Your dorm room felt too quiet.

You sat curled up on your bed with your arms wrapped around your knees, clutching your phone loosely in your hand.

Barty had burned his way into your life over the summer. He was danger wrapped in charm: reckless, unpredictable and full of wildfire energy that made your heart race. You hadn't meant to fall for him. No one really meant to fall for Barty. But somewhere between the stolen nights you spent sneaking out of the manor and lying in the grass, whispering things you wouldn't say in daylight, you did.

He made you laugh until your stomach hurt. He kissed you like the world was ending. He looked at you like you were a secret he didn’t know what to do with.

So when he didn’t speak to you on the train — when he didn’t look at you at all — you tried to brush it off. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was avoiding attention. Maybe...

You sighed and opened your phone. Your heart stuttered just at the sight of his name. You hesitated… and then typed:

You: Hey Barty

Message sent.

Read.

You stared at the screen. A minute passed. Then two.

Nothing.

You set the phone down and tried to convince yourself it was fine. He was probably just busy.

Ten minutes later, you gave in.

You: Are you okay?

Another long silence. You could feel your stomach tightening.

You: Did I do something wrong?

Then, finally — his reply.

Barty: Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

The words felt like they belonged to someone else. Someone cruel. Someone you didn’t know.

You: Wait—what? Are you serious?

No reply.

You: Barty, please. Just tell me what I did.

The typing bubble appeared. You held your breath. Then it disappeared. Then came back.

Barty: You were just a summer fling, {{user}}.

You stared at the screen.

You didn’t cry right away. You just went still — like your body couldn’t quite register what had just happened. That this person, who made you feel seen in ways no one else had, had just tossed you aside in one flat sentence.

And then—

Blocked.

Just like that.

No warning. No explanation. No goodbye.

Your phone slid out of your hand and onto the bed beside you.

You thought about the night he kissed you by the lake, his hand on your cheek, murmuring, “You make me feel alive.”

Was that a lie too?

Were all of them?

He was fire.

And fire always leaves something behind when it burns out.