Chapter 49 The apology
The second message blinked on Lila’s phone screen, the exact same words as before.
“I’m sorry, Lila. I heard what happened. Please let me make it right. Reply as soon as possible.”
Her thumb hovered over the reply icon. The hallway had emptied now, leaving only the sound of faint footsteps echoing from far away. The golden light from the window caught the dust in the air. It all felt still.
She typed, then deleted her response twice. Finally, she just sent
“I’m fine. You don’t have to.”
Almost immediately, three dots appeared. Then a reply from Damian
“Meet me in the café in twenty minutes. Please.”
She sighed, shoving her phone into her bag. Her pulse wouldn’t slow down. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe something else, something closer to curiosity.
The café buzzed with afternoon chatter. Students gathered around small tables, steaming cups and laughter everywhere. Lila found a quiet corner by the window. She tried to look calm, but her hands betrayed her twisting the napkin in circles.
When Damian walked in, heads turned.
He didn’t even seem to notice.
His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He carried that same easy confidence, like the world bent slightly wherever he went. But when he saw Lila, his expression softened.
“Hey,” he said, walking up to her table.
“Hi.” Her voice came out softer than she expected.
He sat across from her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The café’s hum filled the silence between them. Then Damian leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For what Vanessa did.”
Lila stared at him, unsure what to say. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”
“I do,” he said. “Because she did it because of me.”
Lila tried to smile, but it faltered. “You can’t control how people act.”
He shook his head. “No, but I should’ve told her to stop a long time ago. I thought if I ignored her, she’d get bored. I was wrong.”
His voice was low, not smooth like usual, but heavy, genuine. And that, somehow, made her chest ache a little.
She looked away, out the window. The reflection of their table shimmered faintly in the glass with him leaning close, her sitting small and quiet. She could see how out of place she looked next to him.
“People already think I attract trouble,” she said finally. “I don’t need to add jealous girlfriends to the list.”
He smiled faintly. “You don’t attract trouble, Lila. You just don’t hide from it.”
That made her look at him. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
Damian glanced down, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway, I wanted to make it up to you. Maybe lunch? Or.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” His eyes met hers again. “Please.”
There was something in his tone not pity, not charm, just warmth. She didn’t know how to say no. So she nodded.
“Alright,” she said. “Lunch.”
They met two days later at a small Italian restaurant just outside campus. Lila wore a simple beige dress, nothing special, but it made her feel a little lighter. Damian was already there, sitting near the window with two iced coffees on the table.
When she arrived, he stood immediately. “You came.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m a little surprised,” he admitted, grinning.
They sat. The smell of herbs and baked bread filled the air. Outside, the afternoon sun was soft and golden.
At first, they talked about easy things like classes, professors, and the ridiculous cafeteria food. Damian joked about his coach, about practice schedules, about the pressure of being the school’s golden boy. Lila found herself laughing, really laughing, for the first time after the text message she got from that unknown number.
He had a way of pulling people in not just with his looks, but with how he listened, how he made space for someone else’s silence.
She told him small things. Not about Serena, not about Ruby, but about the lighter parts of her, her love for photography, her habit of collecting rose petals from fallen bouquets, the way she hated loud music.
He listened to every word.
“Maybe that’s why the world gives you roses,” he teased gently.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start that rumor.”
“Too late,” he said with a grin. “You’d be surprised how fast rumors travel here.”
“Trust me,” she said. “I already know.”
They both laughed again, and for a moment, it felt like the world had forgotten how to be cruel.
After lunch, Damian stood. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
He took her downtown, to a small shopping square. The air was warm, the city alive with sound, music, chatter, the distant scent of roasted nuts from a cart nearby.
She blinked at him. “Why are we here?”
He shrugged. “Because I owe you an apology, and words don’t always fix things.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re trying to buy my forgiveness?”
He laughed. “No. I’m trying to make you smile again.”
He led her into a boutique filled with dresses and shoes. The kind of place she would never walk into alone.
She hesitated by the door, whispering, “I don’t belong here.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “Come on.”
Before she could argue, he was already flipping through a rack of clothes. “Try this one,” he said, holding up a soft lavender dress.
She blinked. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
He looked ridiculous, holding that delicate thing in his hands, but his smile was sincere. Against her better judgment, she took it and went to the fitting room.
When she stepped out, she caught her reflection in the mirror by the counter. The dress fit perfectly. It was light, simple and soft.
Damian’s expression shifted from surprise, then something quieter, almost awe.
“What?” she asked, half-laughing, half-nervous.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, though his voice wasn’t steady. “You look good. Like really good.”
Her cheeks warmed. She looked away, pretending to fuss with the hem of the dress.
For a few minutes, they just stood there, the sound of the shop doorbell, the faint music overhead, the way the world felt smaller inside that moment.
She changed back into her clothes, and Damian insisted on buying the dress. She argued, of course, but he was stubborn.
“Think of it as insurance,” he said, handing the bag to her.
“Insurance for what?”
“So I get to see you wear it again,” he said with a wink.
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling. “But I’m persistent.”
On their way back to campus, the sky had turned soft orange. Students filled the sidewalks, the air buzzing with weekend chatter.
They walked side by side, not talking much now. Every once in a while, he’d glance at her, and she’d pretend not to notice. But inside, her chest was full, light and strange at the same time.
How did this even happen? she thought. How did I end up walking beside him like this?
For weeks, her world had been shadows and whispers and fear. Now, there was sunlight and warmth. A boy who made her laugh again.
She glanced down at the paper bag in her hand, at the lavender fabric peeking out. For once, she felt almost normal.
Yeah, almost normal.
When they reached the dorms, he stopped near the steps. “Lila,” he said quietly, “thank you for giving me a chance.”
She smiled. “Thank you for not making it weird.”
He grinned. “Are you sure you’re okay going in alone?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though part of her wasn’t.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Text me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
She watched him walk away, his tall frame fading into the crowd. For a long moment, she stood there, holding the bag tighter against her chest.
The breeze lifted her hair. The dorm windows glowed faintly in the late sun. Everything seemed calm again.
Finally, she turned toward the door, ready to go in.
And that’s when her phone buzzed.
A new message from another unknown number.
“You looked lovely in lavender.”
Her heart stopped.
The dress was still in the bag. No one could’ve seen her wearing it. No one except Damian.
She froze, the screen glowing cold against her skin.
Her breath came shallow, her pulse wild.
She turned her head slowly, scanning the crowd but everyone looked normal. They were laughing and talking.
Her fingers trembled as she locked the phone and shoved it deep into her bag.
For a long moment, she stood there, unable to move. The air felt different again sharp, thin.
The world had gone quiet.
And just like that, the peace she’d borrowed was gone.