The next morning—Saturday—we woke up early to wash our clothes and do some house chores. We kept working until it was around 11:42 a.m., and by then, we were completely exhausted. It felt like we had walked a marathon inside the house. The day was hectic, to say the least.
After what felt like forever, we finally took a 30-minute break to catch our breath before hunting for something to eat. Once we ate, the rest of the day was just us chilling—watching a movie, joking around, and fully embracing the beauty of a Saturday. Saturdays are like our unofficial rebellion against student life. A day to say, "I'm tired of assignments, lectures, and responsibility. Let me live!" And we did just that.
Well, almost. Because despite all the fun, one thing still lurked in the back of my mind—the presentation. How am I supposed to face him? Seriously. What do I even say? He's probably angry right now. Ugh.
Later that evening, it was finally time for the big match—Year Two students versus Year One students. The game was happening at the main campus, which was… not exactly my favorite place. Just stepping foot there reminded me of my less-than-pleasant first experience at university.
Now, getting ready for the match? That was a whole event on its own. We took more than an hour just to pick an outfit. A true fashion crisis. The usual "Is this okay?" followed by "No, definitely not." We changed, and changed, and changed again. It was a cycle—one dress on, one dress off. A typical girls' routine. By the time we finally settled on outfits that didn't make us question our life choices, we were exhausted.
Once we looked good enough to face the world, we headed out for main campus—ready, but also not so ready.
We hopped on a motorcycle and headed to Main Campus. The moment I saw the gate, my heart started pounding like it was trying to break free from my chest. The air felt tight, suffocating—like I was trapped in an invisible box. Every instinct in me screamed to tell the rider to turn around and take me home.
I hated this place. I hated the way it left its mark on people. I hated the comments it whispered behind my back. But there was no turning back. I had two choices: face this now, hand Daræy the slide, and finally get this presentation over with before Monday—or deal with Celio. And that second option? Yeah, it wasn't really an option.
So, with my girls by my side, we walked in. People stared—not everyone, but enough to be noticeable. I mean, have you seen my friends? They were glowing, and I was just… there. Meh. It was lowkey discouraging, but what could I do? That's just how we were.
We walked straight to the field, ignoring the stares, pretending like we didn't have a single care in the world. Just laughing, minding our business, and acting like we totally belonged there.
The match was already in full swing when we arrived, so we just sat down and watched. It was intense—a real battle. They were actually good, but, to be honest, I don't get football. Like, what's the hype? People just run around, kicking a ball, and suddenly everyone's screaming. I don't see the appeal. But hey, to each their own.
By the time the match ended, I realized I had been so caught up in my surroundings that I completely forgot why I even came here in the first place. I scanned the field—no sign of Daræy.
Then I spotted Joshua walking by, so I tackled him. "Hey, Joshua, where are you going?"
He barely glanced at me. "Going to talk to Bianca."
"Oh." That was… uninteresting. I was about to let him go when it hit me. "Wait—have you seen Daræy?"
"Yeah," he said. "He's around here somewhere."
Helpful. Really helpful, Joshua.
By then, it was getting dark, and everything was blending into shadows, making it almost impossible to see properly. So, like a fool, I wasted precious time running around the field, searching for Daræy, and coming up empty.
Eventually, exhaustion kicked in. Frustrated and out of breath, I retreated to the back of the stadium to relax. Meanwhile, my friends were busy chatting with people I barely even knew, lost in their own little worlds.
And me? I was just there—waiting, watching, and trying not to think too much.
I made my way to the back of the stadium, stepping under a dimly lit light—just bright enough to make my face visible. I glanced around. At first, there was no one. But then, on a second look, I noticed a figure sitting on a bench.
It was too dark to see who it was, but I greeted politely, "Good evening."
No response.
Okay… your choice, buddy.
I started walking toward the bench, planning to sit down, but just as I got closer, the person stood up—about to leave.
And then, under the faint light, I heard it. Not you too.
That voice. I knew that voice.
"Daræy?" I called.
No answer.
Instead, he kept walking away, completely ignoring me. I tried calling him back, but he wouldn't stop. Just kept blabbering—talking in circles, telling me not to ask him any questions because he wasn't ready to answer. That I could think whatever I wanted, and he didn't care. That I should just leave.
And then—because apparently, he wasn't done—he added, "Go f** yourself."*
What the eff, bro?!
Something in me snapped.
"Daræy, get back here!" I yelled, my patience officially gone. "I am NOT missing my presentation just because your sorry ass is too scared to tell your best friend you're sorry and too ashamed to face your girlfriend after kissing her!"
That stopped him.
I kept going. "Yeah, yeah, everyone says you were planning to break up with her—but breaking up like that? That ain't it, chief. But guess what? That's your problem. Handle your life however you want. I don't care. What I do care about is my grade. You are the last person in my group, and I need to give you this damn slide so you can practice. We need to go over this together so we don't make fools of ourselves on Monday."
I folded my arms, staring him down. "I am not getting an F just because you're sad and sorry. You've got your issues? Fine. Deal with them. But this? This is my issue. And I'm dealing with it."
I pointed at the bench. "So you're gonna get your ass back here, sit down, listen to whatever crap I have to say about this presentation, and actually practice—so we can get an A. Capisce?"
When I finally shut up, giving him space to say something—anything—he turned around and started walking toward me. Slowly. Deliberately.
