The hallway buzzed with life as students hurried to their next classes, their laughter and chatter filling the air. But for you, it all blurred into the background.

Your focus was fixed on him—Mattheo. He was standing at the far end, leaning casually against the stone wall, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he whispered something into her ear. She laughed, her hand brushing his arm.

Your chest tightened, a sharp ache spreading through you. You tried to look away, tried to force yourself to move past him like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t still hurt. But your feet stayed rooted to the spot, your vision blurring as tears welled up in your eyes.

It feels like we have matching wounds, you thought bitterly, but mine is still black and bruised, and yours… yours is perfectly fine.

A single tear escaped, sliding down your cheek, and you brushed it away hastily, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. You prayed he wouldn’t notice.

But of course, he did.

Mattheo’s laughter died mid-sentence. His eyes caught yours across the distance, and the smirk vanished from his face. For a moment, you saw something in his expression that mirrored your own pain—something raw and uncertain.

“Wait…” he murmured, stepping away from her.

Your heart leapt to your throat. You couldn’t let him see you like this—not broken, not vulnerable. Before he could take another step toward you, you turned on your heel and bolted down the corridor, the sound of your hurried footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

You didn’t stop running until you were sure he couldn’t follow.

“Why does it still hurt so much?” you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling.