# Aftermath

Clara’s POV :

I didn’t cry.

Let’s just start there.

No shaky breath, no silent tears in the stairwell. None of that. I walked out like I had somewhere better to be.

Because I did. Anywhere was better than that room.

...----------------...

I sat by the vending machine. Not because I needed air, but because I refused to let anyone find me looking affected in the hallway. Especially not him.

Elka showed up with grape soda and her usual look of “I’m not going to pry, but I am absolutely judging.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You don’t look fine.”

“That’s just my ‘dealing with idiots’ face.”

She cracked open her can. “He went too far.”

“I’ve heard worse.”

“Not from someone who’s supposed to be on your side.”

I didn’t reply.

Because the worst part wasn’t the insult. It was how calm he was about it. Like he’d been holding the line for weeks, waiting for a moment to drop it with perfect precision.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦…

The words hit again. Not fresh. Just echoing.

Not because they were true. But because they weren’t — and he said it like they were math.

I didn’t show it.

I wouldn’t give him the win twice.

“You gonna talk to him?” Elka asked.

“No.”

“You should.”

“Why? So he can hit round two?”

Elka raised an eyebrow. “He’s cold, not stupid. He knows he messed up.”

“Good. Let him sit with it.”

That was the end of that.

I finished the soda and tossed the can with a perfect arc into the bin. Small win.

...----------------...

Back home, I opened the shared doc. Out of reflex.

Still untouched.

Figures.

No edits. No updated slides. Just our last version sitting there like nothing had happened. Like we hadn’t blown up the entire foundation of our group work in under ten minutes.

I stared at the screen.

Then I started working.

Slide adjustments. Cleaner transitions. Color-coded points. A few new examples added in the notes.

Professional. Focused. Zero emotion.

That’s how you win. Not by shouting. Not by breaking.

By continuing.

...----------------...

Then, just before I closed it, I added a footnote at the bottom of the final slide.

Not a quote. Not a dig.

Just a message:

> Next time, aim to be right — not just sharp.

No name. No context. But if he read it, he’d know.

And if he didn’t?

Fine.

He could keep hiding behind his silence. I had no interest in peeling back the layers of someone who only spoke to cut.

...----------------...

Later that night, Elka messaged me.

Elka: You still presenting with him?

Clara: Of course.

Elka:Even after that?

Clara: We finish what we start.

She sent a thumbs up.

No heart. No pity reaction.

That’s why I like her.

...----------------...

The next morning, I saw him across the hallway. Surrounded by friends who were after his academic skills and not his Emotional quotient.

He looked the same. Same bag, same blank expression, same nothing-ever-touches-me vibe.

He glanced my way.

I didn’t blink. Didn’t nod. Just walked past him like he was a furniture.

No grudge.

Just done.

Mostly.

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