FATED SEATS

CHAPTER 15

ARA'S POV

Just when I thought I was starting to heal, to move on from the past, a ghost from my childhood materialized, shattering the fragile peace I had managed to cultivate.

His name was Khen.

Khen was my first love, my first crush, and, ultimately, my first heartbreak. It all happened back in fifth grade, when I was still naive and innocent, completely oblivious to the complexities of relationships and the potential for pain.

I had fallen for him hard, drawn to his quiet demeanor, his artistic talent, and the rumors that swirled around him. According to his friends, Khen liked me too. Those words, whispered in the hallways and during recess, were enough to set my heart a flutter, to fill my mind with dreams of romance and happily-ever-afters.

We were never officially in a relationship. We never even held hands or exchanged a single kiss. But in my young mind, we were destined to be together. I spent hours daydreaming about him, writing his name in my notebook, and crafting elaborate scenarios in which we would finally confess our feelings for each other.

Then, one day, he was gone.

Without warning, without explanation, Khen disappeared from my life. He transferred to another school. I tried to reach out to him but I don't know how.

Weeks turned into months, and still, there was no sign of him. I was left with nothing but unanswered questions, a broken heart, and a lingering sense of rejection. He left me without a proper explanation and a goodbye.

The experience scarred me deeply, teaching me a painful lesson about the fickleness of love and the fragility of hope. I vowed never to let myself get attached to anyone again, to protect my heart from the possibility of further pain.

And yet, despite all the years that had passed, despite all the walls I had built around myself, the memory of Khen still lingered in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of my past vulnerability.

Now, he was back, a ghost from my past, threatening to undo all the progress I had made.

ARA'S POV

The news of Khen's return sent a jolt of pain through me, a sharp reminder of the naive, heartbroken girl I used to be. It was as if all the progress I'd made in healing had been erased, replaced by the raw, stinging wound of my first heartbreak.

The memories flooded back, unbidden and unwelcome, bringing with them the familiar sensations of anguish and despair. I remembered the day Khen vanished, the confusion and pain that had consumed me, the feeling of being abandoned without explanation.

The experience had warped me in ways I was only now beginning to fully understand. It had instilled in me a deep-seated fear of intimacy, a belief that I was unworthy of love. It had also fueled a self-destructive streak, a tendency to neglect my own well-being.

In the years following Khen's disappearance, I had gradually let myself go. I ruined my hygiene, skipping brushing my teeth, showering less frequently. I refused to wear makeup or dress nicely, deliberately making myself unattractive. I hated the thought of being liked by boys, viewing them as potential sources of pain and heartbreak.

I sought solace in dark romances, stories where the female lead met a tragic end, often at the hands of a cruel and possessive male lead. I found a strange comfort in those narratives, a validation of my belief that love was dangerous and destructive.

Now, with the news of Khen's return, those old patterns of behavior threatened to resurface. My hands trembled, my heart beat fast, and a familiar ache settled in my chest. I felt a desperate urge to retreat, to isolate myself from the world and wallow in my misery.

The moment Khen left me, June 28, 2019, a Friday, replayed in my mind like a broken record. That night, I had felt an overwhelming pain, a physical manifestation of my emotional anguish. My heart ached and raced, my hands trembled uncontrollably, and tears streamed down my face in silent sobs.

Everything went to my mind.

After so many years, my heart had grown numb, incapable of feeling love or connection. I had become a prisoner of my past.