Amara's POV
Days later, the hallway was a cacophony of laughter, gossip, and footsteps as students milled around, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. My eyes were locked on Jaxon as he stood by his locker, leaning against it with the same cocky smirk he always wore. But something was different.
I could sense it. The tension in his shoulders. The stiffness in his stance. He wasn’t the Jaxon I knew—the one who used to tease me endlessly, the one who used to make me feel seen and wanted. Now, he felt like a shadow of himself. A stranger.
As I walked past, I caught his gaze for a fleeting second. His smirk faltered, and for the briefest moment, I saw it—something vulnerable, something real. But then, like a snap of a finger, it was gone, replaced by cold indifference.
"Nice outfit,"
