No promises.
Just the sound of retreat.
The hallway slowly started breathing again. The crowd that had paused resumed moving. A few looks lingered. A couple whispers.
But I didn't care.
I turned back to Alice.
"You okay?"
She looked at me. Really looked.
Then nodded.
"You?"
I flexed my jaw once. Rolled my shoulder. "Better than him."
She stared for a beat, then gave the faintest smile.
"You didn't run this time."
I didn't smile back. Just held her gaze.
"I wasn't about to let anyone touch you again."
And I meant it.