Back To College

Back To College
Amelia’s POV
The days leading up to my departure for school were a blur of packing and anxious excitement. My mum choosed to stay behind, her voice officially bursting with excitement to help us plan our “little wedding.” They still sounded strange to me, as if I  was living in someone else’s life. A wedding. A husband. A ring. While stuffing books and hoodies into a suitcase, I tried to meditate on the life I had lived before now — school, routine.
The flight home was silent, Elena sat at a few rows behind. She was a pro at being unseen, her bright green eyes scanning the airport noiselessly. I slouched down into my hoodie wishing for the privacy I’d always valued. Screeching tires, chattering crowds, the tang of street vendors’ spices, the frantic pulse of whooshing engines. The city welcomed me with its bustling life. It was home, though I was no longer the Amelia who had gone away. The ring on my finger, tucked up my sleeve, set me aside as something different.
School began on Monday, and I plunged into it, craving normalcy in an utterly abnormal world. Lectures, textbooks, the scratch of my pen on paper. Collins’s calls in the evening became my anchor, his voice an audible thread through distance. He was overwhelmed running the company he had taken and planning our wedding, but he never failed to make time. “I miss you, Amelia,” he would murmur and I would pull my dorm room duvet around me, clutching the phone, my heart in my throat. “Just a few weeks and we’ll be together.” I hung on to that promise.
For a week, life was steady. Elena was a ghost, sometimes I occasionally forgot she that she was there — passing her ponytail in the library, a wave from a café. My classmates didn’t see it, and for that I was grateful. Then I ran into Liam.
It was a coldish afternoon, and the campus teemed with students exiting lecture halls. I was walking through the courtyard, carrying a heavy backpack full of textbooks, when I spotted him — tall, lean, with his dark hair in disarray as he spun a basketball on his finger. Liam. Back then he’d liked me — I’d known it, felt it in the way he lingered, the way he lingered after our conversations. But I had picked Collins, and Liam did not approve. He’d told me, his voice low and serious, that dating an older man like Collins was a mistake, that it would lead to heartbreak. I pushed him away.
He had caught a glimpse of me before I could dart aside. “Amelia?” His voice was loud enough to be heard over the crowd, and he jogged over with the basketball tucked under his arm. 
“Hey, Liam,” I added, my stomach twisting. I smiled, without a smile, but my heart beat fast. When I saw him, it brought back the memories. Never one to hide his dislike for Collins, I felt exposed now, with everything up in the air.
“Long time,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes looked into mine, and I saw that old warmth there, combined with a sharper edge — regret, perhaps, or resentment. “You look… different.”
“Thanks,” I said, shifting my body weight. “You too.” He did — taller, broader, his body sculpted by hours on the court. “Still all about basketball?” I fumbled.
His face broke out in a smile. “Yeah. Actually, I’m leaving soon. Got an opportunity to try out with a semi-professional club overseas.”
“That’s awesome, Liam!” "Good," I replied. “You’re gonna crush it. You were always deadly with that shot.”
He smiled, and for a moment it was simple, comfortable. But then he looked down at my hand and his eyes caught my ring as I fiddled with my strap. He stopped smiling now as his eyes were narrowed. “Wait. Is that… are you engaged?”
My heart sank. I attempted to conceal my hand, though I was too late, too. “Not that exactly,” I murmured in reply. “I’m… married.”
His eyes went wide with surprise. “Married? Like, actually married?” He asked, as if the word had shoved him. “To who? Don’t tell me it’s Collins.”
I nodded, my cheeks burning. “Yeah. It’s Collins.”
He looked at me with an expression that moved from shock to something blacker — anger. “You’re kidding. I told you he was no good, Amelia. He’s, what, ten years older? I told you it wouldn’t end well, and now you’re married to him?”  His voice was sharp.
I cowered, “It’s not what you think,” I said, the nerves in my voice. “He loves me, Liam. And I love him. It’s messy, but it’s real.”
“Real?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re twenty, Amelia. You’re wasting your life on some rich guy who is probably using you. I assumed you were smarter than that.”
His words were like lashings–more intense than any of Clara’s derisions, worse than Sophie’s treachery. “You don’t know him,” I snapped, my fists balling. “You don’t know us. What’s wrong with you?
“Because I cared about you!” he burst out, his voice raw. “I cared, and you picked him. I did try to warn you but you wouldn’t listen. He put a hand through his hair, causing his eyes to glisten. “And now you’re married. Just… wow.”
The courtyard felt blurry, the murmuring dropping off as his words stretched between us. I wanted to cry out, and tell him he was wrong, but the pain in his eyes prevented me. He liked me — really liked me — and I’d hurt him unwittingly. “Liam,” I said, more gently now, walking toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He spun away, his sneakers scraping the pavement as he prepared to walk off. A sense of panic washed over me and I reached out, my voice sounding calm. “Liam, wait! Please, I—”
But before I could empty the message, a voice cut through the air, scornful, and full of malice. “Yo Yo Yo! Isn’t this the icon, Amelia?! Wait! The hypocrite and mistress!”