The woman, lying on the cold floor, wept silently, her voice barely a whisper: "What did I do to you? Why would you hurt me like this?"
Instead of offering comfort, the women laughed, their mirth echoing cruelly over the woman's quiet sobs on the floor. "Oh, you're so dramatic," one of them sneered, "always the victim, always the center of attention."
"I don't even understand why your boyfriend's with you," one of them scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're so…plain. And yet, siya yung pinaka poging lalaki sa campus? nakakadiri!"
"Alam mo kung bakit niya ako nagustuhan?" the woman on the floor retorted, her voice tight with anger. "Because I'm not a horrible, stupid person like you!"
"How dare you! Ang kapal ng mukha mong sabihan akong istupida!" the woman standing shrieked, her fury erupting as she lashed out, kicking the woman already crumpled on the floor.
The women continued to kick the woman on the floor, their laughter sharp and cruel as they rained blows upon her. The woman on the floor tried to protect herself, her arms rising weakly to deflect the kicks, but she was too weak, her defenses futile against the relentless attack.
Finally, exhausted from their brutal attack, the women slumped back, panting. The woman on the floor lay still, a pool of blood spreading around her as she vomited. Suddenly, the rooftop door creaked open, revealing a strikingly handsome man silhouetted against the setting sun.
The arrival of the man caused the women to freeze, their surprised expressions a mixture of shock and apprehension. Their previous aggression was replaced by a sudden, wary stillness.
"What are you doing here?" the man demanded, his voice sharp with concern. He knelt beside the woman on the floor, his gaze fixed on her, worry etched onto his face. "What happened to her?"
"N-nothing," one of the women stammered, her eyes darting nervously away from the man's intense gaze. "We... we don't know. We just found her like this. We were going to help, but then you arrived."
The man didn't look convinced. His gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over the woman on the floor, then back to the two who stood awkwardly before him. The blood, the woman's labored breathing, the disarray of her clothing – it all screamed a different story. He noticed the subtle scuff marks on their shoes, the traces of dirt clinging to their knees. He stood, his hands clenched into fists.
"Get out," he said, his voice low and dangerous, the command leaving no room for argument. "And don't ever come near her again." His eyes, dark and intense, held a warning that sent shivers down their spines. They didn't need to be told twice. With hurried apologies and nervous glances, they scrambled away, leaving the man alone with the injured woman. He gently checked her pulse, a wave of anger and protectiveness washing over him as he assessed the extent of her injuries. He knew he needed to get her help, fast.
The man carefully lifted the woman, his movements gentle despite his urgency, and carried her to El Medical Hospital. The moment the emergency room staff saw her condition – the blood, the labored breathing, the obvious signs of trauma – they sprang into action. A team of doctors and nurses surrounded her, their movements efficient and practiced as they worked to stabilize her and assess the extent of her injuries. The air crackled with the urgency of the situation, the quiet hum of medical equipment a stark contrast to the violence she had endured
A tense silence fell over the room, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Then, the dreaded sound: tingg. A flatline. The beeping ceased, replaced by a chilling silence that amplified the gravity of the moment. The frantic energy of the room shifted, replaced by a stunned quiet as the medical team immediately redoubled their efforts, a desperate battle against the clock.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room swam into focus. A throbbing pain pulsed in her head, a dull ache that resonated through her body. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The sterile white walls, the scent of antiseptic, the rhythmic drip of an IV – all confirmed she was in a hospital. She tried to sit up, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through her side.
Disorientation washed over her. Where was she? How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was… the brutal attack. A wave of nausea rolled over her as the memory returned, vivid and terrifying. She hold her head, feeling a hints of pain.
Her mother approached her, her face etched with worry, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor she'd maintained while speaking with the doctor moments before. The fear in her eyes was palpable, a silent scream that spoke volumes. "Averja?!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with relief and a tremor of fear. "How are you? What' happened, baby?"
"M-Mom?" Averja whispered, her voice barely audible, a fragile thread of sound. Her eyes, still clouded with pain and confusion, widened slightly as she focused on her mother's face, a glimmer of recognition breaking through the fog of her ordeal.
"Oh, darling," his mother cried, her voice choked with emotion, rushing to her daughter's side. She gently took Averja's hand, her touch tentative yet filled with a mother's fierce protectiveness. "What happened to you, my love? Who did this to you?" Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of relief at her daughter's survival and anguish at the sight of her injuries.
Averja didn't answer her mother's question, the pain and trauma still too raw. Instead, she looked at her mother, a flicker of defiance in her eyes despite her weakness. "I want to transfer to a new university," she said, her voice stronger than expected, a surprising declaration that seemed to momentarily push the horror of what had happened to the back of her mind.
"Yes, my love," her mother replied, her voice softening, stroking Averja's hair. "We'll transfer you to a new university soon. We'll figure everything out. Just rest now." The mention of the university, a seemingly mundane detail, offered a small comfort, a tiny beacon of normalcy amidst the chaos. The unspoken understanding hung in the air: healing would take time, but a new beginning awaited.
Averja stirred, her eyes fluttering open. A moment of clarity broke through the haze of medication and trauma. She looked at her mother, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "Mom," she began, her voice still weak but firm, "I'm curious about one thing."
Her mother leaned closer, her hand tightening slightly on Averja's. "Yes, my love? What is it?"
Averja paused, gathering her strength. "Who brought me here?" The question hung in the air, simple yet profound, carrying with it the weight of unspoken fear and a desperate need for answers.
"The nurse said a man brought you here," her mother replied, her voice carefully measured, choosing her words with a caution born of both concern and a desire to protect her daughter from further distress. "He didn't give his name, but they said he was wearing a school uniform." The information hung in the air, a cryptic clue in a mystery that was only just beginning to unfold.
"Did they mention his school?" Averja asked, her voice barely a breath, yet the question held a sharp edge of urgency.
Her mother hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Yes, they did, darling," she replied, her voice soft but laced with a subtle undercurrent of unease. "They said the man was a student at De Lahnnel University."
"I want to transfer there, Mom," Averja insisted, a newfound strength in her voice. "De Lahnnel University. I want to meet him and thank him personally for saving me."
Her mother's gaze softened, a mixture of concern and pride in her eyes. "Are you sure, honey? You've been through so much."
Averja nodded, her determination unwavering. "Yes, Mom. I need to meet him. I need to thank him."
A long silence followed, filled only with the soft hum of the hospital machinery. Then, her mother's voice, laced with worry, broke the stillness. "If that's what you want, darling. But... I'm also curious about one thing, honey. Who did this to you?" The question hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unresolved trauma that still lay ahead.
Averja hesitated, her eyes darting away from her mother's gaze. The memory of the attack, the pain, the fear – it all threatened to overwhelm her again. But she took a deep breath, steeling herself. Finally, she whispered, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of a terrible truth, "Gwyneth Montel… and her friend… they did this to me."
Averja's voice trailed off, the words barely a whisper. A shadow of fear clouded her eyes, a stark contrast to the earlier resolve. "But… I don't want to cause any trouble," she murmured, her gaze dropping to her hands. "I'll just transfer to a new university… like nothing happened." The unspoken plea for peace, for escape from the looming conflict, hung heavy in the air.
Her mother simply nodded, her expression unreadable, a complex mix of understanding, worry, and perhaps a simmering anger she was carefully suppressing. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken emotions, before Averja, her voice trembling slightly, asked, "Where's Dad? And… where's Khirven?" The questions, simple yet fraught with unspoken anxieties, hung in the air.
Her mother's face hardened, the carefully constructed composure crumbling into a mask of barely controlled fury. The mention of Khirven's name seemed to act as a trigger, the anger simmering beneath the surface finally erupting. "Your father just got home to get some things for you," she said, her voice tight with barely suppressed rage. "But your boyfriend? He never showed up." The unspoken accusation hung in the air, heavy and accusing.
"He never did!" her mother exclaimed, the anger in her voice escalating. "We called him a bunch of times! But he didn't pick up. But earlier… earlier when I called him that last time… he did pick up," she mimicked a saccharine, high-pitched voice, her own voice dripping with sarcasm. "But then… then his voice turned into… this," she continued, her voice becoming a shrill parody of a giggling girl. "'Sorry, me and Khirven are busy right now, we're making babies!' she said, all giggly-like. 'Call him later, okay?'" Her imitation ended with a sharp, dismissive flick of her wrist, the anger palpable even in the mocking tone.
