Chapter Nine: The Princess who didn't runaway
1722 Words
Tori lay on her bed, the soft glow of her reading lamp casting a gentle light over the pages of the book Caius had given her. At first, she'd expected another heartbreaking story, one that would echo her own pain—but instead, she found herself drawn into the quiet strength of a fictional princess who, like her, had been deceived, humiliated, and left to pick up the pieces of her dignity.
But the princess didn't run away.
She stayed. She faced the whispers, the judgment, the betrayal.
She stood before the very people who broke her and reminded them—and herself—that her worth was never theirs to define.
Tori's fingers paused on a line that made her heart clench:
"She did not wear a crown made of gold, but one built from everything that tried to break her."
Tears welled in her eyes, but they weren't like the ones she shed for Ryan. These weren't because of heartbreak. These were because something inside her—something small and flickering—was beginning to feel alive again.
Maybe it really wasn't her fault.
Maybe being tricked didn't make her weak. Maybe still being kind after being hurt was a strength.
She wiped her tears, sat up, and held the book to her chest. She took a deep breath and whispered to the silent room, "I didn't do anything wrong."
And for the first time in weeks, she believed it.
Tomorrow, she would walk into school—not to prove anything to anyone—but to show herself that she could.
Because like the princess in the story, Tori wasn't broken.
The school gates stood in front of me like an old memory. For a moment, I just stood there, breathing in the cool morning air, the weight of my backpack on my shoulders somehow lighter than it used to be.
I could feel it—every whisper that would pass, every look I might receive. But the difference now was... I didn't care.
With my head held high and my steps steady, I walked through the gates.
The hallways were just as I left them—bright, buzzing, alive with chatter and movement. But I wasn't the same girl who ran home crying. No. That girl had read stories, cried her tears, and stitch her heart back together.
As I passed through the corridor, a few students paused and glanced at me, some with pity, some with curiosity. I gave them nothing. Not even a glance.
Then I saw them.
Ryan and Samantha stood by the lockers, laughing. His hand was lazily resting on her backpack. She leaned in close, whispering something. The sight used to twist something inside me. But not today.
I walked past them.
No hesitation. No trembling lips. No racing heartbeat.
Just calm silence and an invisible shield around me that screamed I'm over it.
Samantha stilled. Ryan turned.
I didn't break my stride.
"Tori—" I heard his voice call faintly, unsure.
I kept walking, eyes forward, chin lifted, my steps confident.
Rose met me at the end of the hallway, his eyes wide with admiration. "Girl, you just gave everyone something to talk about."
I smiled, the first real one in weeks. "Let them talk."
And with that, I stepped back into my life—not as a girl who was broken, but as someone who refused to stay that way.
Every day was the same, Tori came to school with her head held high, her steps sure, her presence calm but untouchable. She smiled when she needed to. She laughed with Rose during lunch. She greeted classmates politely. But there was a new kind of distance in her eyes—like she had built invisible walls, and only a few were allowed past them.
Ryan tried—subtle glances at first, then little greetings in the hallway, once even pretending to bump into her near the lockers.
"Tori," he had said softly.
She looked at him just once, expression unreadable, then turned her attention to Rose as if he wasn't even there.
Samantha, on the other hand, pretended not to care. She would scoff when Tori passed, sometimes leaning closer to Ryan, holding his arm tighter than necessary. But it was all an act. Everyone could see it.
Tori never responded—not with anger, not with tears. Just silence. Unbothered. Detached.
In class, if Ryan ended up in the same group, she would politely request to switch. She no longer blushed when he was around. No nervous smiles. No stuttering. Just calm, graceful indifference.
At lunch, she sat with Rose and sometimes Caius when he joined. When Samantha laughed too loudly nearby, Tori didn't even flinch. When Ryan looked her way, she didn't notice—or at least she pretended not to.
It was power without cruelty. Distance without bitterness.
And slowly, the whispers died down. The gossip stopped. Because Tori made it clear without saying a word:
They no longer mattered to her.
Three months after, the table was a mess—books stacked high, printed review sheets scattered everywhere, highlighters left uncapped. Tori sat cross-legged on the carpet, flipping through her practice test booklet with a pencil tucked behind her ear. Rose was pacing, muttering formulas under his breath, while Caius sat calmly with his arms crossed, eyes closed as if reviewing everything silently in his head.
