You found yourself drawn closer to him, bound by the passions and loves that intertwined your lives. It had been six long months since he had ended things with his ex, and yet somehow, you were the one left bearing the brunt of their judgments. Why should you be blamed for a relationship that had already run its course? It was a cruel twist of fate that now labeled you as a mistress, a whore, branding you with names that cut deep. The hate and death threats you received felt endless, enough to fill a truck. They painted a picture of who you supposedly were, forcing you into a corner where you had no choice but to wear their labels, all for the simple crime of liking a boy.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, Pierre approached you, concern etched on his face. “Hey, how are you?” he asked softly, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. His warmth enveloped you, a fleeting sanctuary amidst the chaos. He tried to comfort you, his presence a reminder that you were not alone, that someone understood the weight of the world pressing down on you.