The library was quiet that afternoon, the kind of quiet that made you hear your own heartbeat. You were just passing by, your notebook hugged tightly to your chest, when you caught the sound of a familiar voice—calm, deep, and composed. It was Adrian Vale, your boyfriend.

Adrian—the perfect student, the school’s pride. He was everything you weren’t: confident, brilliant, admired by everyone. The campus council president, MVP striker, and champion debater. And somehow, he was yours.

You were the history-obsessed girl who always stayed in the back of the room, more comfortable writing poems than talking to people. He was serious and disciplined; you were spontaneous, a dreamer with ink-stained fingers. You never understood why he chose you—but you never questioned it either. You were just happy to be seen by someone like him.

But that day, your world started to fall apart.

“I told you,” Adrian’s voice drifted from inside the library, cool and unbothered, “it was just a bet. I don’t actually like her.”

You froze.

Someone laughed softly. “Man, you’re too cruel. Poor girl probably thinks you’re in love with her.”

“She’s a distraction,” Adrian said simply. “If I hadn’t agreed to that bet, I wouldn’t have lost focus last term. I just needed to prove that I could balance anything—even dating someone like her—and still stay on top.”

Your notebook slipped from your arms and hit the floor with a soft thud. The sound echoed, and the boys inside went silent.

You ran before he could step out.

That night, your poems turned into pieces of broken thoughts—ink smudged by tears you didn’t even notice falling. Every word felt heavy, every page a reminder of how foolishly you believed his smiles, his quiet “good lucks,” and the way he tucked stray strands of hair behind your ear.

The next day, he tried to find you. He called your name in the hallway, his voice desperate, but you kept walking. The History wing became your refuge, the place where time couldn’t reach you. You drowned yourself in the stories of fallen empires, revolutions, and betrayals—because somehow, those old heartbreaks hurt less than your own.

Adrian started showing up to your classes, waiting by the door after school, sending notes through your friends. “Let me explain,” one of them read. But you never opened them again.

Weeks passed. He stopped showing up at soccer practice. Rumors spread that he turned down a national math competition. The once untouchable top student started losing his spark. But you didn’t notice—or maybe you refused to.

Until one rainy afternoon, you found a notebook slipped into your locker. His handwriting filled the pages. Inside were your poems—copied word for word. At the end, he wrote:

“You were never a bet. I was. I bet I could control my feelings. And I lost.”