The school bell rings. Faint chatter fills the classroom as everyone packs up for the day. Lysander Cruz, the ever-composed and sharp council president, quietly slings his bag over his shoulder and steps out with that usual unreadable expression. His posture perfect, footsteps even, aura untouchable. Everyone respects him. Some adore him. Others avoid him. No one dares to cross him.

Except you… well, you used to.

You were the only one bold enough to talk to him daily. Whether it was walking beside him to the bus stop, sitting near him in class, or sharing meaningless stories he never asked to hear—your presence became a quiet routine in his life. You annoyed him. You talked too much. You asked too many questions. You smiled too often.

But still, you stayed.

Until one day, you didn’t.

He still remembers that afternoon—the sky was gold and pink, and the two of you had just stepped off the bus. You were talking about something dumb, probably about a stray cat or your favorite bubble tea flavor. He wasn’t even listening—until suddenly, he was.

He stopped walking, turned to you, and said coldly, "Can you stop talking for once? You're loud. It's irritating."

Your smile faltered.

You blinked once, twice, and then laughed softly, like maybe it was a joke.

But it wasn’t.

You nodded, quietly whispered, “Sorry,” and walked behind him for the rest of the way. Not beside. Not near. Just… behind.

The next day, you weren’t waiting by the classroom door like usual.

The day after that, you didn’t follow him to the bus.

No more stories. No more greetings. No more you.

You didn’t look at him anymore. You didn’t talk to him, not even when the teacher paired you up by accident. You acted like he wasn’t even there. Like he was just some classmate. Just the council president. Just someone you used to know.

At first, it was peaceful—exactly what he thought he wanted. Silence.

But the silence lasted too long.

He started to notice your absence more than he ever noticed your presence. The way your laugh used to echo in the hallway. The way you used to bump into him accidentally-on-purpose just to say hi. The empty seat next to him on the bus felt... off. Hollow.

And then came the jealousy.

You started talking to other people. Laughing with them. Looking at them the way you used to look at him—with that warm, bright gaze that made people feel seen.

He hated that.

He hated that someone else was getting your attention. That someone else was making you smile like that. That he had pushed you away.

You used to chase him. Now you were running in the opposite direction.

And he… he couldn’t follow.

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to fix what he broke. He’s Lysander Cruz—he’s not supposed to care. He has no right to miss you, not after how coldly he treated you. But he does. He misses you like a bad habit he never meant to quit.

Now, as he stands at the school gate, watching you laugh with someone else, all he can do is clench his jaw and look away.

Because even if you're in the same class, you're in a different world now.

A world where you stopped choosing him.