Averja's shoulders slumped, the weight of her mother's words settling heavily on her. The betrayal stung, a sharp contrast to the physical pain she had already endured. The sadness in her eyes was evident, reflecting the shattering of her trust. Her mother, seeing her daughter's distress, offered a curt, decisive statement, devoid of any sentimentality: "Break up with him."
Averja nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Mom. But not now… not in this state. Look at me? I'm a weak mess. Just let me rest for a bit, and then… then I'll break up with him." The words held a fragile determination, a promise whispered against the backdrop of her exhaustion and emotional turmoil.
Her mother's face softened, a proud smile replacing the earlier anger. She reached out and gently squeezed Averja's hand. "That's my girl," she said, her voice filled with a warmth that belied the harsh words she had spoken moments before. "I'm so proud of you."
A week after her discharge, Averja, though still frail, stubbornly returned to school. Lingering aches and fatigue marked her body, but her spirit, ever defiant, refused to yield. Her pale face and hesitant steps hinted at her fragility, yet her presence in the classroom was a silent act of rebellion against her own vulnerability.
The hallway stretched before Averja, a seemingly endless expanse of linoleum and lockers. Each step was a measured effort, her body still protesting the exertion. Then, frozen mid-stride, her breath hitched. There, pressed against a locker, were them: her boyfriend, locked in a passionate embrace with the girl whose cruelty had landed Averja in the hospital. The sight struck her with the force of a physical blow, a brutal betrayal that overshadowed even the lingering pain in her body. The hallway, once a mundane path, transformed into a landscape of raw, searing pain.
"How the fuck dare you?" The words ripped from Averja's throat, raw and ragged, fueled by a potent cocktail of betrayal and fury. "Cheat on me? With her? The girl who put me in the hospital? Who made me go flatline?" Her voice cracked, the pain bleeding through the anger. "I waited for you all day! Where were you? Making out with this… this bitch?" Each word was a venomous dart, aimed straight at the heart of her shocked and speechless boyfriend.
"Excuse you? How dare you call me a bitch?" Gwyneth's voice, sharp and defensive, cut through the air.
Averja didn't flinch. "You are a bitch. You knew Khirven was my boyfriend, and yet…" she gestured between them, the unspoken accusation hanging heavy.
"FYI," Gwyneth spat, "he let me kiss him! I didn't force him, and he's my boyfriend now, not yours."
Khirven stepped forward, his voice oozing a smug self-satisfaction. "She's right, Averja. I'm hers now. I was just dating you… because you were doing my homework."
Averja stared at him, her face a mask of barely contained rage. The betrayal was a physical blow, but his callous confession was a gutting twist of the knife. She finally found her voice, the words clipped and devoid of emotion. "I don't give a fuck about you, Khirven." The utter indifference in her tone was perhaps the most devastating blow of all.
The silence that followed hung thick and heavy, broken only by the ragged breaths of the three participants in this brutal confrontation. Then, Gwyneth, emboldened by Khirven's support, launched another attack. "At least I'm not a pathetic mess who needs to be hospitalized because of a little bullying," she sneered, her words dripping with venom.
Averja's eyes flashed. "Oh, I'm pathetic, am I? Well, at least I don't need to steal other people's boyfriends to feel better about myself," she retorted, her voice rising in pitch. "You're a pathetic leech, clinging to someone who's clearly using you just as much as he used me."
"Used?" Khirven scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, Averja. You were convenient. Gwyneth, on the other hand…" he trailed off, his gaze lingering on Gwyneth with a possessive glint. "Gwyneth is… different."
Averja laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Different? How? Because she's willing to stoop to the same level you are? You're both pathetic, shallow, and utterly devoid of any decency."
Gwyneth lunged forward, her face contorted with fury. "You think you're so high and mighty? You're just weak! You needed to be hospitalized! I'm stronger, I'm better, and I've got what you'll never have again: Khirven."
Averja met her gaze, her eyes burning with a cold fury. "You're right," she said, her voice low and dangerously calm. "You've got him. Enjoy him. Because he's as worthless as the two of you." She turned and walked away, leaving the pair standing there, their triumphant expressions slowly crumbling under the weight of her quiet, devastating contempt.
