Chapter ten : Nyla

I sat in front of the TV, but my mind was somewhere else. Every moment I had with Mr. Seth kept replaying in my head. How long am I going to suppress my feelings? Both my brain and heart know the truth—I have feelings for him. And he deserves to know. I’ve always hated keeping things to myself. It eats me up. It should be known to the person it belongs to. I’m tired of waiting. Impatience is creeping in like a storm.

The movie kept playing in the background, but I couldn’t focus. Mom was busy in a meeting, Dad was buried in his papers—he’s going to Singapore this week—and my little brother sat cross-legged doing his homework. Everyone seemed so occupied, yet I felt completely alone. And being alone always made my thoughts louder.

He’s been so cold to me lately. So distant. I’m almost certain he doesn’t feel the same. Maybe he never did. But he’s a good man—a really good one. A good teacher. The kind of person you can’t help but admire. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much.

I’m gonna tell him. Tomorrow. No more waiting. He should know.

Even if he doesn’t feel the same, even if it ends with awkward silences and regret... I can’t keep holding this in. I just want him to know what he means to me. That’s it. Just that. He deserves the truth, and I deserve the freedom that comes with letting it out.

Maybe I’ll cry after. Maybe I’ll laugh at myself. Maybe I’ll regret it. But at least I’ll know I tried.

My hair fluttered in the wind as I stood on the rooftop, eyes fixed on the orange, slowly disappearing sun. The whole school seemed drenched in that soft golden light, and yet, nervousness churned deep in my gut.

"Hey, aren’t you going home?".A voice from behind.

I didn’t turn around. My fingers clenched the fabric of my shirt tightly. I heard him drop his bag onto the old, abandoned bench opposite the door, then his footsteps approached, slow and careful, until he stood beside me.

I looked into his gleaming black eyes. They locked with mine.

"How were your classes?" he asked, finally looking away toward the sky.

"Fine," I replied, my gaze still stuck on him.

"Just fine?" he asked again, a tiny smile playing at the edge of his lips.

"Yeah, um..." I hesitated, my palms already sweating. My heart pounding. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

His voice turned serious, and our eyes found each other again, the sun's warmth touching us both.

"The thing is... I have these feelings. Special ones. For you. I—I guess I’m in love with you. Or something like that."

My voice trembled. "I know it’s not the right thing... but I can’t keep it buried inside anymore."

He didn’t speak.

"I know you’ll be mad at me, maybe uncomfortable, I don’t know... but I’m obsessed with you. My heart flutters every time I see you, and I hate pretending like I don’t feel anything. It’s not normal, right?" I laughed softly, bitterly. "But I’m not lying. I’m just... saying the truth. That’s all."

I stopped.Silence.

Only the leaves rustled softly, dancing in the breeze between us.

I took a step closer to him, his sweet scent rushing into my nose.

Tiptoeing slightly, I closed my eyes—and gently pressed my lips to his.

My arms slipped around his waist, butterflies inside me fluttering wildly. Shy? Happy? Nervous? I couldn’t tell—it was a beautiful chaos.

But he didn’t move. He just froze.

No reaction, no response. Only the loud thud of his heart echoing against my chest.

Panicking, I stepped back, pulling away.

My cheeks burned with heat, heart pounding with a strange mix of thrill and fear. His face remained blank—expressionless—but his smoky eyes stayed locked on mine.

"Se-"

Then suddenly, he turned away.

Without a word, he walked off. His steps were heavy, frustrated, almost angry. Each one sent a vibration through my skin, deeper than any touch.

I stood there, frozen. I knew this could happen. I knew. Yet I still did it.

Was it too early to confess?

Oh, God... what have I done?

I dropped onto the concrete floor, wrapping my arms around my legs, curling into myself.

Maybe to him, I was just a student. Or maybe, at most, a friend. But now?

Now it’s all beautifully ruined.

I hate myself. The words looped in my head as the last traces of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

The reached home felt like a dream I never wanted to be in.

I pushed the gate open slowly, the metal creaking in the silence of the evening. The usual sounds—the clatter of dishes, the distant hum of the television—felt like background noise in a world I was no longer part of.

I dragged myself inside.

"Nyla, you're late," Mom said from the kitchen, her voice gentle but busy, like always. I didn’t answer. I dropped my bag by the shoe rack and walked straight to my room.

I didn’t bother turning the lights on.

I lay on my bed, face down, the fabric cold against my cheek. My heart felt like it had been squeezed, wrung out, and left hollow. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just... stared.

The door creaked open. I didn't move.

I felt the mattress dip beside me. A soft hand rested on my back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

I shook my head, lips sealed, scared that if I spoke, everything would fall apart again.

She sighed, brushing my hair with her fingers. "You’ve been off since you came in. Zoned out, quiet, like your heart's not even here."

Still, I said nothing.

"I know," she whispered. That made me lift my face.

She looked at me with a calm expression. Not judging. Not surprised.

"You’ve got feelings for someone, don’t you?" I blinked, stunned. My lips trembled. “How do you…?”

“A mother knows,” she said, giving a small smile. “And I saw how your eyes lit up when you talked about your teacher.” Tears pricked the corner of my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just... I couldn’t help it.”

“You don’t need to apologize for your feelings, baby,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “They’re yours. They’re real. And they’re complicated, I know. But you’re not wrong for feeling them.”

I melted into her embrace. A tear finally slipped down, then another.

“I kissed him,” I whispered into her shoulder. “And he left. Just walked away.”

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t scold.

Instead, she stroked my back, and said, “If he is the man you think he is, then he'll figure out how to face his feelings. But you’re brave for being honest. And I’m proud of you for that.” My sobs came then, silent but heavy.

She didn’t say anything more. Just held me. And somehow, in the warmth of her arms, everything didn’t feel so ruined anymore.

But I've lost him, I guess.

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