Chapter 8: When The Heart Starts Talking.
877 Words
“You can’t choose who you fall for, but you can choose who you fight for.”
— Wayne
The next day, the air in school felt different.
Lighter — but dangerously calm.
The kind of calm that sits too still, like something is waiting to explode.
Wayne’s suspension was officially over, and even before he stepped into class, everyone already knew. Whispers traveled faster than footsteps. Girls by the window leaned closer together. Someone squealed softly. Taylor nearly fell off her chair trying to peek through the door.
And me?
My heart had absolutely no self-control.
Then he walked in.
Clean uniform. Calm posture. That quiet confidence that didn’t need attention to exist. His presence shifted the room instantly — not loud, not dramatic, just undeniable. Like gravity.
And it hit me then.
Two days without him had felt like two months.
He scanned the room instinctively, and the moment his eyes found mine, everything else faded. The chatter. The scraping chairs. Even the teacher clearing her throat.
It was the kind of look that said I see you — even when the world pretends not to.
“Welcome back,” I said softly as he passed my desk.
He stopped, leaned slightly closer, and smiled. “Missed me?”
I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But my smile betrayed me completely.
Taylor leaned in from behind. “Oooh no the chemistry in this class is louder than the teacher’s voice.”
I elbowed her, but I couldn’t deny it. Something had changed.
During break, we somehow ended up on the school rooftop — the quiet place nobody paid attention to anymore. The city hummed below us, distant and alive. Wind teased our uniforms. The sky stretched endlessly blue, like it didn’t know what heartbreak was.
Wayne leaned against the railing. “I thought a lot while I was suspended.”
“Oh?” I asked lightly. “Let me guess. About how unfair school rules are?”
He chuckled. “About you.”
My chest tightened.
“About how easy it is to care about someone who doesn’t want to be cared for,” he continued gently.
I looked away. “I never said I didn’t want that.”
“Then why do you keep running?”
“I’m not running,” I whispered. “I’m protecting myself.”
“From me?”
“From everything.”
Silence stretched between us — thick, honest, heavy. The wind carried our unspoken words away, but it didn’t erase them.
Wayne stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough.
“Wendy,” he said softly. “I’m not him. I’m not Calvin.”
“I know,” I replied immediately.
“That’s what scares you?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Because you’re real.”
For a moment, his entire expression softened — like those words unlocked something deep and vulnerable inside him. Like he wasn’t just hearing me, but understanding me.
And then—
“Well, isn’t this cute?”
The voice shattered everything.
Calvin.
He stood by the rooftop door, arms crossed, a sharp grin masking something darker beneath. Anger. Hurt. Possession.
My stomach dropped.
“Didn’t take you long to replace me, Wendy,” he said.
I stiffened. “Calvin, it’s not—”
“Save it,” he interrupted. “I can see what’s going on.”
Wayne stepped slightly in front of me, shoulders squared. “You need to leave.”
Calvin laughed. “Or what? You’ll fight me again?”
Before Wayne could respond, I stepped forward.
“Calvin, stop,” I said firmly. “You don’t get to walk in here and talk like you still matter.”
He looked at me then — really looked. For a second, the anger cracked, revealing something wounded underneath.
“So that’s it?” he asked quietly. “You pick him?”
The question hung in the air.
I hesitated.
Not because I didn’t know how I felt — but because I finally realized something important.
I didn’t owe anyone a choice.
Wayne didn’t move. He didn’t pressure me. He didn’t speak. He just looked at me — steady, patient, letting me decide without fear.
And in that moment, I understood everything.
“I’m not picking anyone,” I said calmly. “I’m choosing peace.”
Calvin’s face fell.
He nodded once, bitterly, then turned and walked away. The door slammed behind him, echoing across the rooftop.
Silence rushed back in.
Wayne exhaled slowly. “You handled that better than I would have.”
“Because you would’ve punched him,” I said weakly.
He smiled. “Probably.”
Then his tone softened. “But I’m proud of you.”
“Why?”
“Because for once, you didn’t let fear speak louder than your heart.”
My throat tightened. “Maybe I’m learning from you.”
He looked down, smiled to himself, then met my eyes again.
“You don’t have to fall for me yet, Wendy,” he said gently.
“Just don’t run when you start to.”
The bell rang loudly, cutting through the moment.
But we didn’t move.
The world did.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel afraid of what my heart was starting to say.
- Writer
