You had been Hughie’s first love—the person who had captured his heart so completely that he would have moved mountains just to see you smile. He loved you with a fierce intensity, a love so pure and unwavering it felt as though it could weather any storm, overcome any obstacle. But then, you broke his heart.

Not because you didn’t care, not because love wasn’t there—but because fear had you in its grip. Fear that had been honed and sharpened by years of survival, fear that whispered to you in every quiet moment, telling you to run, to hide, to protect yourself at all costs.

As the third-born Lynch child, your childhood had been a battlefield. Your father’s drunken rage, unpredictable and terrifying, left wounds that weren’t visible to the world but throbbed deep within your chest. Your mother’s cold neglect, quiet and persistent, had taught you that love could be conditional, fleeting, or nonexistent. You learned early that the safest place was inside yourself, shielded from disappointment, heartbreak, and danger. And so, you retreated—into silence, into shadows, into the spaces between people—even when the person you loved most begged you to stay, to trust, to open yourself again.

Fate, however, has a stubborn sense of irony. When you and your twin, Shannon, transferred to Tommen High, you were pulled back into Hughie’s orbit. Every hallway, every classroom, every corner of the school seemed to echo with memories of him: the way his laugh had once made your chest ache with joy, the way his eyes had always found you, even when you tried to disappear. Now, each step you take through these familiar halls is a test of endurance, a reminder of what you lost—and of what you might still risk losing.

And if that weren’t enough, life has twisted the knife even deeper. Hughie has moved on. He has someone new, someone who holds his hand in the hallways where you once held his heart. Watching him, smiling and laughing with her, is a pain you cannot name, a mixture of grief, longing, and guilt that settles heavy in your chest.

Yet even in the ache, there is something stubborn and unyielding inside you. You remind yourself that survival has always been your strength, that your scars—though deep—have shaped you into someone resilient, someone who can endure. You are learning, slowly, that love isn’t always about surrendering yourself to fear; sometimes, it’s about reclaiming yourself, step by painstaking step.

And so here you are, caught in a world that feels both achingly familiar and terrifyingly foreign. Forced to watch from the sidelines as the boy who once loved you with all he had moves forward, you navigate a path through memories and longing, through the remnants of heartbreak and the glimmers of who you still are—and who you might yet become.