The Fire and the Ice
459 Words
(Marrianne’s POV)
The air between us had always been complicated—like fire meeting ice, neither of us truly willing to melt for the other.
Valerie stood by the kitchen counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee, acting as if she hadn’t woken me up at the crack of dawn with her incessant knocking. Her perfect morning routine was something I could never understand. Who the hell wakes up this early voluntarily?
I slumped onto a chair, glaring at her flawless posture. "You seriously need to get a hobby other than disturbing my sleep."
She barely reacted, just took a slow sip of her coffee before setting the mug down with a soft clink. "I wouldn’t have woken you up if you hadn’t left your notes on the living room table. Thought you might need them."
Oh.
I glanced at the neatly stacked papers beside her. My history notes. The ones I’d completely forgotten about.
Annoyance twisted inside me. I hated that she was always like this—always doing things for me without making a big deal out of it, making me feel like the bad guy when I snapped at her.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed. "You could've just left them on my desk instead of playing the role of my personal alarm clock."
A small sigh escaped her lips, but she didn’t argue. She never did.
"You have class today?" she asked instead, her voice calm, unaffected.
"Yeah," I muttered, suddenly remembering him.
Professor Felix.
The thought of him made my heart race in the most irritating way possible. I wasn’t the type to get obsessed over people, but something about him felt different. Familiar. Maddeningly untouchable.
I tapped my fingers against the table absentmindedly. "There’s a new professor at my college."
Valerie finally looked up from her coffee. "And?"
I hesitated, then shrugged. "He’s… interesting."
She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting how?"
I knew that look. She was amused. She thought I was just being dramatic, like always.
I scoffed, pushing back my chair. "Forget it. You wouldn’t get it."
"Try me," she said, and for a second, I almost did. But then I saw the patience in her eyes, the way she always looked at me like she had me figured out, and it pissed me off.
"You know what?" I grabbed my notes and stood up. "Forget I said anything."
She didn’t stop me as I walked away. She never did.
And that was the problem.
She never fought back. Never yelled. Never got mad at me for the way I treated her. And the worst part?
I hated it.
Because every time I walked away, I felt that same stupid ache in my chest.
Like I was the one losing.
- Writer