With every step, I felt smaller, shrinking under the weight of his presence. He was tall, towering over me, looking down like I was some insignificant creature that had dared to yell at him, like I had the audacity to try and control him.
I opened my mouth to speak again, but before I could, he said—
"She kissed me. I didn't like it. So I broke up with her."
Silence.
At first, I just stood there, stunned. That's it? That's what he had to say after all that? After I just yelled at him like he was my annoying little brother?
But honestly? It was more than enough.
Without another word, he sat down and muttered, "What's this presentation about?"
I let out a long, exhausted sigh. Finally.
I sat beside him and started explaining. It was a GST presentation—General Studies. We talked and talked, going over the key points, where he needed to focus, and how he had to go back and research so he could fully grasp what we were trying to explain to the lecturer.
Before we wrapped up, I told him, "We're meeting on Sunday evening at four to practice. That way, we'll be fully prepared for Monday."
He just nodded. No argument, no complaint.
Good.
After that, we just sat there in silence, side by side. It was… nice. Peaceful, even. The cool breeze brushed past us, and for once, there was no yelling, no tension—just quiet.
Or so I thought.
Then, his words replayed in my head. She kissed me. I didn't like it. So I broke up with her.
And just like that, my thoughts spiraled.
Did he like our kiss? When we kissed, did it mean anything to him? Did he feel something—the way I did?
But I couldn't let my mind wander there. I knew where it led. Unanswered questions only brought dramatic endings no one ever wanted.
Still… I felt this nagging urge. I was already bold enough to yell at him and boss him around. Asking him this shouldn't be that hard… right?
So, before I could overthink it, I blurted out, "Did you feel her?"
His head snapped toward me, brows furrowed in confusion. "Feel who?"
I swallowed. "Anita. Did you feel her?"
Silence settled between us again.
He looked surprised—his expression a mix of shock and… something else. I couldn't tell if it was because of my question or because he couldn't believe I had the audacity to ask it. Or maybe he just thought it was dumb.
Either way, I didn't care. He started this—I had to finish it.
So I kept talking.
"If you didn't feel her, then it's 50% not as bad as you think."
He let out a small chuckle. "What do you even mean by feel her?"
I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Daræy. When two people actually like each other's kiss, there's love. There's chemistry. There's this… adrenaline rush. If it's intense enough, you completely forget about your surroundings. It's like—magic." I gestured dramatically. "You must have read about it in stories."
He smirked. "Yeah, maybe in stories. But I've never heard anyone say it in real life."
"Well, now you have." I shrugged. "Look, I know I sound ridiculous, but seriously—if you didn't feel anything for her, you have to tell her. It's not just about freeing yourself from the guilt—it frees her too. It stops her from holding on to something that was never real in the first place. The truth might be painful, but at least it ends things instead of dragging them out."
He didn't say anything, so I kept going.
"Like, honestly, it was already dumb enough to date her if you didn't like her. Why even go through with it? You could've just—" I stopped myself, sighing. "Ugh, I'm talking too much again."
He nodded. "I understand."
I exhaled. "Good. Good."
After he said he understood, I hesitated. Something in me knew I couldn't leave it at that. It didn't feel complete.
I needed to tell him his wrongs, too.
Without hesitation, I started.
"You're 50% not wrong," I said, "but you're also 50% wrong."
He raised a brow, staring at me like he was already bracing himself for whatever speech I was about to unleash. But I wasn't about to stop now.
"I know, I know—it's not my place to tell you this. I shouldn't be overstepping, but I have to."
He didn't interrupt, so I continued.
"Look, you had your reasons for breaking up with Anita. You didn't like her, so you broke up with her. Fine. But how you did it? Yeah, that was not it.
"You could've just talked to her, Daræy. You're an adult. You could literally sit in a room, have a conversation, and explain that you didn't feel anything for her anymore. Or—if you never did—you should have told her that too. Instead, you yelled at her and sent her out in the rain. No consideration, no nothing.
"I get it. You're mad that people are taking Anita's side. You hate it. And right now, you probably want to bust my head for talking too much." I exhaled. "But I'm telling you—you should apologize to her."
His jaw tightened slightly, but he still didn't speak.
"I'm not saying you should apologize for breaking up with her. You shouldn't. That decision? Stand by it. You didn't feel her, and that's fair. But the way you handled it? That was messed up.
"And while we're on the topic of apologizing—you need to fix things with Justin, too. You shouldn't have tried to be a hero when you didn't even like Anita. That was foolish. And now you've lost your best friend."
I paused, letting my words settle before adding, "You can't keep living like this. It's like you're carrying around this weight—like you lost your backpack or something."
Then, without thinking, I blurted out, "I mean… Dora had a backpack. And she also had Diego. You need your Diego."
Silence.
Then he laughed.
I had no idea why I brought up Dora the Explorer, and honestly, I regretted it immediately. Why did I say that?
Clearing my throat, I tried to recover. "Anyway. The point is, I have someone like that too. If Bianca's mad at me, I cannot handle it. Whether I'm right or wrong doesn't even matter—I have to apologize. And I think you should do the same with Justin."
I got up. "I'll get going now. I really hope you make up with him, Daræy. This whole gloomy thing? Not a good look. And honestly, I don't want you sulking all through our presentation. It might not look good to the lecturer.
"He might deduct marks—you never know."