The slam of the locker echoed behind me, swallowed by the sudden, blessed silence of the hallway. Let them have their little drama, their cheap victory. Let them cling to each other, two halves of a pathetic whole. I didn't need that. I didn't need him.
These past few weeks had been a brutal crucible. I'd stared into the abyss of my own vulnerability, confronted the terrifying reality of almost dying, the gut-wrenching betrayal of Khirven, and the chilling cruelty of Gwyneth. But from the ashes of that trauma, something stronger had been born. A resilience I never knew I possessed. I'd faced my darkest fears and emerged, not broken, but forged anew.
This wasn't weakness; this was strength. Raw, untamed strength. The strength to walk away from a toxic relationship, the strength to confront my own pain, the strength to rebuild my life on my own terms. I didn't need a man to define me, to complete me, to make me feel whole. I was whole. Stronger than I'd ever been, fiercely independent. Khirven and Gwyneth could have their shallow, self-destructive drama. I had something far more valuable: myself. And that is more than enough.
De Lahnnel University. The sprawling campus felt both exhilarating and daunting. This was a fresh start, a new chapter, but it was also the place where I intended to find him. The man who'd saved my life. The nurse had been vague, only mentioning he was a student here, but that was enough. My determination burned bright, a fierce ember against the backdrop of this new, unfamiliar environment. I'd transferred schools, finally escaping my father's suffocating control, but my real mission had only just begun. Finding him, thanking him—that was the purpose that propelled me, the driving force behind my every step on this campus. This wasn't just about a new university; it was a quest.
The air in the classroom hummed with a low thrum of conversation, a vibrant tapestry woven from laughter, shared jokes, and the easy banter of friends. Observing my classmates, I felt a shift in my perception; their interactions weren't merely "kinda fun," but revealed a depth of connection and shared experience that was both intriguing and inviting. The casual way they spoke, the inside jokes exchanged with knowing smiles, suggested a comfortable familiarity that hinted at a strong sense of community within the classroom. It was a scene of effortless camaraderie, a subtle symphony of human interaction that spoke volumes about the positive dynamics at play. This wasn't just a classroom; it felt like a microcosm of a supportive and welcoming community.
"Hi, OMG! Ikaw siguro yung transferee? Helloooo! I'm Icyzel, the class monitor," Icyzel chirped, her voice brimming with a welcoming energy.
Averja smiled, a little shyly. "Oh, hi. Yes, I am. I'm Averja. Nice to meet you."
Icyzel's eyes widened. "You're sooo beautiful! I'm so excited to meet you! Honestly, when I saw your picture, I knew you were gorgeous, but you're even more stunning in person. Damn, bro!" she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in a rush of genuine enthusiasm.
Averja laughed, a little surprised by the effusive greeting. "Haha, thank you. How did you know I was a new transferee?"
Icyzel winked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh, of course! chismosa ako eh!" She said it with such playful self-awareness that Averja couldn't help but laugh along.
"Aww, haha," Averja chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through her as she began to imagine the adventures this friendship might bring.
I didn't know that in the midst of my search, I would meet a wonderful friend who would join me on this adventure, my gaze lingering on Icyzel as she animatedly recounted how thrilled she was to have met me. Her infectious enthusiasm was a balm to my soul, a reminder that even in the pursuit of a solitary goal, unexpected joys could bloom.
As Icyzel and I were lost in our conversation, the classroom door swung open with a soft click, revealing a vision of breathtaking beauty. A tall woman, her long black hair cascading down her back like a silken waterfall, stood framed in the doorway. Her eyes, a captivating shade of grey, held a depth that seemed to draw you in. She was like a goddess, radiating an aura of elegance and grace.
ang sarap niya, tangina.
Icyzel, ever perceptive, noticed my sudden fascination with the newcomer. She gently tapped my shoulder, her voice laced with amusement. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Nabaliw ka na sa kaniya, teh. You're drooling! HAHAHAHA!"
I blushed, feeling a wave of heat creep up my neck. "H-ha? No, I just... I've never seen someone as beautiful as her. And her lips... they look so nice to kiss," I blurted out, my voice barely a whisper. "Is she our professor?"
Icyzel's laughter echoed through the room. "Tanga, hindii. She's our classmate. She's really pretty, like girl, very wifey material. But she's nonchalant, and she's afraid of people. Ayaw niyang kumakausap ng tao like super ilap niya talaga tapos super red flag niya din" she said, her tone shifting to a more serious one. "Why? Is she your type?"
