Chapter 72 Chapter 71
Harper POV
I did not ask for a campus-wide social revolution.
I asked for five minutes of peace and maybe one day where my chest didn’t feel like it had been put through a blender.
And yet.
When I walk out of my morning class, I realize something is… off.
Not quiet.
Not calm.
Just… different.
Normally, the quad is a zoo—especially with the hockey team walking through it. Girls linger. Laugh too loud. Pretend to check their phones while absolutely checking them out. It’s like gravity bends a little when they pass.
Today?
Nothing.
A group of Delta Zeta girls walks straight past Marco like he’s a lamp post.
Two Alpha Chi girls cross the quad right in front of Zack without even glancing up.
A brunette who once tripped over her own feet trying to talk to Logan literally adjusts her headphones and changes direction to avoid him.
I slow.
Then stop.
“What the hell…” I murmur.
Lila walks up beside me like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday. “Oh good. It started.”
My stomach drops. “Started what?”
She gives me a sideways look. “You didn’t think everyone would chicken out, did you?”
“…You told them already?”
She grins. “I made some calls.”
“You made some calls,” I echo weakly.
“Relax,” she says. “Nothing illegal. Nothing permanent. Just… collective self-respect.”
We walk a little farther.
I watch Marco try to flash his usual smile at a girl from Gamma Phi.
She doesn’t even look up.
He stops walking.
Actually stops.
Turns like his brain short-circuited.
I almost feel bad.
Almost.
“Lila,” I hiss, “this is going to start a war.”
She bumps my shoulder. “Good.”
“I don’t want a war. I want my life back.”
She studies me. “Then stop letting one boy own this much space in your head.”
That hits too close to the bone.
We head toward the student center.
And that’s when I see him.
Logan.
He’s walking with Marco and Cole, backpack slung over one shoulder, jaw tight like it always is when he’s thinking too much and pretending he isn’t.
I feel it before I want to.
That pull.
That stupid, traitorous awareness.
He looks up.
Our eyes meet.
My heart does something dumb and hopeful before I can stop it.
Then I remember.
The way he left.
The silence.
The pretending I don’t exist.
I look away first.
I keep walking.
I do not slow down.
I do not stop.
I do not turn around.
I feel him change direction anyway.
“Harper.”
I keep walking.
“Harper.”
I stop.
Because I’m not a coward.
I turn slowly. “Yes?”
His face tightens like that wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“You didn’t answer my text.”
“I didn’t need to.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
“Running an entire sorority. Planning a gala. Existing.”
He steps closer.
“Can we talk?”
My chest aches.
Not in a soft way.
In a tired way.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Because if I look at you too long, I forget every reason I shouldn’t want you.
Because you touch me like you mean it and then disappear like you don’t.
Because I’m done being confused.
“Because,” I say evenly, “we’ve said everything we needed to.”
His eyes darken. “I don’t think we have.”
“Well,” I reply, stepping around him, “I do.”
And I walk away.
Again.
Behind me, I hear Marco mutter, “Ooooh. That was cold.”
Good.
By noon, the campus is buzzing.
Not with gossip.
With confusion.
Hockey players are being ignored.
Actively.
Spectacularly.
Zack sits alone at a table that’s usually full.
Marco tries to join a group and gets polite smiles and absolutely no space made for him.
One of the freshman guys actually asks me, “Did you guys get canceled?”
I choke on my coffee.
“No,” I say quickly. “No one got canceled.”
Just… paused.
Suspended.
Emotionally grounded.
I didn’t mean for this to get so big.
I didn’t mean for it to be about Logan.
Not really.
This was supposed to be about… patterns.
About girls being disposable.
About not being treated like toys.
But every time I see him—standing there, confused, tense, watching me like he’s trying to read something written in a language he doesn’t speak—I feel that twist in my chest again.
Guilt.
Anger.
Want.
All of it tangled together.
Lila finds me in the library.
“Well?” she asks.
“Well what?”
“Does it feel good?”
I hesitate.
“…It feels fair.”
She smiles slowly. “That’ll do.”
That night, in my room, I sit at my desk pretending to work.
I fail.
My phone is face-down.
I don’t touch it.
I don’t want to know if he’s texted.
Because if he has, I’ll read it.
And if I read it, I’ll answer.
And if I answer…
I close my eyes.
They say sex changes things.
It did.
It changed me.
It changed how much it hurts when he pretends I don’t exist.
It changed how much I refuse to be invisible ever again.
I don’t want him punished.
I just want him to understand.
And for the first time in a long time…
He’s the one who doesn’t know what’s going on.