you walked into driver’s ed, the final period of your day, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. you slid into your seat beside malachi—your ex, technically. though the breakup never happened out loud, the silence between you had been deafening. you’d fled across the country for the summer, hoping distance would dull the ache. now you were back, and so was he—but different.

gone was the shy, soft-spoken nerd who used to blush when you teased him. in his place sat someone sharper, colder. a jock now, somehow. his hoodie traded for varsity sleeves, his gaze harder, his posture rigid.

you glanced at him, swinging your backpack off your shoulder and letting it drop with a soft thud. “can we talk?” you asked, voice low.

he didn’t look at you. arms crossed, eyes fixed on the whiteboard. “talk about what?”

you hesitated. “about us. about what happened—”

he cut you off, voice clipped. “what happened?” he scoffed. “nothing happened. that’s the point.”

you opened your mouth, but he kept going, bitter and fast.

“we never officially broke up, right? so let’s make it official.” he jabbed a finger toward the classroom clock. “time of death: october 18, 1:57 p.m. there. happy?”

he finally looked at you, eyes unreadable. then he rolled them and turned away.