ALL I NEED IS VITAMIN YOU!

THE ONE I LET WALK AWAY

Chapter 9 – The One I Let Walk Away (Zion’s POV)

She didn’t text me.

Not last night. Not this morning. Not even when I walked right past her in the hallway, close enough to hear her laugh—only it wasn’t for me.

It was for him.

Andre.

New guy. Transfer student. Loud laugh. Tries too hard. And apparently, good at getting Kaira to smile.

I tried not to care. Tried to walk past like it didn’t scratch at something under my ribs. But every time I looked over, he was still there. Still talking. Still getting her to tilt her head in that shy way she does when she’s listening for real.

It used to be me.

We were good once, weren’t we? That late night editing session, the playlist she made, the way she rolled her eyes at my corny jokes and then laughed anyway… it felt like something. It wasn’t official. It wasn’t titled. But it was ours.

Now it’s silent.

Now she won’t even look at me for longer than a second.

And maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I should’ve seen it coming—the way she shut down after the rally, after Tasha showed up. Maybe I should’ve told her it wasn’t what it looked like. That I didn’t ask Tasha to come. That I didn’t even know she’d be there.

But I didn’t.

I stayed cool. Detached. Like I always do when I don’t know what else to say. And now I’m watching her slip through my fingers like mist.

I tossed my backpack onto the bench outside the gym and sat, elbows on knees. Practice was in twenty minutes, but my head wasn’t in the game.

It was still with her.

The truth is… I miss her.

Not just the campaign partner or the girl who helps with camera angles. I miss Kaira. The real her. The one who teases me when I can’t spell “guarantee” right. The one who called me out when I got too cocky on the court. The one who, somehow, made silence between us feel like the most comfortable place in the world.

Now that silence feels like punishment.

And I don’t get it. I don’t get what I did that made her fold her arms across her chest and walk away. I thought we were close. Closer than I’d ever been with any girl who wasn’t family. But she shut the door on me and didn’t even slam it. Just… turned the handle, clicked it closed, and never looked back.

Until Andre.

I’m not blind. I know he likes her.

The way he carries her books when she doesn't ask. The way he lingers after conversations like he’s hoping she’ll invite him to stay longer. And she lets him.

She laughs. She jokes. She even texted him during lunch, and I only know because I saw his name light up her screen when she sat down two tables away from me.

But what kills me? What drives me insane?

I don’t think she likes him back.

At least, not like that.

She flinches when he touches her shoulder, like she’s remembering someone else’s hands. She doesn’t smile the way she used to smile at me—half annoyed, half amused. With him, it’s polite. Careful.

With me… it used to be easy.

I stood up, pacing now. I couldn’t take this anymore. The pretending. The silence. The space growing so wide between us I couldn’t even see where it started.

So I found her.

After school, by the courtyard, where she always went when she didn’t want people to find her.

Except this time, she didn’t look surprised when I walked up.

“You stalking me now?” she said, without turning her head.

“I wanted to talk.”

Her fingers were curled around her phone. She didn’t put it down.

“What about?” she asked.

I swallowed hard. “About… this. Us. Or whatever’s left of it.”

Finally, she looked at me. Her eyes were unreadable.

“There’s no ‘us,’ Zion.”

“Then why does it feel like there is?” I shot back, voice lower than I meant. “Why does it hurt like there’s something missing?”

She looked away.

I stepped closer. “Tell me the truth, Kaira. What happens if you like me? What happens if seeing Tasha that day made you jealous?”

Her jaw clenched.

“What happens if,” I said, softer now, “you actually care that I’ve been acting like I don’t?”

She said nothing.

But I watched her blink faster than usual. I watched her lips part like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

I didn’t expect an answer. Not really. I just needed to say it. To stop walking around with this weight pressing on my chest.

Then she did speak, finally.

“You’re asking all the wrong questions.”

I frowned. “What’s the right one, then?”

“The one that starts with ‘why didn’t you fight for me when you had the chance?’”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Then she walked away.

And for the second time, I let her.

But this time, it hurt worse.

Because this time, I knew exactly what I was losing.