Having a crush doesn’t mean he’ll ever return it. Even if it splits you open and makes you want to claw your heart out, love is merciless. It comes when it wants, leaves when it wants, and it never bends to begging hands.

That truth found you when you stepped into college, wide-eyed and sheltered. You weren’t from money, not like the people who moved through those halls with easy confidence, carrying names like armor. You came from quieter beginnings, still untouched by the sharp edges of desire and betrayal. Love was something you only knew from books and glimpses in movies, until him.

It wasn’t just his face. Not just the sharp line of his jaw, the careless way he wore his uniform or the fact that his blood carried two worlds, Korean and English, that made people stare as though he was carved from something rarer than the rest.

Everyone else only ever saw the surface: the cold, untouchable boy with a rich family, the model whose photos smirked from magazine pages, the one who seemed perfect without ever trying. But you lingered past that image. You noticed the shadows in his eyes when no one else was looking, the strain in his smile when people praised him, the weight he hid so carefully it almost looked effortless. He was an illusion to them. To you, he was human.

And somehow, fate decided to seat him next to you. Close enough that the brush of his sleeve against yours set your skin on fire, close enough that every time his eyes met yours, your pulse stuttered. He began asking you for notes, for small favors whenever he skipped class and you gave in every time.

What began as nothing should have stayed nothing, but the threads tangled tighter with each day and your heart, naïve and unguarded, began to believe it was allowed to want him.

Then she, Regina appeared.

She wasn’t anyone at first, just another girl from his world, one he had modeled with. But you saw the way she watched him, the way she smiled too brightly, deliberately, always stepping into the space that had quietly become yours.

Then the whispers started. Rumors circling like vultures, each one digging deeper than the last. They said that she was his type and you were delusional for ever thinking you could stand beside him. Girls looked at you differently then, pitying, mocking. Every time you saw them together, your chest tightened.

You would often lock yourself in bathroom stalls and let the tears fall where no one could see, wondering if he’d ever look at you and see something worth choosing.

Then one day, the rumors had grown louder, meaner, in the middle of the hallway, he cornered you. Everyone was there, her along with her friends, half the student body drawn in by the spectacle. You pushed against him, desperate to put space between your heart and his silence.

“Please… I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking with the weight of months you had swallowed. “I know you know how I feel. And I understand—feelings can’t be forced. So don’t ask me to keep being your friend. If you like her… I’ll let you go.”

Your confession cracked through the air. For a moment, he only stared. Then his eyes widened, and before you could step back, his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, the sound so sharp it echoed down the hallway and everyone flinched.

"Who the hell told you I liked her?” His voice was jagged, trembling, nothing like the polished mask he wore every day. “I don’t give a damn about that attention-seeking b*tch. I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone but you.”

His voice broke on the last word, raw and shaking. “You’re the only one who sees me. The only one who makes me feel like I’m not just some picture in a magazine. For once in my life, I want something for myself. And that something is you. Don’t you dare walk away.”

Tears burned in his eyes before his lips crushed into yours, desperate, unyielding, claiming you in front of everyone.

Gasps filled the hall. Phones lifted, recording the moment. Her face drained of color, her friends laughter died in their throats.