CHAPTER THREE
979 Words
A new week began, yet the events of the previous one refused to leave my mind. The humiliation, the whispers, the stares they replayed in my head like a broken record. I had promised myself that I would avoid Vincent at all costs, and I intended to keep that promise. Whatever peace I had left depended on it.
Thankfully, the incident had died down at school. The whispers faded, the laughter stopped, and students gradually found something else to gossip about. As cruel as people could be, their attention span was short. Still, the damage had already been done.
I had been reassigned to another class, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of relief. I didn’t see Vincent the entire week, and I was grateful for that. The new class welcomed me warmly. The students were attentive, respectful, and eager to learn. I poured myself into my work, and in return, they gave me something I hadn’t felt in a while purpose.
For once, everything seemed to fall into place.
School was peaceful. My job felt fulfilling. My friendship with my bestie was stronger than ever. Life felt lighter, calmer, and almost normal again. I began to believe that maybe just maybe I had survived the worst of it.
That illusion shattered the day I went to the library.
I had chosen the library because it was quiet, a place where I could escape into books and silence. I was seated at my usual spot, deeply immersed in a novel, when I sensed someone sit beside me. I didn’t look up. I didn’t care.
Then I heard it.
“Hi.”
My fingers stiffened around the pages of my book.
I knew that voice. I had memorized it against my will. Slowly, reluctantly, I lifted my head. There he was Vincent.
My expression hardened immediately. “How can I help you?” I asked, unable to hide the irritation in my voice.
He looked different. Gone was the smug grin, the arrogance, the confidence he always wore like armor. In its place was guilt, raw and uncomfortable.
“I know you must hate me by now,” he said quietly.
“I don’t hate you,” I interrupted sharply. “I just don’t want to cross paths with you intentionally or unintentionally.”
I stood up, grabbed my bag, and walked away. As I did, I caught a glimpse of his face. There was remorse there, real and unguarded, but I refused to let it soften me. I had cried enough tears over him already.
As I stepped out of the library, I felt a hand gently grab my arm. I stopped abruptly and turned around.
“Have you not done enough?” I snapped. “What else do you want from me?”
“I just want to apologize,” he said, his voice low. “What I did was wrong. I hurt you badly, and I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I’m truly sorry.”
For a brief moment, his words shook me. But anger quickly followed.
“You humiliated me,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay calm. “So please, stay away from me.”
I walked away before he could respond, my heart pounding violently in my chest. How could he apologize now? After everything? It felt unfair like reopening a wound that had barely begun to heal.
I pushed the thought away and went on with my day.
That evening, I told my bestie everything. She listened quietly, then told me not to let it get to me. I trusted her judgment and tried to let it go.
Later that night, while scrolling through w******p, a notification popped up from an unknown number.
"Hi"
I frowned and replied, "Please, who is this?"
"Wow, so curious. It’s Vincent."
My breath caught.
"What do you want?" I typed.
"I want to apologize properly. I know I realized my mistake late, but I am really sorry. I want to make amends and prove to you that I’m not the terrible person you think I am."
I stared at the message for a long time. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but I didn’t respond. Silence felt safer.
Then another message came in.
"I know you don’t trust me, but please give me one chance. I promise to make it up to you."
Against my better judgment, I replied,
"How do you intend to make it up to me?"
"Leave that to me,"he said.
Then he went offline.
I tried to distract myself by scrolling through t****k. That was when I saw his face appear on my screen.
The video stunned me.
Vincent stood there, looking vulnerable, apologizing publicly for what he had done to me. The comments section was flooded with support and apologies directed at me. My phone buzzed nonstop.
My bestie called almost immediately. She told me the video had gone viral. Even students who had laughed and shared the original video were apologizing. The humiliating smoothie video had been taken down.
While she was still talking, the doorbell rang.
I told her I’d call back and went to answer it.
Vincent stood there with flowers, a box of chocolates, and a sign that read:
"I am very sorry for how I treated you. Please forgive me."
I didn’t know when my anger faded, but I knew it had. I invited him in.
We talked. Slowly. Carefully.
I told him how much he hurt me. How embarrassed I felt. How broken I had been. He listened, really listened and apologized again.
When he asked for a second chance, I hesitated.
But beneath the arrogance and cruelty, I saw something else. Someone softer. Someone human.
Against my better judgment, I decided to give him a chance.
After all, what was the worst that could happen?
- Writer
