Chapter 5

(Darv’s POV)

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s waiting.

But that’s all I’ve been doing for the last two days.

Every time I check my phone, the answer isn’t there. Love, Anonymous—the one account that never ignores anyone—has left me hanging.

I don’t even know why I care so much. It was just a stupid message, sent in the middle of the night when my head wouldn’t shut up. I could’ve deleted it. I almost did. But instead, I hit send like a damn idiot.

And now? Now I can’t stop checking.

Kai sprawled in the seat beside me, his long legs stretched across two chairs. “Bro, you’re addicted to that account. Don’t tell me you actually sent something.”

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut. “Shut up.”

He grinned, leaning back. “So you did. What was it? Some dramatic love confession? ‘Dear Love Anonymous, I’m secretly in love with my math teacher—’”

“Say another word and I’ll break your jaw.”

Kai laughed, unbothered. He was one of the few people who didn’t flinch around me, which was probably why I hadn’t killed him yet. Still, his joke hit too close. Not the teacher part, obviously, but the rest.

Because if anyone knew who I actually wrote about—

No. That couldn’t happen.

I shoved my phone into my pocket, jaw tight. “Drop it.”

Classes blurred by, teachers droning, the clock ticking too slow. I kept my eyes on the board, but my focus was a mess. Not because of the equations or the lectures.

Because of her.

Aeliana Laziel.

Two rows ahead, sunlight catching in her hair, posture perfect, notes impossibly neat. She was untouchable, the academy’s queen. Everyone either wanted to be her or be with her.

And I… I wanted both.

I knew better. She wasn’t for someone like me. I was the rumor, the mistake, the one mothers warned their daughters about. She was the golden girl.

But still—when her pen slipped and rolled to my desk earlier, and I picked it up, and she looked at me—

For one second, I swear she wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t untouchable. She was just a girl with wide eyes, breath caught, mask cracked.

And damn if that didn’t make her even harder to ignore.

At lunch, Lyra made her move.

I saw it the second she sat across from me, tray untouched, eyes shining like she thought she’d already won.

“So, Darv,” she said sweetly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “What do you do after school? You never talk about yourself.”

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms behind my head. “That’s because I don’t like people knowing my business.”

Her smile didn’t falter. “Maybe you should let someone in. Just a little.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Aeliana watching. Not directly—she was too careful for that—but her shoulders stiffened, and her fork slowed halfway to her mouth.

Interesting.

I let my gaze linger on Aeliana for just a second longer than I should’ve before turning back to Lyra. “I’ll pass.”

Lyra’s smile faltered, just for a breath, but she recovered quick. “Suit yourself.”

But the damage was already done. Because when I looked at Aeliana again, she wasn’t pretending anymore. She looked away too fast, cheeks just a little too pink.

And suddenly, I wasn’t frustrated about the unanswered message anymore.

Because maybe I was getting my answer right here.

That night, I sat on my bed, headphones blasting music I couldn’t focus on, phone glowing in my hand.

The message was still there. No reply.

I started typing another one.

> Do you ever feel like the person you want is right in front of you, but you can’t touch them?

Delete.

> What if being honest ruins everything?

Delete.

> What if the person you like is already someone else’s?

I stared at that one the longest. My thumb hovered over send.

But then I pictured Aeliana’s face today, the way her mask slipped when Lyra tried to flirt with me.

And I realized maybe I didn’t need Love, Anonymous anymore.

Because maybe the person I wanted was already giving me the answers herself.

The academy emptied like a punctured balloon once the last bell rang. Voices echoed through the halls, laughter bouncing, footsteps scattering. Everyone rushing home, to plans, to lives they could talk about freely.

Me? My plans were the same as always: nothing worth sharing.

Kai had already taken off, throwing a “don’t sulk too hard, lover boy” over his shoulder before vanishing. I wanted to punch him for saying it, but mostly because he wasn’t wrong.

I slung my bag over one shoulder and cut through the back stairwell—quieter, emptier. The air smelled like dust and old paint. My footsteps echoed alone.

That’s when I heard it.

The faint scrape of a chair.

When I stepped into the deserted classroom at the end of the hall, I didn’t expect anyone. But there she was.

Aeliana Laziel.

Sitting by the window, sunlight bleeding over her hair, her blazer off, her tie loosened just slightly. Not the flawless queen everyone bowed to, but something softer. More human.

Her notebook lay open on the desk. She wasn’t writing, though—just staring out the glass, fingers resting still against the page.

She didn’t hear me at first. Or maybe she did and was pretending not to.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “You’ll break your perfect record if you stay behind too long. People might think you’re… normal.”

Her head snapped around. For a second, her mask slipped—the surprise, the unguarded vulnerability in her eyes. Then it was back. Polished. Controlled.

“Shouldn’t you be outside brooding in a corner somewhere?” she shot back, voice sharp, but not as sharp as usual.

I smirked. “Maybe I like this corner better.”

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant hum of voices fading down the hall. She looked back toward the window, pretending I wasn’t there.

But I saw the way her hand curled tighter against her notebook.

“What are you writing?” I asked.

She closed the notebook with a snap, sliding it into her bag. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Then maybe you should mind your own business.”

I pushed off the doorframe, taking a few steps closer. She stiffened, but didn’t move away. I stopped just far enough that the desk stood between us.

“Relax,” I said. “I don’t care enough to dig. I was just asking.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked up at me then, really looked, and for once, there was no shield in her eyes. Just exhaustion.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Her lips parted, like she was actually considering it. Then she shook her head, standing abruptly. “Forget it.”

She brushed past me, the faintest trace of her perfume trailing in the air, and it took everything in me not to grab her wrist and make her stay.

Instead, I let her go. Watched her retreat down the hall, her shoulders stiff, her steps just a little too fast, like she was running from something only she could see.

Home was worse.

The walls of my house were thin, the kind of thin where you could hear every argument, every slammed door. My father’s voice was already raised when I stepped inside, sharp and bitter, knives thrown without a blade. My mother didn’t answer. She never did.

I headed straight for my room, closing the door before the noise could catch up to me.

Here, the mask dropped. No one to impress. No one to fight off. Just me and the quiet I’d carved out for myself.

I sat on my bed, phone in hand, staring at the unsent messages in Love, Anonymous.

I wanted to tell her everything. Not just the questions I’d already asked, but the truth behind them. That I hated this house. That I hated the version of myself people believed in. That the only time I felt like maybe I wasn’t a mistake was when I looked at her.

But if I said that, it wouldn’t stay anonymous. Not really. Because some part of me was starting to believe she’d already know.

The truth wasn’t safe.

But neither was silence.

The next morning, the academy felt different.

Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her.

But when I caught Aeliana’s eyes across the courtyard, just for a second, it felt like yesterday’s empty classroom hadn’t ended. Like we’d left something unfinished, hanging between us.

And I decided then.

If she wouldn’t talk, I’d make her.

Because waiting for answers behind a screen wasn’t enough anymore.

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