I felt a pang of disappointment. "red flag?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"
"Well, yeah," Icyzel continued, "she likes guns tapos weird pa mga binabasa niyang books, puro patayan tapos mahilig 'yan mang-silent treatment! tapos marami din siyang kaaway, weird 'di ba?"
"What? That's not weird at all," I countered, defending the girl I hadn't even spoken to yet. "Maybe that's all she wants to read."
Icyzel shrugged. "Even so, she's still weird to me. Then there's a rumor going around that nakikipag-away daw siya tapos marami daw siyang kaaway."
"Where did you hear that rumor?" I asked, my gaze still lingering on the mysterious girl.
Icyzel rolled her eyes. "Like, girl, I just said it was spreading, right? Why are you so curious? You like her, noh? Ikaw haaaaa!" she teased, her voice dripping with playful suspicion.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "M-me? Like her? I don't even know if I'm straight or not!" I stammered, my gaze finally breaking from the girl, only to discover that she'd been looking back at me the whole time. The sudden eye contact sent a jolt of unexpected nervousness through me.
"Ay, shokla, akala ko bading ka? pota" Icyzel said, her laughter ringing out. "I smelled it the moment you walked in! And I'm sure you are, especially after you practically drooled over that girl. HAHAHAHA!" She punctuated her words by pointing a finger directly at the girl engrossed in her book. I quickly grabbed Icyzel's hand, pulling it away before the object of our attention could notice.
"Hey! That's embarrassing," I hissed, my cheeks burning. "huwag mo siyang ituro, gago ka"
tarantadong babaeng 'to.
Our professor's arrival brought a halt to our lively discussion. After introductions, a wave of warmth washed over me as classmates, eager to make friends, extended welcoming smiles and greetings. One guy, Vincenzo, even waved enthusiastically and introduced himself. But amidst the flurry of friendly introductions, my attention remained captivated by just one person—her
I couldn't explain my intense focus on her. Was it a simple desire for friendship? Or was I captivated by her undeniable beauty? The reasons were a confusing mix, but one thing was clear: I yearned to be closer to her, to know her better. The mystery surrounding her only intensified my curiosity.
Our first three classes flew by, and now we were in our fourth. Our professor, a kind but firm woman, addressed the class. "Everyone, listen carefully. We don't have any formal classes scheduled for the rest of the day, but I do have some work for you to complete."
A chorus of groans arose from the back of the room. "Ma'am, pwede ba freetime na lang? mahilig po kasi kaming walang gawin eh" a group of boys called out, their words met with laughter from their classmates.
The professor smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "You can have free time, as long as you don't mind sacrificing your grades, right?" she replied, her sarcasm clear but delivered with good humor. The playful retort sent a ripple of laughter through the classroom.
"Luh, that was just a joke, Ma'am! sino na ba nag-sabi na 'di ko gagawin yung pinapagawa niyo?" he said, laughing nervously, a clear attempt to smooth things over after his earlier protest.
The professor rolled her eyes good-naturedly at the boy's attempt at damage control, a small smile playing on her lips before she began to explain the assignment.
Once their professor left, a wave of complaints rippled through the classroom. The assignment, it seemed, was less than thrilling. But grumbling eventually gave way to the quiet tap-tap-tap of keyboards and the rustling of papers as students, however reluctantly, began to tackle the task. Averja, meanwhile, remained captivated by the girl across from her. Her gaze kept drifting back, a silent battle raging in her mind – approach or not? The conflict within her was palpable.
Averja's internal debate was over. She would approach the girl. But the question now was how? What excuse, what reason, could she use to initiate a conversation without seeming too forward or awkward? Her mind raced, searching for the perfect opening line, the perfect pretext for interaction.
Lost in thought, Averja finally turned her attention to the assignment, only to be met with a wall of incomprehension. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping as she struggled to decipher the instructions. "What? What the fuck is this task trying to tell me?" she muttered to herself, frustration mounting as she ran a hand through her hair, the action sparking a sudden, brilliant idea.
