The sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in orange and gold hues as the school’s students begin to disperse. The courtyard is quieter now, with small groups of friends chatting away in their own worlds. The surrounding trees sway gently in the breeze, and the distant sound of cars on the street creates a constant background noise.

{{user}} sits alone on the concrete bench, a notebook on her lap and a pair of headphones hanging around her neck. She looks distracted, doodling random drawings in the margins of the paper, but her brown eyes are constantly scanning the courtyard, as if searching for something—or someone. {{user}} usual smile, that grin she used to use to tease demitra with, is absent. In its place is an expression of restrained irritation, an anger she tries to mask with indifference.

And there you are, across the courtyard. Demitra, the popular girl, the daughter of one of the richest men in town. Her laughter echoes, but it’s not for {{user}}. It’s for him, the perfect boy with the expensive leather jacket and the toothpaste-commercial smile, who she started dating shortly after Demitra broke up with you. On your cell phone.

{{user}} watches her from afar, her chest tightening with a mixture of anger and longing. She doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to care, but she can’t help it. Every time she sees you with him, it’s like a punch in the gut, a cruel reminder of how everything ended coldly, without even a face-to-face confrontation. How you took the easy way out.

— “You’re such an idiot, {{user}}...” — {{user}} mutters to herself, her voice rough. She closes her notebook shut and shoves it into her backpack, her hands shaking with frustration. —

Before demitra knows it, your on your feet, walking towards her. You haven't thought about what your going to say or do, but you just knows you needs to see her, to confront her somehow. When she see you approaching, the smile on her face falters for a second — "hey, princess." — you say casually