Chapter thirteen :Seth

She sat across from me, quietly flipping through her notes. The same girl who once chattered nervously during our first sessions now barely spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was heavy.

I pretended to look over the equations in her notebook, but truthfully, I was stealing glances. Her hair was pulled back today. Neat, like she came prepared—not just for the quiz, but for something more. Something unsaid.

“Is this the right formula for indirect variation?” she asked, her voice a little lower than usual.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, “but don’t forget to cross-check with the units in the question.”She nodded, her gaze dropping back to the page.

We studied for three hours. I didn’t think we’d make it that long, not with the way my pulse refused to calm around her, or the way she kept offering me small, polite smiles that didn’t reach her eyes.

Somewhere in between equations and graphs, I stood up and asked, “You like coffee, right?”

She blinked. “Yeah.”

I nodded, walked into the kitchen and returned minutes later with two mugs—hers full of sugar, mine just how I liked it.

When we finished, I started stacking my notes, but she didn’t move.

“Mr. Seth,” she said, and my head lifted instinctively at the sound of her voice.

She wasn’t looking at her notebook anymore.

“Can I have a word with you?”

I leaned back slowly. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

She took a breath. One of those deep, unsure ones where the inhale is shaky and the exhale is slower than it needs to be.

“I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For making things weird. I swear I didn’t plan for any of this. I never thought I’d develop feelings for you, and I never wanted to ruin anything.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“I know I crossed a line. But I don’t regret being honest that night,” she continued. “Because if anyone deserved to know, it was you. I have feelings for you, Mr. Seth. I’m not asking you to feel the same. I just… I needed to say it.”

There was a silence that followed. Not the awkward kind—just stillness.

Then I finally spoke.

“You didn’t make anything worse, Nyla. None of this is your fault,” I said, voice low. “It’s just… things like this—they’re not supposed to happen. And if they do, we’re supposed to pretend they didn’t. That’s how the world works.”

She looked at me like that answer hurt more than she expected. Like I’d just told her she shouldn’t have bothered.But I wasn’t done.

“I’m not mad at you,” I added. “I never was. I was... scared.”

Her eyes met mine again, and this time I didn’t look away.

Her brows furrowed softly. “Scared?”

I nodded, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Scared of what it meant… for me, for you. For how I’m supposed to keep distance when every time you’re near, I don’t want to.”

She looked stunned—like she wasn’t expecting me to admit that. But I couldn’t lie. Not anymore.

“You’re brave,” I continued, my voice quieter now. “To say what you did. To still be kind. You think you made things weird, Nyla, but… if anything, you made them real. Too real.”

She bit her lip, and my eyes dropped for a split second. I hated that I noticed. I hated that I always noticed.

“I wish things were different,” I admitted. “I wish I wasn’t… who I am. That I could look at you and not feel everything I’m not supposed to.”

The words lingered in the air between us.

She whispered, “So… what now?”

I swallowed. “Now... you ace your exams. And I keep pretending like your smile doesn’t undo me every time.”

She gave a soft laugh, eyes glossy. “That doesn’t sound fair.”

“It’s not,” I said. “But it’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

And just like that, she stood, nodded once, and picked up her bag. Her back was straighter, but her silence this time felt heavier.

I didn’t stop her. I watched as she opened the door and close it behind her. I promptly stood up and rushed outside. She was walking by the road.I quickly caught up with her.

"I never dated anyone in my entire life",I said. She looked at me with her moist eyes, she was stunned. I continued."

“I was raised in China,” I began, my voice quieter now. “My mom was a model. Beautiful, graceful… someone people admired. My dad… he ran a business. For a while, everything was perfect. At least from the outside.”

I paused, pressing my lips together. “Then his business collapsed. Like, overnight. We went from living in a high-rise with glass walls to barely scraping by. And my father—he didn’t take it well. He started drinking. A lot. Mom stepped up. She worked herself sick trying to hold us together. But the damage had already started.”

I looked down at my hands. “I became the punching bag. The only person he could control when everything else slipped out of his grip. He’d call me into his room and…” I inhaled sharply, trying to steady the shaking in my chest. “He’d beat me until my skin burned. Until it bled. And then some more.”

There was a long pause. Nyla sat frozen, her eyes were still moist, but I couldn’t stop now.

“He’d say it was my fault. That I was a disgrace.And I’d stand there, too young to understand why he hated me so much, but old enough to feel like maybe I deserved it.”

“I left home the second I could. Buried myself in books, in degrees, in careers… trying to forget, trying to outrun it. But you can’t outrun scars that live under your skin.”

I looked up and met her eyes again, raw and unfiltered.

Before I could say anything more, Nyla suddenly took my hand and gently tugged me towards the benches lined along the roadside. The sky above had turned dusky, dipped in shades of orange and grey. We sat down—close, maybe too close—but for once, I didn’t feel the urge to pull away. I was tired of running.

She said nothing. Just waited.

“You see now,” I said, voice breaking around the edges, “I don’t even have control over myself anymore. I’m still trying… still learning how to regulate my own goddamn emotions. But the childhood trauma… it’s like this never-ending loop in my head. It eats at me every single day.”

I looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “Now that my father’s back here, things are even worse. I haven’t slept in days, Nyla. My chest—it feels like it’s always tight. I lie in bed, and his words echo like gunshots. ‘You’re a disappointment.’ ‘You should’ve taken over my business.’ ‘You’re weak.’”

I swallowed hard. “But I had my own dreams. My own goddamn passion. And I followed it, but somehow… it still feels like I failed.”

A lump formed in my throat, thick and raw. “I know I’m twenty. I know I’m older than you. I’m supposed to be the mature one. The calm one. But—” My voice cracked. “But I don’t know anymore.”

I turned my face away quickly, dragging the sleeve of my shirt across my cheek. But before I could hide the rest, Nyla leaned in, pulled me toward her.She placed a hand at the back of my neck and gently rested my head on her shoulder.

“Cry,” she whispered. “Cry as much as you want. Cry until you feel better. Cry until all of that… poison inside you leaves.”

I tried to resist at first—tried to be the strong one. But her warmth, her patience… broke down everything I had built. My body trembled as the first tear fell. Then another. And another. I let it all out—years of pain, disappointment, shame—right there on her shoulder.And she never moved. She just held me.Like no one ever had.

I don’t know why I felt like spilling everything to her. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not with pity, but with something quieter… something more understanding. Or maybe it was just the first time someone had listened without trying to fix me.

I told her everything that had been buried for years. The things I never dared to say out loud. And now… now that the words were out, I felt lighter. Not healed. But less alone.

I was in her hands—literally and figuratively—feeling so small, so fragile. But really, she was the tiny one. Small frame. Soft voice. Gentle eyes. And yet, her palms against my cheeks felt like the strongest thing in the world.

She didn’t say don’t cry, like my mom used to when she couldn’t handle seeing me in pain. No. Nyla whispered the opposite.

“Keep crying until you feel better,” she said softly, her thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Crying doesn’t make you weak, Seth.”

She cupped my face, leaned in closer, and whispered, “I’ll hold you still. Let you break if that’s what it takes. I’ll stay right here… until you feel okay again.”

And she did. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just sat there, holding me while I cried—not like a boy, not like a man—but like a soul finally being seen.

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