Ignoring the frustrated sighs and muttered curses of her classmates still grappling with the assignment, Averja stood up, a deep breath settling the turmoil in her chest. With a heavy sigh escaping her lips, she approached the mysterious girl. Finally, the words tumbled out, simple yet charged with a nervous energy: "Hi there."
The girl looked up, her expression blank, her eyes conveying a clear, unspoken question: "What the hell do you want?"
"Uhm, hi. I know that you maybe feel uncomfortable with me—" Averja began, but the girl cut her off with a blunt, "Yes, I am indeed rather disconcerted. The sudden approach of an unfamiliar individual does tend to induce a state of unease, wouldn't you agree?" The girl's British accent was even more pronounced, her words precise and laced with a subtle, dry wit, took Averja completely by surprise.
Averja's mind reeled. What the hell is wrong with this girl? she thought, a whirlwind of confusion swirling within her. The accent was unexpected, the vocabulary... overly formal? And the sheer bluntness! Averja felt utterly flustered, a jumble of "what? what?" echoing in her head.
Despite her uncertainty, Averja maintained her composure, a genuine smile gracing her lips.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just have a question. Would you mind answering it?" she asked, her voice polite yet firm. The girl simply stared, waiting.
A small, internal smile played on Averja's lips as she realized the girl's apparent interest.
"Could you explain the task given to us? I don't seem to understand it," she finally said, her question hanging in the air between them.
The girl continued to stare intensely, her gaze unwavering, before finally focusing on her laptop.
Averja felt a pang of disappointment, assuming her question had been dismissed.
"We have a class monitor, don't we?" the girl said, her British accent crisp.
"We do," I replied, a touch of confusion coloring my tone.
"Then why don't you ask her?" she retorted, her arrogance dripping from every syllable. "She's busy," I said, watching as her gaze drifted to Icyzel. Her expression remained impassive.
I saw the sigh escape her lips, a slow, defeated release of breath. "It's okay if you don't want to answer me," I said, the irritation a sharp edge to my voice. I started to turn away, already mentally choosing another classmate to question, when her fingers, surprisingly strong, closed around my wrist, halting my movement.
"Wait," she said, the single word hanging in the air, fragile yet insistent. My eyes, already narrowed with impatience, rolled further, the movement a physical manifestation of my irritation. "What?" I demanded, the question sharper than intended.
"Come sit beside me, and I'll explain it to you," she said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.
"What's with her?" I thought, a bewildered frown tugging at my lips. Earlier she was colder than ice, all clipped British tones and sharp retorts, and now... this? Where's the accent gone?
My brows furrowed as I looked at her. "You'll agree naman pala eh," I muttered, rolling my eyes. The unspoken frustration hung heavy in the air, a silent testament to the protracted argument that had finally, begrudgingly, reached a conclusion.
"What did you say?" she asked, her voice a curious blend of confusion and challenge. The question hung between us, a fragile thread connecting our differing perspectives. I could almost feel the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing down, a silent demand for clarification.
"So this girl doesn't even know how to speak Tagalog?" I thought to myself, a mixture of disbelief and irritation bubbling up inside. The unspoken words felt heavy, a judgment I couldn't quite voice aloud.
I shook my head, a silent response to her question. The unspoken tension remained. "Sit down," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. The words hung in the air, crisp and authoritative, leaving me with little choice but to obey.
She began to explain the task, her words a low hum against the backdrop of my racing heart. I tried to focus, really I did, but it was a losing battle. Our faces were so close, her beauty a distracting, breathtaking blur. Every subtle movement, every fleeting expression, pulled my attention away from the instructions, leaving me flustered and utterly captivated.
She gave a final, satisfied nod as we completed the last detail of the project. "It's finished, you may leave now," she said, her crisp British accent returning, the words precise and carrying the weight of authority. The transformation was complete; the earlier warmth seemed to melt away, replaced by a cool composure and the deep, resonant tones of her natural voice. The accent, so distinct and elegant, added a layer of formality to her words, leaving me feeling both relieved and slightly awestruck.
A profound sadness settled over me; I hadn't had the opportunity to forge a connection with her. She remained entirely engrossed in the lesson, her attention unwavering. Lacking the standing to protest, I mumbled a perfunctory "Thank you for teaching me" and hastily retreated.
"What was that?" Icyzel asked, her voice sharp. I blinked, momentarily confused. "What?" I replied, a little defensively.
