The days that followed were heavier than I thought they'd be.
I kept telling myself I had done the right thing—pushed her away, cut the thread before it tangled us both again. But every time my mind replayed her face that night, the quiet ache in her voice, the way her fingers had clenched her bag like it was the only anchor she had left... I felt like I was the one drowning.

I buried myself in routine. Coaching. School. Back home. Repeat.
Anne noticed my silences growing sharper, my answers shorter, but she didn't push. She just sat beside me when I needed company and left me alone when I didn't. I was grateful for her quiet presence.

But Sia?
Sia was everywhere.

She started showing up in the smallest ways—as if she had made it her mission to cross paths with me. Waiting outside the class gate like she just happened to arrive when I did. Sitting one row behind me, though she had never chosen that seat before. Dropping her pen near my desk so I'd be forced to pick it up. Even asking Anne something simple, but her eyes would flicker toward me for a second too long.

I gave her nothing. No openings, no invitations. Only curt nods and polite distance. It was the only way I knew to keep the walls from breaking.

But walls don't last when the other person refuses to stop knocking.

The break came one evening, after our weekly test results were posted. I had worked harder than ever, but still, the marks staring back at me were a disappointment. Not enough. Never enough.
The weight of failure pressed against my ribs, clawing at the self-loathing I thought I had learned to control.

I was stuffing my papers into my bag when her shadow fell across the desk.

"Sam," she said softly.

I didn't look up. "Not now, Sia."

But she didn't leave. She shifted closer, her voice trembling yet firm.
"You're upset about the test, aren't you? Don't be too hard on yourself. I saw you working. You've been trying so much. You'll get there—"

Something in me snapped.
I slammed the paper onto the desk, the red marks burning into both our eyes.

"What do you want from me, Sia?!" My voice cracked louder than I intended. "After two years—now what?!"

She flinched, eyes wide.

I shoved the test paper toward her. "Look at this! This is me now. Broken. Failing. Is this what you wanted? You and your best friend? To see me like this? Aren't you satisfied yet?"

Her lips parted, but no words came. Only the shimmer of tears she was trying desperately to hold back.

And the moment I saw that, I knew I had gone too far.

I dragged a hand over my face, my voice breaking. "I... I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said it."

Her silence was louder than any scream.

I forced myself to keep speaking, softer this time. "Listen, Sia. Whatever explanation you've been holding onto... it doesn't matter anymore. I needed it then. Not now. Not when it makes you sad."

I clenched my fists, forcing my voice steady. "So... I forgive you. But I'm already ruined, Sia. People like me only hurt the ones who stay close. I don't want my darkness to swallow you."

So... please, stay away from me, Sia. Save yourself."

For the first time, she didn't argue back. She just stared at me, concern etched into her face, as if my words didn't wound her but worried her instead.

That made it worse. So much worse.

Finally, I cleared my throat, forcing the moment to end.
"It's late. Should I drop you home?"

She hesitated, then nodded faintly.

The ride was long and quiet. She sat behind me, close but never wrapping her arms around me. The road stretched endlessly, shadows swallowing the edges. My mind wouldn't stop spinning—every word I had thrown at her replaying in my head, every tear in her eyes carving me hollow.

All I wanted was to turn back time. To not say those things. To not hurt her again.
Because no matter what, at the end of the day, it was still her. Always her. And I couldn't bear being the reason she cried.

We stopped in front of her house. She stepped off slowly, her hands tightening around her bag straps.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, the words broken and weak.

She looked at me then, her voice soft but steady. "Sam... you don't need to apologize anymore. Not when I was the reason for everything."

She continued—her voice trembling but resolute.
"But I have one request. Just one."

"Please... hear me out. Just once."

Her words lingered between us, raw and heavy, but I had nothing left to say— What was I supposed to respond with now? Not after everything I'd just said and the way I behaved with her.

So, I just gave the smallest nod, turned away, and rode off into the night.

The sound of my scooty engine roared louder than my heartbeat, but it couldn't drown out her voice. Those words—hear me out, just once—followed me, echoing through the dark, digging deep where my walls had already begun to crack.

And as the wind stung my face, I realized with a bitter ache:

I hadn't escaped her. Not then, not ever. 

💔 And that's where we'll leave Sam and Sia for now—caught between words left unsaid and wounds that never fully healed. One pushes away, the other reaches out... but will they ever find the strength to meet in the middle?

Thank you so much for reading this chapter 🌙✨ If you felt the ache of Sam's turmoil and Sia's quiet plea, please don't forget to like❤️, comment 💬, and follow ➕—your support keeps this story alive. 🌸

See you in the next chapter... where the walls will crack even deeper.🕊️