Chapter 59 I Was Stupid
Mia's POV
"Hey," Daniel said gently as he slid into the seat beside me. "Are you okay?"
I didn't look up. My eyes stayed fixed on the fading scratches along the wooden table, the ones I'd traced a hundred times before, just to distract myself from the chaos around me.
"Yeah," I whispered, barely audible.
Daniel didn't say anything after that, his presence warm and steady like an anchor in the storm. I was grateful he didn't ask, because if he did, I might've shattered right there.
I didn't know how to explain the ache. The hollowness. How Liam's absence felt like a wound I didn't know how to dress.
He hadn't shown up. No texts. No calls. Just silence.
And the silence was louder than betrayal.
I already knew what it meant. He was avoiding me, avoiding the mess, the rumors, the whispers swirling around the announcement of his arranged marriage. He hadn't even looked back. Chloe was right. Everyone was right. I had been so stupid to believe him.
Of course someone like Liam Alcaraz could never truly choose someone like me. I wasn't from his world, I was just a detour. A temporary light in the darkness before he went back to his perfect life.
He had made me feel loved. And I had let him in, let down walls I'd spent years building.
I hated myself for it now, for believing his sweet promises, for memorizing the way his voice softened when he called my name.
And now, the academy felt like a battlefield again. Every corner held whispers. Every glance felt like a loaded bullet.
I stopped eating lunch in the cafeteria. And I stopped smiling.
I kept my hoodie pulled up even inside, like it was my armor. Only Daniel and Dina stayed. Because they’d seen me like this before, the version of me that makes herself smaller just to survive.
But this time, it was worse. It was exhausting. The kind that made my bones ache and my chest feel like it might cave in with every breath.
I thought I knew what pain was when I lost my father. When my mother left me behind. When my best friends turned their backs on me.
But this was different. This was heartbreak.
And I wasn't ready for how much it bled.
On the second day, Daniel was already waiting beneath the acacia tree, the one quiet spot on campus I always went to when I needed to breathe.
He stood when he saw me approaching, holding a familiar white box in one hand.
"Hungry?" he asked, offering it with a small, almost hesitant smile.
I paused. "You didn't have to bring me food, Dan," I murmured as I lowered myself onto the bench beside him. "I brought a sandwich."
He sat down next to me, close but not too close. "I know," he replied, nudging the box toward me. "But my mom said this is your favorite. You used to light up every time we had it at our house."
My eyes flickered to the label, and sure enough, it was the chicken rice meal I always used to request when visiting their home in middle school. For a fleeting moment, my expression cracked open, a tiny flicker of light breaking through the heaviness.
"You didn't have to go out of your way," I said quietly.
Daniel shrugged, his voice soft. "I didn't. You still matter to me, Mia. Even if you don't want to talk, I'm here. Always have been."
I looked down at the box, my fingers tightening around it. "There's nothing to talk about."
He didn't push. He just nodded, then opened his own lunch.
"Okay," he said gently.
And we sat there in silence. It was the kind of silence that holds space, that says, I know you’re hurting, and I’m not going anywhere.
Minutes passed, broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves above us and the occasional murmur of students passing by. Then my voice came, barely above a whisper.
"I was so stupid."
Daniel's fork paused mid-air. His eyes immediately found mine. "Hey," he said, setting it down. "Don't say that."
"But it's true," I whispered, my throat tightening. "I knew who he was. I knew what kind of life he came from. And I still believed every word he told me."
"You believed someone you loved," Daniel said quietly. "That doesn't make you stupid. That makes you... brave."
My fingers clenched around the edge of the bench. "But I let him in, Dan. I let him see every part of me, things I've never shared with anyone. And now... now I don't even know if any of it was real."
Daniel didn't speak right away. He just looked at me. His jaw was tight, his eyes filled with something deeper than sympathy.
"You loved him," he finally said. "Even if it tore me up to watch... I saw how he made you smile. How your eyes stopped looking over your shoulder every five seconds. And yeah, I hated that it wasn't me doing that for you. But I never wanted it to end like this."
I blinked fast, fighting back the flood. "I feel like I can't breathe sometimes," I admitted.
Daniel's voice was barely more than a breath. "Then let me be the air until you can."
I turned to him slowly, fully. And in that moment, I didn't see the boy from childhood or the friend who stayed. I saw the quiet anchor in my storm.
The boy who had loved me silently, even when my heart had belonged to someone else.
I didn't say a word. But I opened the box and took a bite of the chicken rice.
Later that evening, Josh closed the door behind us with a quiet click. The apartment was dim, only the soft glow from the kitchen light spilling into the living room. I walked in ahead of him, dropped my bag by the door, and headed straight to the sink like I needed something to do with my hands.
I hadn't said a word in the restaurant. Not when customers came and went. Not when Josh tried to make me laugh or asked if I wanted to take my break. I kept my head down, wiped tables that didn't need cleaning, and pretended not to notice when he looked at me too long.
Even on the drive home, I curled up in the passenger seat, eyes shut, pretending to sleep.
Josh let out a soft sigh as he leaned against the counter. "So..." he started gently, "he was still a no-show?"
I didn't answer right away. I filled a glass with water, took a sip, then stared at the sink as if the swirling drain held the answers. My shoulders were tense, and my silence hurt more than if I had screamed.
"Yeah," I finally whispered, setting the glass down. "He didn't show up. Again."
I turned toward Josh but didn't meet his eyes. "I guess I should stop expecting him to."
Josh said nothing. He waited.
"I think..." I exhaled shakily. "I think it's because of me. He can't even face me anymore. Maybe it's easier for him this way, to just disappear instead of telling me the truth."
"Mia..."
"I know what you're going to say," I cut in, shaking my head, a bitter laugh slipping past my lips. "That Liam's not like that. That he wouldn't just leave me hanging like this. But Josh, his father announced his engagement at a gala. In front of reporters. Of course he agreed to it."
My voice cracked. "And me? I was just the warm-up act. The filler story before the real one began. Stupid, invisible Mia. The poor girl who actually thought she mattered."
Josh looked at me with pain in his eyes, and I knew he was hurting for me. I hated how broken my own voice sounded.
"I let him in," I continued, my words trembling. "I let him see everything. I told him things I've never said out loud. And he let me believe I was safe in his arms.”
I laughed again, but it didn't sound like laughter.
It sounded like something breaking.
Josh stepped forward slowly, carefully, like he was approaching someone standing too close to the edge.
"You weren't stupid," he said quietly. "You were brave."
I looked at him then, my eyes glassy. "Brave?"
"Yeah," he replied. "You let someone see you. That takes more courage than pretending not to care."
I shook my head, biting down on my lip. "He embarrassed me in front of the entire academy. I can't even walk to class without someone whispering. I feel like I'm back in Junior year, before I figured out how to survive them."
"I know," Josh said. And he did. He'd seen me in my worst moments. And somehow, even now, I was still holding myself together.
He didn't offer empty words. He didn't say Liam didn't mean to. He didn't try to fix it.
He just opened his arms. And I collapsed into them.
I didn't sob at first. But my hands fisted the fabric of his hoodie, my shoulders shook, and Josh just held me tighter.
No more pretending the pain wasn’t there. Only the cruel, silent truth that I had handed my heart to the wrong boy, and he had taken it without care.
And a friend who would be there no matter how long it took for her to glue the pieces back together.