"Kali talked to you!" she exclaimed, a hint of disbelief in her tone. "Who?" I asked, still slightly bewildered.
"Bro, the one you're totally drooling over! I'm so surprised she actually talked to you!" Icyzel finished, a teasing grin spreading across her face.
"At first, she wasn't interested in talking to me at all, but she finally relented," I explained, a small smile playing on my lips.
"Oh, that's interesting," Icyzel replied, her tone intrigued.
"How's that?" I asked, curiosity piqued.
"Well, Kali is my girlfriend's best friend," Icyzel explained, her hands gesturing animatedly. "She told me she always chooses how she'll approach someone—whether she'll be soft and nice, cold and distant, or just nonchalant. It's pretty rare for Kali to approach someone with her 'soft' side, because it's not really her true personality."
"Kali avoids initiating conversations; she'll just stare, waiting for the other person to speak. It's not that she can't start a conversation, she simply chooses not to," Icyzel explained. "She's just not interested in talking to people."
"So her avoidance is a choice, not a lack of skill?" I clarified.
"Exactly," Icyzel agreed.
"Would it be alright if I tried to become closer to her? Would you mind?" I asked, a hesitant note in my voice.
Icyzel's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"I'm interested in becoming friends with her," I explained, "She's quite fascinating, and I'd like to build a friendship with her, much like the one we have. So, is it acceptable for me to—" My words trailed off as she interrupted.
"Are you asking me for permission to befriend someone? Goodness, you're free to befriend anyone in this classroom, or anywhere else for that matter," Icyzel replied, her genuine smile reassuring.
"Thank you so much, Icyzel," I replied, returning her smile with my own slightly goofy grin.
"I'm not sure why you're thanking me, but okay," Icyzel said, a touch of bemusement in her voice.
Icyzel possessed a singular and captivating personality.
The bell's sharp ring signaled the end of class, and students began filing out. I started gathering my things, preparing to leave, as Icyzel recounted a scandalous tale—a student who'd become pregnant by a professor years prior. She seemed to be waiting for me, using the gossip to stave off boredom, and I listened patiently.
"Oh hey," she called out, her voice catching my attention.
"Hmm?" I responded, my attention focused on stowing my laptop in my bag.
"Wanna grab a bite with us?" she asked, a wide, almost mischievous smile spreading across her face.
"Oh, sure, but... 'us'?" I replied, a questioning inflection in my voice.
"I usually have lunch with a friend from another department," she explained as we headed out of the classroom.
"Oh, really? Would they mind if I joined you both?" I asked, still slightly hesitant.
"Of course not! She's super friendly," Icyzel said, bumping her shoulder playfully against mine, nudging me along.
As we walked towards the cafeteria, a girl bumped into me, sending me reeling into someone else.
"Watch where you're going, girl?! Look what you've done! My dress is all wrinkled because of you!" the girl shrieked, her tone dripping with indignation.
"Oh miss, I'm so sorry," I apologized immediately, bowing slightly. "Someone bumped into me, and I accidentally hit you. I really am sorry."
"You ruined it! Pay for it, bitch!" she sneered, her words laced with venom. Does she think I can't afford it? I thought, bristling.
Before I could respond, Icyzel stepped in, her voice sharp and serious. "Watch your mouth, Diane. Don't talk to someone you don't know like that. You're being incredibly disrespectful." Damn, she's cool, I thought, impressed by her immediate defense.
"She's right. It was an accident. I saw the whole thing," another girl chimed in from behind, her voice equally firm.
"Argh!" Diane sputtered, storming off with a frustrated groan.
With Diane's departure, I turned my gaze to Icyzel. "Thank you so much for saving me, Icyzel. But shouldn't I have just paid for the damage?" I asked.
"It's no problem," Icyzel replied, her gaze softening as she looked at the other girl. "And to answer your question, no, you absolutely didn't need to pay. She was being a total bitch."
"Oh...kay," I replied slowly, still slightly flustered.
Turning my attention to the other girl, whose eyes sparkled as she watched Icyzel, I said, "Oh hey, thank you for standing up for me too."
"It's no big deal," The girl replied, and then, to my utter surprise, they hugged.
What the heck is going on with these two? Are they together or something? I thought, my eyebrows shooting up in astonishment