THE REWRITE || Mystery Romance

Shattering Into Pieces

Later that day...

As the last class ended, students spilled out of the building like a noisy flock of birds. Jhane walked beside me, swinging her bag as if it weighed nothing.

She halted at the campus gate and turned to me with a grin.

"Well, my partner in academic survival, this is where we part ways. Until next week, may the professors be kind, the snacks be plenty, and your face remain as poker as ever." She clasped her hands together as if giving me a blessing.

I arched a brow. "That's... a very strange prayer."

Jhane chuckled, nudging my arm lightly. "Hey, you'll thank me when the vending machine finally drops the right snack instead of stealing your money. Trust me, Ley, divine blessings are multipurpose."

I shook my head, keeping my tone even. "See you next week, Jhane."

"Aw, no dramatic farewell speech? No tearful wave? Not even a tragic 'farewell, comrade'?" She pouted dramatically, clutching her chest.

"Goodbye," I said flatly, though the corners of my lips almost betrayed me.

Jhane pointed at me with mock suspicion. "There it is again. That microscopic smile. Don't think I didn't see it."

"Go home before I change my mind," I muttered, trying to walk past her.

She laughed, throwing me a playful salute. "Aye-aye, Captain Cold Heart! Same time, same campus, next week. Don't miss me too much!"

I didn't look back, but her laughter lingered behind me, light and warm against the weight of the day.

* * *

Before heading home, I stopped by the internet café along the road.

I didn't have a cellphone yet, so I rented time to use a PC.

This was my third attempt at searching for him on f*******:.

Still hoping. Still wishing.

Last time, I got no results.

I'd tried his full name. His nickname. Even reversed it.

This time, I typed slowly. Letter by letter.

And suddenly...

Search results appeared.

My heart leapt with hope.

My eyes sparkled.

But in the blink of an eye, joy turned into something else.

I wanted to make sure I had read it correctly. I prayed I had misread it.

But no.

The words burned into my mind exactly as they were written.

It felt like the world had collapsed on me.

My chest tightened.

My vision blurred.

And then... something cold hit the back of my hand.

A tear.

It soaked into the keyboard.

I didn't even realize I was crying until the moment passed.

Quickly, I wiped my face and hurried out of the shop.

I didn't stop walking until I reached home.

Inside the living room, the voices of my family carried through the house.

They were deep in a serious conversation, the kind where every word felt heavy.

Uncle Felix's voice rose above the rest. "I'm telling you, we can't keep putting this off. We need to decide what to do now, not later."

Aunt Anne sighed, her tone softer but firm. "Felix, please. Let's not rush things. We have to think carefully. This affects everyone."

Dad sat quietly, rubbing his hands together, his eyes darting from one speaker to another. Mom, beside him, twisted the edge of her handkerchief as if her nerves could unravel the fabric itself.

"...but he's getting weaker," Aunt Anne said softly. "The doctors aren't sure how long he has left."

Mom's voice cracked. "And his wish... before that time comes... it's something we can't ignore."

Dad's quiet reply followed. "But is it fair? To ask that of her?"

Uncle Felix let out a heavy sigh. "Fair or not, it's his final request. We all know what it means."

Queenie sat quietly on the floor, hugging her knees, while Annica fiddled with a stuffed toy, her round eyes blinking between the adults as though trying to make sense of their words.

Silence filled the room. Even Cyra's usual sarcasm faded, her voice unusually sharp but serious. "So what? Are we really going to push her into this without telling her why?"

Queenie's small voice trembled. "Is it something bad, Ate Cy?"

Annica whispered, almost inaudible, "What is it all about?"

The air felt thick, like it was holding its breath, heavy with unspoken truths.

That was when I entered their sight, eyes down, feet carrying me straight toward the stairs.

"Leyanne!" Uncle Felix called out.

But I didn't stop. Didn't even flinch. My mind was somewhere else entirely. The words I had read back at the café were still echoing in my head, stabbing me over and over.

The moment I stepped through the doorway, the atmosphere shifted. I didn't greet them. Didn't ask what they were talking about. Didn't even pause to listen.

Uncle Felix called me again, his voice sharp but not unkind. "Leyanne! Come here for a moment, we need to-"

But I walked past as though I hadn't heard him. My steps quick, my eyes fixed on the floor.

A heavy silence followed.

I felt it-their gazes trailing after me, their confusion thick in the air. I knew the look they exchanged:

What's wrong with her? Why is she acting so strange?

