Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen
Her feet just carried her—past the cafeteria, past the art block, all the way to the quiet side of campus where the trees grew close together and the air always smelled like rain. She sat on the bench near the fountain, setting her bag down beside her.
Felicity didn’t go straight home after leaving the library.
Her heart was still racing. She’d replayed the conversation a dozen times already—every word, every look. The part where he’d said I miss you kept looping like a song she couldn’t turn off.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “You shouldn’t”, she whispered again, just like she had in the library. But even saying it out loud didn’t make it hurt any less.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. People came and went—a group of students laughing too loudly, a couple walking hand in hand—all of them moving through life like everything made sense.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Victoria.
Hey, are you okay? I heard about what happened in the library..
Felicity frowned, typing back quickly.
What do you mean you heard?
The reply came almost instantly.
People saw. Leon showing up like that wasn’t exactly subtle. Word’s spreading fast. You know how this school gets.
Felicity felt a sudden lurch in her stomach. That hadn’t even crossed her mind yet. The way everyone had gone quiet when he sat down. The glances. The whispers.
Now they probably thought she was part of whatever drama Leon was tangled up in —and she hated that.
She shoved her phone back into her bag, but the words stuck in her head. People saw.
Of course they did. People were always looking for the latest gossip—and they always found a way to twists the story until the truth didn’t matter anymore.
By the time she got back to her apartment, night had fallen. Her roommates were still out, thankfully, so the place was quiet. She dropped her bag on the couch and went straight for the kitchen sink, running the tap just to have some noise fill the space.
Her reflection in the microwave door caught her eye—tired eyes, pale face, hair falling out of place. She could barely recognize herself.
It wasn’t just Leon. It was everything—the pressure, the gossip, the feeling that no matter how much she tried to stay out of his chaos, it somehow always found her.
Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it at first, but when it didn’t stop, she grabbed it with a groan.
Another message from Victoria.
I know you said you’re done with him, but just… be careful, okay? Charity posted something earlier. Not about you, exactly, but it’s obviously about him.
Felicity’s thumb hesitated over the screen. Then curiosity won.
She opened the post.
Charity’s post wasn’t obvious, but it didn’t have to be. Just a cryptic caption about betrayal, paired with a moody of her by the window—soft lightning, sad eyes, the whole act. The comments were a chaos. Some people were consoling her; others were already piecing together their own story.
Felicity’s name wasn’t mentioned, but she could feel it. It was there between every line, every emoji, every subtle dig.
She set her phone down on the counter.
For a moment, she just stood there, her pulse loud in her ears. Then she exhaled, steady but low.
“I’m done” she muttered to herself.
It was a lie, maybe. But she needed to hear herself say it.
Across town, Leon sat in his car, parked outside his father’s office building. The windows were fogged up, his phone screen glowing in the dark. Charity’s post was open on it.
His phone screen glowing. Charity’s new posts open on it.
He hadn’t even known she’d started posting again.
The photo looked perfect, of course. Every piece of her life always did. But the caption — “Some people only tell the truth when they’ve already lost you.” —seemed to hit too close to home.
He rubbed a hand down his face, letting out a long, low breath. His father had rang him twice already, and his assistant had texted three times. But Leon didn’t want to go over there. Not yet. Not when everything else in his life was spinning so far out of control.
He thought about Felicity — the way she looked at him today. The disappointment in her eyes was worse than anger. He could have handled anger.
But that look — like she’d finally stopped believing him — that hurt.
He took a shot and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. For a while, he just listened to the sound of his own breathing.
He didn’t know how to fix it. Any of it.
The phone buzzed again — another message from Charity this time. He didn’t open it. He didn’t need to. Whatever she had to say would only make things worse.
Instead, he went back into his car, threw the phone into the passenger seat and started the car. He wasn’t going home, not yet. He just needed to drive — anywhere that wasn’t here.
The next morning, Felicity walked into campus with her hood pulled low. She hadn’t slept much. Everywhere she went, it felt like eyes followed her— like everyone was suspecting her of a crime she didn’t commit.
Victoria caught up with her outside the lecture hall, holding two cups of coffee. “You look like you didn’t get enough sleep,” she said, pressing one into her hand.
“I didn’t,” Felicity admitted. “You didn’t have to get me this.”
“Please,” Victoria scoffed. “You’re the only person who doesn’t bite my head off during exam week. Consider it an investment in my sanity.”
Felicity smiled weakly, taking a sip. The warmth helped, even if just a little.
They walked inside together. As soon as they sat down, Victoria leaned in and whispered. “Just a heads up—people are still talking about what happened yesterday. Some even think you and Leon are…well, you know.”
Felicity’s grip on her pen tightened. “Let them think whatever they want.” She said quietly.
“I’m just saying.” Victoria added quickly. “I don’t believe it—I just figured you should know. But if you are too, that’s fine.”
Felicity gave a small nod, eyes fixed on the front of the class as the lecturer began to speak. She tried to focus, really tried, but the words on the board blurred together. Her mind kept wandering—to the looks people gave her in the hallway, to the sound of Leon’s voice when he said I miss you.
She still wanted to believe him—to believe that somewhere inside, he was still the same person she spent the entire summer with.
She blinked hard, forcing herself to take notes, pretending to listen. But even as her pen moved across the page, her thoughts whispered the truth she didn’t dare to admit—she missed him too.