Protagonist Syndrome

The rain wasn’t just falling—it was attacking the city. The kind of rain that made umbrellas useless and turned sidewalks into reflective rivers. The wind howled like it was warning us all to get inside, its icy fingers yanking at tree branches until they swung dangerously close to snapping. Birds fought against the gusts, their wings straining, and every person in sight moved with one goal—find shelter before the sky decided to drop something worse than rain. The sky was a deep, oppressive shade of grey, like someone had taken all the color out of the world. I’d always liked storms before; they had a strange beauty in their chaos. But that day, I should’ve taken it as a warning. I’d always told myself I was the kind of person who could keep my emotions in check. I wasn’t the type to cry in public or lose my cool over something small. I prided myself on keeping my head high, even when the world tried to push me down. But that day? That day, my composure shattered like glass. Because not far from where I stood, I saw something I could never unsee. My boyfriend. With my best friend. They weren’t just walking together. They were close—shoulder to shoulder, leaning in, smiling like the rest of the world didn’t exist. The sight lodged itself in my chest like a jagged piece of ice, stealing my breath. A sharp, bitter rush flooded my veins, and suddenly I wasn’t in my body anymore. It was like watching from a distance, the sounds around me muffled, the colors dulled except for them—laughing, holding cups of bubble tea, his hand brushing hers like it belonged there. The cold should’ve bitten into my skin. The rain should’ve soaked through my thin clothes and made me shiver. But instead, I felt heat—molten, furious heat—spreading through me. I couldn’t move. My legs stayed rooted to the spot, like the storm had nailed me there. All I could hear was the cracking of my heart, somehow louder than the rattling rain and the roar of the wind. I wanted to scream. I wanted to demand why. But exhaustion hit me like a wave, heavy and suffocating. My voice stayed trapped in my throat. She had those brown eyes that could stop people in their tracks. When she smiled, they crinkled into perfect crescent moons, her lips painted that shade of red that looked almost unreal. I knew that smile. I used to see it in the mirror—back when I still had reasons to smile like that. And now, she was using it on him. How could she? She knew how much I loved him. She’d been there for every late-night phone call, every rant about how much I missed him when he was busy. And still—still—she chose him. They looked so comfortable together, so at ease, like this wasn’t something new. Like this wasn’t their first time. And the ugliest question slipped in before I could stop it: What did I do wrong? I wasn’t clingy. I wasn’t demanding. I gave him space when he needed it. I swallowed my pride and apologized first, even when it wasn’t my fault. But maybe that was it. Maybe I was too easy to leave. The signs had been there. The texts that came hours late. The calls that never came at all. I told myself he was busy. I told myself to trust him. And the whole time, he was busy making her laugh. I finally tore my gaze away and forced my body to move. I walked—no, escaped—before the shaking in my hands turned into something worse. Before I did something I couldn’t take back. By the time I made it home, I was soaked through. The next morning, I woke up with a pounding head, a sore throat, and a nose so runny it felt like my body had just given up. My back ached from the hours of restless tossing and turning. The trash bin beside my bed overflowed with crumpled tissues, a pathetic little monument to how much the day before had wrecked me. I could’ve called Mom or Dad, but what was the point? They’d only worry, and I didn’t have the energy to explain anything. Mom and Dad had already left for work by the time I dragged myself out of bed, and my younger sister Jia was still at home—because, apparently, she’d “decided” to keep an eye on me. That was a lie. Jia was allergic to studying, and staying home was her way of dodging any chance of learning something she didn’t want to. She was the kind of girl people underestimated—lean build, big round eyes, hair that fell in soft waves down her back. She could turn heads in seconds, but she didn’t have a single real-life boyfriend. Fictional ones, though? She had an army of them. I hadn’t told Mom and Dad about what happened with him and my best friend. But Jia? She knew. And in true Jia fashion, she’d been ready to storm over to his place within seconds of hearing it. It wasn’t surprising. Jia had a history of going overboard for the people she cared about. Back in fifth grade, she once broke a boy’s nose because he shoved a friend down the stairs. The kid ended up with a broken arm, and Jia ended up with a week’s worth of detention. She’d never once said she regretted it. I was half-asleep when Jia barged into our room, a mischievous grin plastered across her face. That smile never meant anything good. She hid something behind her back, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose until she pushed them back up with one finger. “Guess what?” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. I squinted at her. “You finally passed a math quiz?” She flopped onto my bed, rolling her eyes. “Ha-ha. No. I brought you this.” From behind her back, she pulled out a thick book. The cover was deep blue, with a golden rose embossed in the center and the title framed in silver. I blinked at it. “Seriously, Jia? Another one of your romance novels?” Her room was already overflowing with books—on her shelves, in baskets, stacked on her desk. I was convinced that if she ever moved out, she’d need more boxes for her books than for her clothes. And every now and then, she tried to sneak one into my backpack, forcing me into an unwanted reading assignment. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked flatly. “Read it. Duh. You’re stuck in bed anyway,” she said, grinning like she’d just given me the cure to all my problems. “I’m not reading that.” “Come on,” she whined, “it’s not that bad! The main character is named Jia—hello, clearly it’s meant to be fate—and she’s caught in this love square with four guys at school. Way more exciting than your boring biology books.” I groaned. “Yeah, because boys fighting over one girl is exactly what I need right now.” But she wasn’t giving up. She yanked my blanket off with dramatic flair. “Nope. You have to read it. Just one chapter. If you hate it, I’ll drop it.” I stared at her for a long moment. “Fine. But I’m resting first.” “Deal.” She grinned, already victorious. A nap later, I cracked open The Thorns and the Rose. I expected it to be some cheesy historical romance, but it turned out to be set in modern-day. It followed a girl named Jia as she navigated her first year of high school, surrounded by jealousy from her peers and the attention of the infamous A4—four boys from rich, influential families. Some parts were ridiculous. Like the scene where Jia trips over nothing in front of the four boys and one of them catches her bridal-style. Really? But despite myself, I kept reading. One boy stood out: Leyk Novak. Serious, quiet, and ridiculously perceptive. He didn’t hide his emotions, but he also didn’t throw them around carelessly. He was… real. I stopped reading when my eyes started to ache, the storm outside still pounding against the windows. The book had been a decent distraction, but when I set it aside, the hole in my chest was still there. The rain outside, which used to soothe me, now felt like a cruel reminder of the moment everything fell apart. I hated the rain now. But at least, for a while, I’d forgotten why.