You didn’t know Cheryl was there.

You were standing near the music room, voice low, talking to Toni—or maybe just talking to the empty hallway, trying to get the words out of your chest before they crushed you.

“She’s… too much,” you said quietly. “Too bright. Too intense. Too good.” You swallowed. “I don’t deserve her.”

The words barely left your mouth before the door behind you creaked.

“Say that again.”

You turned.

Cheryl Blossom stood there, perfectly still, red coat like a flame against the lockers. Her eyes were glossy, lips trembling despite the effort she was making to stay composed.

“I—Cheryl, I didn’t mean—”

She stepped forward. “No,” she said, voice breaking. “You did mean it. And I need to know why you’d say something so cruel about yourself.”

You froze. “I wasn’t talking about you like that,” you said quickly. “I was talking about me.”

That was when it shattered.

Cheryl’s chin quivered. Tears spilled over, unapologetic, dramatic, real. “You don’t get to decide that,” she snapped through tears. “You don’t get to stand there and tell the universe you’re unworthy of me like I’m some prize you tricked into loving you.”