Chapter 9 Please, Move On Shopia!
"Excuse me, do you want some drinks?" ALex made an offer.
She move closer to him, her perfume sweet and heavy. Alex gave the bartender a subtle signal for another round.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low, almost lazy.
“Lena, and you’re Alex Maxwell, aren’t you?” she said, tracing a finger along the rim of her glass
“You make it sound like a crime.” He chuckled, short and sharp.
“Maybe it is,” she teased, leaning in a little closer.
“Men like you usually are.” Alex’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Her words shouldn’t have meant anything, but somehow, they hit something raw.
He looked at her, really looked. She's elegant and attractive. But she wasn’t Shopia.
He reached for his drink again, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it.
“Then I guess you should stay away from me,” he murmured.
“Maybe I like dangerous things,” Lena whispered back.
Her hand brushed his arm, fingers light and deliberate. It was an invitation. Alex used to own moments that were smooth, easy, and forgettable. But it just didn't feel right.
He should have been able to smile, to play along, to lose himself in the simple game of distraction. But when Lena leaned closer, the image of Shopia’s face flushed, defiant, and hurt, flooded his mind again. He inhaled sharply and pulled back before their lips met.
Lena blinked, surprised. “What’s wrong?”
Alex ran a hand over his face, exhaling a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all.
“You remind me of someone I shouldn’t be thinking about.”
Lena tilted her head, her teasing tone softening.
“An ex?”
He didn’t answer. He just signaled for the check.
As he stood, Lena reached out, fingertips brushing his wrist.
“Whoever she is, she must’ve mattered.” Alex froze, swallowing hard.
“She shouldn’t have,” he said quietly, then walked away.
Outside, the night air hit him like penance. He leaned against his car, eyes closing for a moment as the wind whipped through his hair.
He looked up at the sky and felt the weight of what he couldn’t undo. The way she’d looked at him before she kissed that stranger. The way her pain had mirrored his own.
He got into the car but didn’t start it right away. Instead, he sat there, gripping the steering wheel, his chest tight.
Maybe Paris really would fix this. Maybe oceans could drown guilt.
But even as he told himself that lie, he knew the truth. No distance was far enough to forget Shopia.
Shopia stumbled out of the club, laughter and music still echoing behind her, fading into the wet London streets. Her heels clicked unevenly against the pavement as she tried to steady herself, though it wasn’t the alcohol that made her dizzy.
It was him, Alex Maxwell.
The way he’d looked at her across the room, furious, wounded, disbelieving. The way her heart had stuttered and burned all at once. And the kiss, that stupid, reckless kiss with a man whose name she didn’t even know.
Emilia hurried after her, grabbing her arm.
“Shopia! What the hell was that?”
Shopia turned, eyes bright and wet under the streetlight.
“I don’t know, i just… I wanted to hurt him,” she whispered.
“Who? That guy? Alex Maxwell?” Emilia’s voice softened when she saw her friend trembling.
“Soph, are you…?” But Shopia shook her head, stepping back.
“I can’t talk about it, not now.”
She hailed a taxi, nearly tripping as she got in. Emilia hesitated on the curb, worried, but Shopia managed a weak smile.
“I’ll text you. I just need to be alone.”
The door shut, and the cab pulled away. Inside, the silence was unbearable. Her mind replayed everything in cruel clarity.
“God, what’s wrong with me,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror but said nothing. Just turned the radio down a little, as if silence might help.
When she finally reached her flat, she paid him with shaky hands and walked inside. The space felt too quiet, too clean, untouched by everything she’d just been through.
She dropped her purse on the floor and kicked off her shoes, then leaned against the door until her legs gave out. Sliding down to the cold wooden floor, she buried her face in her hands and let herself break.
She hated that she still felt him on her skin. The way he’d touched her that night. She’d told herself she could forget him. That she could erase him like any other mistake. But every time she closed her eyes, it was Alex she saw.
“I’m going crazy,” she murmured.
The next morning crept in gray and cold. Shopia had barely slept, her eyes stung, her head pounded but she still dragged herself out of bed, forcing her body through motions her heart wasn’t ready for.
Shower. Clothes. Coffee. Pretend to be fine.
When she reached the campus courtyard, the autumn air bit against her skin, sharp and unforgiving. Students moved around her, laughing, talking, and living as if the world hadn't tipped off its axis the previous night.
She clutched her tote bag tighter and kept walking, her heels clicking too loudly on the stone path. Every step felt like an effort to outrun the image of Alex’s face when he’d seen her in that club.
Her first class was Contemporary Art Theory. She slipped into the back row, ignoring the curious glances from a few classmates. Emilia sat beside her not long after, hair tied up, coffee in hand, her expression carefully neutral.
“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Emilia muttered, passing her a croissant.
Shopia managed a weak smile. “Feels about right.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No,” Shopia whispered, eyes fixed on her notebook.
“If I talk about it, it becomes real. And I can’t… not today.”
Emilia studied her for a long moment before nodding.
“Fine. But for the record, he didn’t deserve that power over you.” Shopia gave a soft, bitter laugh.
“You’re right. He doesn’t. But tell that to my brain, it didn’t get the memo.”
The professor started lecturing, his voice a distant hum. Words like "perception, expression," and "human emotion in art" filled the air, all of which used to spark something in her. Today, they simply felt like echoes.
She doodled randomly on the edge of her notebook, not with shapes or lines, but with the curve of a jaw and a pair of eyes she couldn't stop thinking about. She cursed under her breath before tearing out and crumpling the page.
During the break, she stepped outside, leaning against one of the stone pillars near the fountain. The sky was overcast, the air heavy with the promise of rain. She sipped her coffee, trying to convince herself that the ache in her chest would fade that she’d get through this the way she always did.
But then her phone buzzed. She froze.
For a second, she couldn’t move. She already knew who it was before she even looked.
Her heart stuttered anyway when she saw it.
Alex Maxwell.
The screen glowed with his name, one unread message beneath it.
Leaving for Paris tomorrow. But before I go… I need to see you.