Chapter 8 Let Them Wonder

Mia’s POV

I went straight to the restroom before the second period, locking myself inside one of the stalls and pressing my back against the cold door, trying to steady my breathing. Liam Alcaraz had made me feel something I had not felt in a long time. Something light. Something terrifying. Something I had never even felt for Daniel. I knew how ridiculous that sounded. I knew how foolish it was to let a few words and a moment of attention matter so much. But it did. It really did.

For a brief, dangerous second, it had felt wonderful. Out of all the girls surrounding him, out of everyone who wanted his attention, he had asked for my name. Just my name. Like I mattered. And for that heartbeat, I let myself believe I could still be seen.

That feeling did not last.

The restroom door opened, voices echoing too loudly in the tiled space. I hugged my books closer to my chest, shrinking deeper into the stall, my heart pounding as I listened.

“Mia is so pathetic,” one of them said, her voice sharp with amusement. “After liking Daniel for years, a new guy shows up and she actually thought Liam Alcaraz would like someone like her.”

Laughter followed. Cruel and effortless.

“Did you even see her uniform, her bag, her shoes?” another girl added. “She should stop coming to class. She is the only one who makes Suncrest Academy look bad.”

More laughter. Louder this time. Agreement layered on top of cruelty like it was nothing more than a casual conversation.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, forcing myself not to make a sound. It hurt more than I expected, even though I should have been used to it by now. They had no idea what I had been through. 

They did not know the nights I went to sleep hungry. The mornings I studied while exhaustion weighed down my bones. The way I balanced school and work and survival with no room for mistakes. And yet, to them, I was just entertainment. A joke they could pass around to feel better about themselves.

They had hated me long before this. Back when I still topped the class. Back when teachers praised me. Back when I joined every activity, every contest, every competition I could qualify for. I had been too visible then. Too successful. Now I was too small. Too poor. Too easy to mock.

I stayed in the stall long after their voices faded, waiting until the restroom fell silent again. When I finally stepped out, I tightened my grip on my backpack strap, my other arm clutching my books like they were the only solid thing keeping me upright. My reflection in the mirror looked smaller than I remembered, but my eyes were steady.

They could call me pathetic. They could laugh. They could tear me down with whispers and sideways looks.

But I was still standing.

And no matter how small I felt in that moment, I knew one thing for certain. I had survived worse than them. And I would survive this too.

It felt like the universe was mocking me. Of all the class sections, of all the schedules in the academy, I somehow ended up sharing second and third period with them. The so-called Golden Four. My former best friends. And worse, Daniel. And as if that were not enough, the new guy was there too. Liam Alcaraz.

I kept my head down, my expression carefully blank, silently praying to whatever cosmic force still tolerated me that he would not sit near me again. I did not need more chaos. I did not need him complicating things. I chose the seat in the farthest corner, like I always did. Out of reach. Out of sight. I was not ready to be pulled back into the orbit of people who once promised they would never leave me and left anyway.

To my relief, Liam did not approach me this time. He took the seat beside Daniel instead. And to no one’s surprise, they got along almost instantly. Daniel had always been like that. Charming. Easy to talk to. Effortlessly magnetic. He could make anyone feel comfortable within minutes, including Liam.

I watched them from the corner of my eye, my chest tightening at the sound of Daniel’s laughter, so familiar it hurt. He laughed like nothing had ever happened. Like he had not slowly disappeared from my life when everything fell apart. Like he had not answered my silence with distance. Like he had not kissed Belle. My throat dried, and I forced my eyes back to the board.

I had not spoken to him in a long time. Not even at his birthday party, the last one his mother invited me to. The year after that, she tried again, hoping it might somehow fix what had already broken. But I did not go. I could not. Because Daniel had stopped talking to me long before I stopped hoping he would.

And now here we were, sitting in the same room and breathing the same air, yet living in entirely different worlds. The distance between us was not measured in seats or desks, but in everything that had been lost and left unsaid. Once, we had shared secrets, laughter, and plans that felt unbreakable. Now, we shared only silence, pressing against my chest every time our paths crossed.

They belonged to a world that moved forward without looking back, bright and loud and untouched by consequences. I belonged to a quieter place, built out of endurance and careful steps, where hope was rationed and mistakes were not allowed. We existed side by side, close enough to feel each other’s presence, far enough to never truly meet again.

And in that shared space, I learned something painful and permanent. Being near them did not mean I was part of their world anymore. It only meant I had learned how to stand on my own, even when the past sat only a few feet away.

So I stayed still. Stayed quiet. Focused on the ticking clock instead of the ache pressing against my chest. Because the truth was, I was not afraid of the past repeating itself. I was afraid it already had.

When lunch break finally came, I did not follow the crowd into the cafeteria. I headed straight for my usual spot, the old acacia tree at the far end of campus near the faculty parking lot where almost no one ever came. It was quiet there. Safe. A small corner of the world that still felt like it belonged to me.

I sat beneath the thick shade, crossing my legs and pulling out the lunch I had packed that morning. A plain sandwich. A bruised apple. A bottle of water. Nothing fancy. Nothing anyone would trade for. But it was enough.

As I ate, I opened my notebook and began reviewing my notes. There was no time to waste. After classes, I would rush to my part-time job, and by the time I got home it would already be late and I would be too exhausted to study. This was my life now. Small windows of peace between long stretches of survival.

No group chats. No cafeteria laughter. No cheerleaders with glossy lips and loud voices. Just the rustle of leaves above me, the occasional chirp of birds, and the steady scratch of my pen against paper.

Here, no one whispered about me. No one looked at me like I was someone who used to matter. Here, I could breathe.

And if anyone happened to pass by and saw me sitting alone under a tree, they would not know this was where I built my future in silence. One note, one lunch. and one lonely day at a time.

I had just underlined a key formula when the sound of footsteps crunched softly on the grass.

I did not look up. I did not have to.

“Didn’t take you for a tree and silence kind of girl,” a familiar voice said, calm and faintly amused.

Liam Alcaraz.

I closed my notebook slowly. “Don’t you have an audience waiting to worship you somewhere?”

He chuckled. “Probably. But they’re exhausting.”

I finally looked up. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly, as he had wandered into something more interesting than he expected. Sunlight caught in his hair and lit his eyes a cool, steady blue.

“Well, you found the least interesting person on campus,” I said flatly. “So if you want to keep your throne, you should stay away from me.”

He did not move.

“I’m serious,” I added, sharper this time. “People love you right now. You’re the new golden boy. Be seen with me and they’ll start talking. Whispering. Wondering what’s wrong with you.”

Instead of leaving, he smiled. Not practiced. The real kind. Easy and unbothered, dimples and all.

“Good,” he said. “Let them wonder.”

I blinked as he took a step closer, his gaze drifting briefly to the sandwich in my hand.

And just like that, the quiet space I had built for myself shifted.