NO HAPPY ENDINGS: PART ONE-VINCENT

CHAPTER FIVE

For the next couple of months, Vincent became a constant in my life.

It happened so quietly that I didn’t even realize it at first. One day, we were just school mates who talked a little too much, and the next, he was everywhere. In the empty seat beside me during morning lessons. In the corner of the library after school. In my phone every night, his name lighting up my screen until it felt strange not to see it.

We studied together most afternoons. He claimed he focused better when I was around, even though half the time we ended up talking instead of reading. Sometimes we’d argue over the smallest things who was smarter, who was more stubborn and other times we’d sit in comfortable silence, sharing earphones and pretending not to notice how close we were.

Somewhere between all of that, something shifted.

I started noticing the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at me, like he was holding back words he didn’t know how to say. I noticed how he remembered tiny things how I liked my snacks, how I always tapped my pen when I was nervous, how I hated being rushed. No one had ever paid that much attention to me before.

And I liked it.

More than I was ready to admit.

I’d never had a boyfriend. Never even come close. Romance, for me, had always been something I read about or watched from a distance, something that happened to other girls, girls who were braver, prettier, more confident. Not me. So when the feelings crept in, I tried to ignore them.

But feelings don’t disappear just because you ask them to.

They grow.

I fell for Vincent slowly, the way night falls quiet, inevitable, and impossible to stop once it begins. I fell for the way he listened, really listened. I fell for his laugh, for his dramatic complaints about school, for the way he pretended not to care what people thought while secretly caring a lot.

Still, I said nothing.

I was afraid. Afraid that if I spoke, I’d lose him. Afraid that what I felt was one-sided. Afraid that I’d look foolish for even thinking he could feel the same way.

So I kept it all inside.

Until one night changed everything.

It was late, the kind of late where your voice drops naturally, where honesty feels easier because the world is quiet. We were on the phone, talking about random things teachers we disliked, assignments we hadn’t started, dreams we pretended not to have.

Then his tone shifted.

“What do you think about this guy?” he asked, trying to sound casual and failing terribly.

My heart skipped. I knew exactly who he meant.

I stared at the ceiling, my fingers tightening around my phone. My chest felt too small for everything I was feeling. For a moment, I considered lying. Making a joke. Changing the topic.

But something in me was tired of hiding.

“I think of you,” I said slowly, “as someone I have feelings for.”

The silence that followed felt endless.

Then suddenly, Vincent shouted so loudly I flinched.

“Finally!” he yelled. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that for the longest time. I was scared you’d reject me.”

I laughed, breathless, relief washing over me so fast it almost made me dizzy. We talked for hours after that about how long we’d liked each other, about how obvious it apparently had been to everyone except us.

By the end of the call, nothing was the same.

We were together.

And Vincent changed.

At first, it was sweet. He became more attentive, more affectionate. He checked on me constantly good morning messages, reminders to eat, questions about my mood. It felt comforting, like someone finally cared enough to notice me.

I told my best friend the next morning. She screamed so loudly people turned to stare.

“I knew it!” she said, hugging me tightly. “I knew something was going on.”

She didn’t care that Vincent was my junior. She didn’t care what people would say. All she saw was me smiling more than usual, and that was enough for her.

The early days of our relationship felt unreal.

Vincent wanted to know everything about me. My childhood, my fears, my dreams. I told him about my parents’ separation, about how my mum carried the weight of our family with quiet strength, about my siblings and how protective I felt over them.

When I finished, he smiled softly.

“I already love your mum,” he said. “Anyone who raised you must be amazing.”

I laughed, warmth blooming in my chest.

School, however, wasn’t as kind.

Word spread faster than I expected. Whispers followed me down hallways. Some classmates confronted me directly, asking why I’d embarrass myself by dating a junior. Their words stung, sharp and unnecessary.

Before I could respond, my bestie stepped in like a shield.

“Mind your business,” she snapped. “If Crown is happy, that’s all that matters.”

They backed off, muttering under their breath.

That night, Vincent held my hand tightly and promised me he didn’t care what anyone said. I believed him.

Our first kiss happened on a quiet afternoon when the school grounds were nearly empty. It wasn’t dramatic. No fireworks. Just two nervous people standing too close, hearts racing, unsure who would move first.

When it happened, it was soft and hesitant, like a question rather than a statement. My hands shook afterward, my face burning. Vincent laughed gently and told me I was cute when I was flustered.

He never rushed me. Never made me feel stupid for being inexperienced. That patience made me trust him even more.

As the weeks passed, the kisses became more natural, less shy. I started feeling braver around him. Safer.

But small things began to bother me.

There was a junior girl who seemed especially close to him. She was always around, always finding reasons to talk to him. When I asked Vincent about it, he hesitated before telling me not to mention our relationship to her.

“She’s going through a lot,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

The explanation didn’t fully satisfy me, but I swallowed my discomfort. Love made me generous with excuses.

I told myself I was overthinking.

Vincent’s messages became more frequent. If I didn’t reply quickly, he’d ask if something was wrong. If I spent time with others, he wanted to know where I was. He said it was because he cared.

And I believed him.

Because caring feels good when you’ve waited a long time to be chosen.

Still, late at night, when my phone finally went quiet, a small voice in my head whispered questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

I ignored it.

For now.