But I couldn't stop.

I didn't understand this feeling. Why did it hurt so much?

The words I had read on the computer screen kept flashing in my head. It was torture. It was tearing me apart.

Somewhere in the background, the muffled voices of my family continued, their conversation hinting at a decision I wasn't part of yet, a choice that could change everything. But the details were hidden, just beyond my reach.

Lying there, the room dark except for the sliver of light from the window, I felt something inside me quietly crack.

The hope I once carried, the dream of laughter, of warmth, of someone by my side was slipping, like sand through my fingers.

Even him... the man who haunted my thoughts, whose voice still stirred something fragile in me...

Would that ever be mine? Or had it already become a story I was only meant to remember, not live?

The ache didn't fade. It only settled deeper.

And as sleep claimed me, I realized the truth I didn't want to admit: the life I wanted might already be fading, and I might be powerless to hold onto it.

I curled into bed and cried until sleep finally took me away, the weight of unknown expectations pressing down on me.

Next morning...

It's been hours since I woke up, but it seems like lying here, staring at the ceiling, is the most meaningful thing in the world today.

No early classes.

No messy blackboards.

No noisy classmates chattering about their newest crush.

No mind-numbing lectures from teachers who mistake boredom for brilliance.

Thank God it's Saturday.

I just want to stay like this.

With myself.

Just me. For once, just me.

"It hurts so much, but I was never even his..."

The words slipped out of my mouth like a whisper I didn't mean to say aloud.

And just like that, I was sobbing again.

What a ridiculous kind of pain, to mourn someone I never even dated.

How does that happen?

How can my heart be shattered by a man I barely know?

Is this love?

Or just madness dressed up as something poetic?

I haven't even seen him before, not until yesterday.

And yet...

Just thinking about that f*******: post, that photo, my mood shifts so fast it almost gives me emotional whiplash.

"But I saw him yesterday... and he is..."

A soft smile tugged at my lips despite the ache.

His face wasn't movie-star perfect. No jaw-dropping, magazine-cover angles.

But there was something about him that felt like peace.

Not the loud kind of attractive or the kind that turns heads in a crowd.

No. His was the kind that makes you feel... quiet inside. Safe.

His features were clean. Unassuming.

A strong, steady jawline, not sharp, but defined.

His lips had a softness, as if he smiled often, but never carelessly.

Even his nose, simple, nothing dramatic, it suited him.

Like he didn't have to try to look kind. He just was.

But his eyes...

His eyes caught me. Held me.

There was calmness there.

The kind of gaze that didn't need charm or practiced smirks.

It was the look of someone who listened deeply, even in silence.

The kind of man who didn't wear charm like armor...

But gentleness like a second skin.

"He's just my type," I whispered dreamily, barely realizing I said it aloud.

Then reality smacked me like a wet slipper.

No, Leyanne. This is stupid.

This man doesn't even know you exist.

He was just being polite. Professional.

It meant nothing to him.

It's just your overworked imagination, building castles out of kindness.

"It still hurts..." I mumbled, wiping my tears.

"I wish it didn't matter so much. Why do I keep thinking-"

CREEEAK.

The door swung open, interrupting my emotional Oscar-winning monologue.

"Thinking of what?"

A familiar voice asked, I turned to see my cousin with a single raised brow.

Cyra Fortes. Just five years younger than me, whose sarcasm could put Shakespearean villains to shame, and unfortunately immune to drama.

She was the eldest daughter of Aunt Anne and Uncle Felix's three children, and somehow always the most judgy.

We lived together at our grandfather's house, so privacy was an endangered species.

"Nothing. I'm just rehearsing... a play," I said, weakly gesturing at the imaginary script that didn't exist.

She squinted at me, head tilted.

"Hmm. Well, it sounds like an Emmy-nominated telenovela. You were sobbing like someone just died in slow motion."

I shot her a wide, very fake smile, hoping she'd let it go.

"By the way, everyone's waiting for you downstairs."

She turned to leave, but paused dramatically in the doorway.

"And ate Ley..." she said over her shoulder,

"don't smile like that when you've got eyebags the size of luggage. You look creepy."

The door closed behind her.

I lunged toward the mirror, and ugh, she was right.

My eyebags were so dark I could pass for a panda going through a breakup.

"Why am I like this..." I groaned, rubbing at my face.

But then her words replayed in my head:

"Everyone's waiting for you downstairs."

Wait.

Everyone?

Oh no. That never means anything casual in this house.

What now?