Jace woke to the faint sound of spoons clinking in ceramic—the usual Saturday morning rhythm of her parents making breakfast. Sunlight spilled through the slats in her blinds, golden and warm, but it felt like a lie. The world outside her room still moved on like nothing had shattered the night before.
Her chest ached with the ghost of everything she hadn't said. She hadn't changed out of yesterday's clothes. Her sneakers were still at the foot of the bed, dusty from walking aimlessly in the dark.
Her phone buzzed again.
Mira: You okay? Haven't heard from you.
Jace stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, but she didn't respond. Not yet.
She sat up slowly, every muscle stiff with exhaustion she hadn't earned from sleep. Her eyes felt swollen, though she hadn't cried again. That was the worst part. The numbness.
Downstairs, her mother's voice floated up the stairs—gentle, unaware.
"Jace? Breakfast's ready!"
"Coming," she called back, voice hoarse.
In the mirror above her desk, she barely recognized herself. Pale. Shadowed eyes. A haunted girl who'd mastered the art of pretending everything was fine.
She splashed cold water on her face and pulled her hoodie over her head, trying to shake the weight pressing on her chest. She could survive this. She had to. She couldn't let her parents see the truth in her eyes. Couldn't let Mira hear the truth in her silence.
At the breakfast table, her dad was already halfway through his tea, flipping through a newspaper like it was 2003. Her mom smiled, placing a plate of yam and egg in front of her.
"You came in late," she said gently. "Movie was good?"
Jace nodded, chewing slowly. "Yeah. Just tired."
Her mom watched her a moment longer. "You should sleep more. You're always thinking too much."
If only she knew.
After breakfast, Jace retreated to her room again. She tried to read. Failed. She opened a blank page in her notebook. Closed it again. Every thought circled back to them. Mira's laughter. Michael's eyes. The way he handed her that drink. So small. So tender. Like it meant something.
And the worst part? She still wanted to see him. To be around them. To feel close, even if it tore her apart.
Her phone buzzed once more. This time, a voice note from Mira.
She played it.
"Hey. I just… wanted to say thanks again for coming. I know things felt a bit weird. I'm glad you were there though. Love you."
Jace's throat tightened.
She typed a response, then deleted it. Then typed again.
> Love you too. Just need a quiet day today.
She hit send.
Outside, kids were playing. A generator hummed in the distance. Life went on, oblivious.
But inside Jace's chest, a fault line had cracked wide open—and the weight of what she carried was getting harder to hide.
Mira sat on the edge of her bed, the dim light casting long shadows across her room. Her phone rested on her lap, silent. She kept replaying last night in her mind—the way Jace looked, the tension she couldn't explain.
She bit her lip, staring out the window at the quiet street below. Is she hurting more than she lets on? The thought knotted in her chest like a stone.
She wanted to reach out, to say something that would make it all better. But how do you fix a heart that's breaking in silence?
For now, all she could do was hope. Hope that Jace knew she wasn't alone—even when it felt like the world was closing in.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside his window. Michael sat on his couch, staring blankly at the TV—though the screen's flicker barely registered. His mind was stuck replaying last night's movie, but not the film itself.
It was Jace. The way she'd sat so still, eyes fixed on the screen but somehow distant—like she was somewhere else entirely. There was a look in her gaze he couldn't shake, something raw and unreadable.
He didn't even have her number to reach out, to ask if she was okay. The thought of calling or texting felt strange, like crossing an invisible line. Still, he found himself wanting to know what was behind that stare, what storm she was hiding.
And the hardest part?
Deep down, Michael knew the truth he hadn't admitted—even to himself.
He didn't love Mira the way she loved him.
The weight of that secret twisted in his chest, heavy and impossible to ignore.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
Some questions couldn't wait for answers—no matter how much you wished they would.
While Michael wrestled with the silence she'd left behind, replaying the moment her eyes lingered on him longer than they should have—
Jace, on the other hand, was doing everything she could to forget.
She didn't want to think about the way his gaze had locked with hers, or how something in the air had shifted—charged and fragile. She didn't want to wonder if he felt it too.
So she clung to what she knew: discipline. Structure. Books.
Jace threw herself into her studies like they were the only lifeline keeping her from drowning. Her desk was a war zone of textbooks, sticky notes, and pens uncapped in every color. She recited theories under her breath like prayers, traced diagrams over and over, anything to stop her thoughts from circling back to that night.
Because if she slowed down—just for a second—her mind would drift. To the way Michael had handed her that drink like she mattered. To the way he looked at her like he saw right through her, like he knew something.
She couldn't afford that.
So she pressed harder. Highlighted with more force than necessary. Took notes she didn't need. Reviewed topics she'd already mastered. And still, her heart betrayed her, thudding loud whenever his name flitted across her mind.
At one point, she caught herself staring out the window, eyes unfocused, page untouched.
"Focus," she whispered. "Focus, Jace."
She snapped the rubber band around her wrist. A habit from exam seasons. One sharp sting to ground herself. One small punishment for thinking about the one person she shouldn't.
It worked—briefly.
But then came the guilt. Mira's voice from the voice note still echoed in her head. Sweet. Grateful. Unaware. And Jace hated herself for the way she kept seeing Michael's face every time she closed her eyes.
Not Mira's. Not her best friend. His.
The betrayal wasn't in her actions. It was in her thoughts.
And thoughts had teeth.
By mid-afternoon, her eyes were red from reading, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. It was the only way to keep the ache at bay. The only way to feel like she still had control.
Because nothing—not even the pages she filled—could quiet the truth she was too scared to say aloud:
She was in love with him. And he wasn't even hers to love.
The weight of that truth sat heavy on her chest, but slowly, something inside her shifted. Maybe it was the quiet ache growing too loud, or the loneliness pressing in from all sides—but Jace knew she couldn't keep shutting Mira out.
Her fingers hovered over her phone. She stared at the blank message screen, heart pounding.
Just say something simple. Apologize. Ask how she's doing.
After a long breath, she started typing:
Hey, sorry for not replying earlier. I've been a bit off — just needed some time to clear my head.
She paused. That was vague enough. Safe enough.
Then she added:
How's your day going? What are you up to?
Her thumb hovered over send again. Doubt gnawed at her. Would Mira ask too many questions? Would she see through the excuse? But Jace couldn't bear the silence anymore.
She tapped send.
The screen blinked, and the message was gone.
Almost immediately, the familiar buzz of her phone startled her.
Mira's reply lit up the screen:
Hey, no worries. I was just worried about you. My day's been alright—just the usual errands and trying to catch up on some reading. Wish you were here.
Jace stared at the words, a strange mix of comfort and guilt washing over her.
She wanted to tell Mira everything—the confusion, the longing, the secret she buried deep—but for now, she simply typed back:
I wish I was there too. Maybe we can catch up later? I miss you.
She sent it before doubt could stop her.
Outside, the sky darkened into early evening, and Jace's heart ached in a way no book or study guide could fix.