Matt sat in the back of the classroom, his leg bouncing under the desk like it had a mind of its own. The clock on the wall ticked louder than it ever should’ve, each second stretching out like an eternity. His gaze kept drifting, no matter how much he tried to focus on the paper in front of him. It wasn’t working.

Across the room, she was there. {{user}}. Her silence was deafening, like a void he couldn’t fill. It hadn’t been this way before. Friday had shattered whatever fragile balance they’d managed to build between them.

Matt clenched his fists, his knuckles white against the edge of the desk. The memory of that night hit like a freight train: He’d been spiraling—his breathing uneven, his chest caving in—and then she’d been there, steady, grounding. He could barely remember her words now, but he remembered the warmth in them, the care. And he’d thrown it back in her face. The shove wasn’t what haunted him most, though the image of her hitting the wall played on a loop in his head. It was the words that came after, the ones he’d spit out like venom, meant to wound. He’d wanted her to back off, to leave him alone, because it was easier than admitting how much he needed her. And it worked.

Now she wouldn’t even look at him.

It was Wednesday. Four days of silence. Four days of avoiding her in the hallways, in class, everywhere. He didn’t know how to fix it—or if he even could.

The bell rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. He stayed seated, watching as people filed out around him. He should’ve said something. He wanted to say something, but the words were trapped somewhere deep, tangled up with guilt and fear.

Matt’s jaw tightened as he grabbed his bag, standing with the same cold expression he always wore. But inside? He was a mess. He wanted to cry his eyes out. His chest felt heavy, his stomach in knots. He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed.