Chapter 6 : The Space Between Us.
880 Words
“Sometimes love isn’t loud. It’s the silence that follows your name when they walk away.”
— Wendy
The rain hadn’t stopped since yesterday.
It fell steadily, stubbornly, like the sky refused to move on from what happened — just like me. Every drop felt heavy, tapping against roofs and windows as if reminding the world that something had shifted and refused to settle back into place.
I walked into school late again.
My shoes squelched softly against the tiled hallway. My cardigan clung to my arms. The air smelled of wet chalk, damp uniforms, and secrets people were too eager to pass around.
The whispers started before I even reached my locker.
“Wayne almost fought Calvin.” “Over Wendy.” “I heard the principal called them both in.”
They didn’t lower their voices. They never did.
Rumors wrapped around my chest like vines — tight, invasive, impossible to cut through. I kept my head down, pretending my bag was heavier than it was, pretending my heart wasn’t racing.
When I reached my seat, my breath caught.
Wayne wasn’t there.
His desk sat empty — too empty. No sketchbook resting carelessly on the corner. No pen tapping softly when he was bored. No calm presence that somehow grounded the chaos around him.
My heart thudded once.
Twice.
Too hard.
I stared at the chair like it might explain itself.
Taylor slid into the seat beside me, unusually quiet for someone who usually narrated life like a reality show. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
“They suspended him.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Two days,” she added. “Wayne and Calvin almost fought in the art room. Teachers separated them, but…” She sighed. “You know this school. Zero tolerance.”
My mouth went dry. “So… Wayne took the blame?”
Taylor nodded slowly. “Pretty much.”
I turned back to his desk.
Empty.
Guilt crawled up my spine like something alive. Why did he always step in front of me? Why did he keep shielding me from storms I never asked him to fight?
Classes blurred together after that. Teachers talked. Notes were copied. Bells rang.
I heard none of it.
By lunch, my feet carried me somewhere my mind hadn’t fully agreed to yet.
The art room.
It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears and forces you to think. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, dust floating like forgotten thoughts.
His sketch was still there.
On the easel.
Slightly smudged. Still beautiful.
I stepped closer, my fingers hovering before gently touching the paper. Wayne had drawn me smiling — a soft, honest smile I barely recognized anymore. Even the smallest details were there. My braids. My posture. The sadness he somehow turned into light.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” I whispered.
“You shouldn’t have made me feel seen.”
“Why not?”
I turned sharply.
Calvin stood by the door, leaning against the frame like he owned the silence. His uniform was rumpled, his expression guarded — not angry, not gentle. Something in between.
“You came to see your artist boyfriend?” he asked.
My shoulders stiffened. “Don’t start, Calvin.”
He stepped closer, voice lower now. Softer. Dangerous in the way familiarity always is. “I didn’t mean for things to get that far, Wendy.”
I didn’t respond.
“I just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I miss you.”
I looked at him properly this time.
The boy who once made me laugh during morning assembly.
The boy who walked me home when it rained.
The boy who knew exactly how to hurt me — and did it anyway.
“I don’t think you miss me,” I said quietly. “I think you miss control.”
His face flickered. “That’s not—it Wendy.....I”
“You had your chance,” I continued, my voice trembling but firm. “And you broke it. I’m tired of fixing things you keep destroying. Let me breathe.”
For the first time, Calvin didn’t fight back.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t smirk.
Didn’t push.
He just looked… smaller.
When he left, the room felt lighter — like something toxic had finally exited with him.
I sat on the stool beside Wayne’s sketch and let out a shaky breath. Outside, the rain softened, tapping gently now, like the sky was listening instead of shouting.
That evening, my phone buzzed.
Wayne: Hey. I’m sorry about the mess. I didn’t like how he talked to you.
Wayne: I’ll see you when they let me back. Don’t stay mad, okay?
I stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Me: I’m not mad. Just… worried.
A pause.
Wayne: Then keep worrying. It means you care.
My heart skipped painfully.
I typed slowly, honestly.
Me: I never said I didn’t.
Minutes passed.
My screen dimmed.
Then—
Wayne: Wendy?
Me: Yeah?
Wayne: You make all my wrong days make sense.
I pressed my phone to my chest.
And for the first time since everything began, I smiled.
Not because things were easy.
Not because they were safe.
But because they were real.
- Writer
