CHAPTER 11
430 Words
The following weeks passed normally… or almost normally.
There were always stolen glances, subtle flirting, lingering hugs. Light touches whenever our fingers brushed against each other. We spent more time talking alone.
Small things that meant nothing to the world… but to us, they felt like something much bigger. Like a secret language only we understood.
And if we’re being honest, it wasn’t really noticeable to anyone else.
People were used to seeing me glued to Stephan ever since we were eleven.
Camille, Stephan, and I were the three musketeers…
And it had always been that way.
He was our protector whenever anyone tried to mess with us. Many times, he had to stand up for Camille when other girls mocked her because of her parents’ divorce. Stephan could be the nicest guy… but he also had a sharp tongue when he wanted to.
Most of the time, he seemed laid-back—but that was just a façade. When things escalated and he had to fight—whether to defend himself or us—he would completely lose control.
It was like he became someone else.
And that’s how he built his reputation.
He was a Russo… and nothing less was expected of him.
You see, in his family, earning respect through fear was almost a signature trait. From a very young age, he knew he had been born to meet his father’s expectations.
Sad… but true.
One afternoon, while the three of us were out together, Camille raised an eyebrow and asked, almost horrified:
—What is all of this?
—What do you mean? —I replied.
—Don’t play dumb.
Stephan and I exchanged confused looks, not understanding what she was referring to.
She sighed.
—I mean you two. Those looks… holding hands under the table.
Her expression twisted in pure disgust.
We both went silent.
—Hey, wake up. I’m not like everyone else—I notice these little things.
Then she smiled.
—I love you both, but you need to be more careful. Whatever this is… don’t get too comfortable thinking no one will notice. I’m your friend. But there are people who would gladly turn this into a story.
—People who would happily sell you out to your parents… or to the Halls. You need to be more discreet.
She dropped the bomb… and then got up to buy another lemonade.
Stephan and I looked at each other, unable to say anything.
There were no words—just that kind of silence that says everything… and nothing at the same time.
- Writer
