When We Almost Loved

Chapter 3.2 Not So Motionless

3.2 Not So Motionless

It was recess, the ten-minute freedom that students clung to like air after a long dive into formulas and lectures. The hallway buzzed with life—backpacks slung over one shoulder, chips crinkling open, water bottle caps clicking, shoes squeaking across the tile floors.

Some students were heading to the canteen, others loitering by the lockers, exchanging gossip and laughter. It was a regular break—until it wasn’t.

A sudden shift in the hallway caused Mia to look up from her phone. Not shouting—not yet—but a thickness in the air, like the tension before a downpour. She noticed how people in front of her slowed, their heads turning toward the lockers near the second stairwell landing. A ripple moved through the crowd, tightening like fabric pulled at the corners. Jake Calderon stood at the center of it. And across from him, Brian Tizon—a loudmouthed senior known for two things: basketball and throwing tantrums when people didn’t respect him.

Jake’s stance wasn’t dramatic. His shoulders were squared in restraint. His hands were fisted but low, like he hadn’t decided yet if they’d rise. His lips were pressed in a flat line—dead calm, which somehow made it worse.

Brian’s voice cracked through the hallway. “You think you're untouchable, just 'cause you’re some genius freak? Say that again, you arrogant piece of—”

Crack.

One punch. Sharp. Sudden. Precise.

Jake’s fist met Brian’s jaw with a force that silenced the hallway like a record scratch. The senior stumbled back, crashing into a locker with a reverberating clang.

A collective gasp filled the air. A girl shrieked and dropped her phone. Another student muttered a stunned “Holy sh*t,” under her breath. Two underclassmen flinched so hard they nearly tripped over each other, trying to get out of the blast radius. It wasn’t a fight anymore. It was an eruption—raw, violent, unexpected.

Phones came out. Some just watched in stunned silence. Others whispered rapidly, already writing tomorrow’s gossip.

And Mia stood rooted. Jake didn’t say anything. He just wiped the blood from his knuckles with the sleeve of his hoodie like it wasn’t the first time.

Then he looked up and saw her. Their eyes locked, and Mia saw something in him that she hadn’t seen in the classroom.

Not rage. Not pride. Just... a terrifying emptiness like someone who had stopped hoping to be understood.

The hallway slowly resumed motion after the fight, like a crowd breathing again after holding its breath too long. Teachers barked orders. Phones went away—some reluctantly. Mia was still standing in place when two girls slipped past her, whispering a little too loudly.

"Did you hear why they fought?" one said, tugging her friend by the sleeve. “Brian said something about Jake’s sister.”

“Yeah,” the other girl replied. “Something gross." Apparently, Brian bragged that she used to ‘play around’ with her. "She’s, like, 30, right? Old enough for her. He said she let him do whatever he wanted.”

Mia’s stomach turned. They didn’t notice her listening, or maybe they didn’t care. Their giggles trailed behind them as they disappeared around the corner, unaware of the weight they’d dropped into her chest.

Jake had a sister and someone insulted her—humiliated her. Jake threw a punch because of it.

She looked toward the stairs, heart pounding—not from shock, but from something deeper. And without knowing exactly why, she followed him.

The rooftop door creaked open. Mia stepped out quietly, letting the wind hit her first, calm, steady, and honest. Above the campus noise, above the drama, the rooftop always felt like a world that didn't demand anything from you.

Jake was already there. Leaning against the rusted railing, hoodie still on, one hand buried in his pocket while the other hung loose at his side. He didn’t turn when she approached. Just stood there, motionless, as if he stayed still long enough, everything would disappear.

Mia walked over, slow and casual, not too close. She stood beside him—a silence placed deliberately, not by accident.

She didn’t speak; instead, she pulled a crumpled cigarette pack from her pocket, shook one loose, and placed it between her lips. Her fingers followed with a small pink lighter, scratched and half-empty. Lighting it with a practiced flick, she inhaled deeply. The smoke filled her lungs like regret.

She hated that she started it. Hated even more that it became a habit. At fifteen, it was about looking tough—like those girls who didn’t care what people thought. Now, at eighteen, it was more like holding on to something to prove she could. She took another drag, then tilted the open pack toward Jake. He looked at her, finally. Just a glance. Then, without a word, he took one.

She passed him the lighter as well. No need to ask. He lit his own and let the silence settle between them again, not awkward, not tense. Just real.

“I’m not going to ask what happened,” Mia said, her voice calm.

“Good,” Jake replied, eyes on the horizon.

“I overheard some girls talking, though,” she continued, eyes still forward. “They talk too loud when they gossip.”

Jake’s jaw tightened.

“She’s your sister, right?” Mia asked quietly, not prying—just naming what didn’t need explanation.

Jake exhaled, the smoke curling from his lips like something he couldn’t say aloud.

“He said things he shouldn’t have.”

Mia nodded, holding her cigarette between two fingers, letting it burn.

“I hate people like that,” she said. “The ones who think cruelty make them interesting.”

Jake said nothing, but his fingers tensed briefly around the lighter before he gave it back. Mia tucked it into her blazer pocket, letting the edge of her arm brush his as she moved.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She shrugged. “I don’t share often. You should feel honored.”

He smirked, just slightly—barely visible, but enough. They stood there a while longer, smoking in silence. The wind tugged at Mia’s hair, and she let it. Her cigarette burned to the filter. She dropped it and crushed it under her heel.

Jake’s was still glowing faintly in the wind. For now, that was enough.