"I'm dying," Rose groaned dramatically, flopping down on the couch and covering his face with a pillow. "Why does math have to exist?"
"Because we need it to calculate how dramatic you're being," Caius said without even opening his eyes.
Tori laughed softly, scribbling down a note. "He's been like this since this morning."
"I haven't even touched English yet," Rose whined. "And the exam is next week. How are you two so calm?"
"I'm not calm," Tori said honestly. "I just look like it. My brain is panicking quietly."
Caius opened his eyes and looked at her. "You've been consistent. You'll do fine."
Rose peeked out from under the pillow. "When did you become our motivational speaker, Caius?"
He smirked faintly. "Someone has to keep both of you grounded."
There was a brief silence as all three of them returned to their materials, pens scratching, pages flipping. The golden light from the window stretched across the floor, and outside the wind rustled faintly through the trees.
After a moment, Tori paused. "Can you believe we're almost done with high school?"
Rose leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "Nope. One minute we were awkward kids trying to survive PE class, now we're talking pre- college entrance scores and life plans."
"Some of us are still awkward," Caius muttered.
Tori giggled. "Speak for yourself."
"But seriously," Rose said, his tone softening, "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you two with me through all this."
Neither Caius nor Tori answered right away. But then Caius reached for another practice set and casually pushed one across the table toward Tori.
"Come on," he said, voice low. "Let's all pass these tests first. Then we can get sentimental."
Tori smiled to herself as she picked up the paper. Rose groaned again, but this time, it was lighter hopeful.
And for a moment, it didn't feel like the end of something. It felt like the beginning.
The sun was setting as we sat on the school steps after our exam. Rose was already dreaming aloud about their future university, while Caius was quietly reviewing notes for the scholarship test, he planned to take next month.
"You two should transfer to my school," Caius said with a smirk.
Rose laughed, tossing her hair. "Sorry, but you know our brains have limits. At least we want to graduate with our hair still intact."
I grinned, elbowing Caius playfully. "Yeah, no pressure to be the genius around us."
Caius smiled. "Whatever. Just means I'll have to visit you both in the real world."
We shared a laugh, knowing no matter where we went, this friendship would stay solid.
Tori stood still for a moment at the edge of the crowd, clutching her cap to keep it from flying away in the breeze. Her heart was loud in her chest—but not from fear. It was something else. A mix of pride, freedom, and the subtle ache of goodbyes.
"There you are!" Rose came bounding up to her, tassel tangled in his hair and a grin stretched across his face. "We did it! Can you believe it?"
Tori smiled. "Barely. I still feel like I forgot to submit a paper somewhere."
Rose snorted. "Same. But hey—we're officially graduates. No more uniforms. No more rushed homework. Just the terrifying unknown of adulthood."
She laughed, but her gaze drifted over the crowd, searching—
Then she saw him.
Caius stood near the stage, holding his diploma folder, his gown neatly pressed. He wasn't smiling like everyone else, but there was something settled in his expression. Something peaceful. When his eyes met Tori's, he gave a small nod.
He walked toward them.
"Hey," he said, voice steady.
"Hey," Tori replied. "Congrats."
"You too," he said, then added, "I always knew you'd make it through."
Tori looked at him, the warmth in his words tugging at something inside her. "Even when I didn't?"
"You just forgot your own strength for a while," he replied. "It happens."
Rose clapped both of them on the shoulders, forcing a grin despite the way his eyes were misty. "Group photo. One last time. Before I start crying."
Caius didn't object. Tori laughed and handed her phone to a passing teacher, who cheerfully took a photo of the three of them—shoulders pressed close, sunlight behind them, future ahead.
As the crowd thinned and parents called their children for more pictures, Tori stood still again, taking it all in.
Caius lingered beside her.
"You, okay?" he asked.
"I think I am," she said softly.
He nodded. "That's good."
Then, quietly, almost too softly to hear, he added, "I'm proud of you."
Tori turned to look at him—but he was already walking away, hands in his pockets, head down slightly like the words had taken effort.
She didn't stop him. But she didn't forget them, either.
................................................................
Hi-Yu
- Writer
