And in that moment, she understood that letting go wasn't loss—it was honesty she had been avoiding. An honesty that finally allowed her to breathe, even if it came wrapped in guilt and unanswered questions.
Morning arrived without ceremony. No tears, no heaviness in Blue's chest—just the pale light of dawn slipping through the curtains and the distant sound of life beginning outside. She lay still for a moment, waiting for the ache she thought would come. It didn't.
Instead, there was a strange calm.
As she got ready for school, everything felt the same and different at once. Her uniform hung the same way on her shoulders, her reflection stared back at her with the same familiar eyes, yet something inside her had shifted. She wasn't replaying conversations or rereading messages. Railan's name didn't echo in her thoughts the way she expected it to. And that unsettled her more than pain ever could.
On the walk to school, the sun was already climbing, warm and persistent. Blue walked beside Lola, listening more than speaking. Her voice blended into the morning air, normal and comforting. No one mentioned him. She was grateful for that.
"You're quiet today," Lola said glancing at her.
"I'm just tired," Blue replied, and it wasn't a lie—just not the whole truth.
At school, whispers followed her in the halls, as they always did when something changed. She caught fragments of conversations, her name floating in and out of earshot. Normally, it would have made her uneasy. Today, it barely registered.
In class, she focused more than she had in days. The heat was still there, the same suffocating warmth pressing against the walls, but it felt distant. The chemistry teachers voice droned on, chalk scraping against the board, and for once, her mind didn't drift to what had been lost.
During break, Medina cornered her near the benches.
"So," she said carefully, "are you okay?"
Blue thought about the question. Really thought about it. "I think I am," she answered at last.
Medina studied her face, then smiled softly. "That's good."
As the day unfolded, Blue began to notice the small things she had overlooked before—the way laughter came easier when she wasn't waiting for a message, how silence felt peaceful instead of empty. It scared her, this ease. It made her wonder how long she had been holding onto something out of habit rather than love.
That afternoon, when the final bell rang, Blue didn't rush home. She lingered, walking slowly under the fading sun, letting the warmth settle on her skin. The world hadn't ended. Nothing had collapsed. If anything, it felt as though something had quietly begun.
She realized then that heartbreak wasn't the only ending a relationship could have. Sometimes, it ended with clarity. With relief. With the courage to admit the truth to yourself.
And as she continued walking, Blue allowed herself a small, uncertain smile—one that carried no guilt, only possibility.
The term came to an end that week, closing quietly, without the usual rush of excitement. By the final afternoon, the school grounds were lighter somehow—voices louder, laughter freer, the weight of lessons finally lifted.
Blue walked home with Lola and Medina, their bags slung loosely over their shoulders. They had decided to spend the holidays together at their grandmother's place, the familiar comfort of family already easing into their plans.
As they passed the small row of shops near the school, two unfamiliar faces caught Blue's attention. The boys looked to be dressed in the same uniform, though she hadn't seen them in her class before.
"They're from you're grade," Medina whispered, glancing back. "Different class."
"And how do you know that? Am I always the last to know stuff or what?" Blue went a few steps in front of them.
The boys exchanged a look before stepping closer.
"Hey—sorry to stop you," one of them said, offering an easy smile. "We've seen you around. What are your names?"
Introductions followed quickly. They turned out to be brothers—new students, recently transferred. What began as a brief exchange stretched longer than expected, the conversation flowing with surprising ease. Their attention lingered mostly on Blue, each of them asking questions in turn—where she was from, which class she belonged to, what she liked.
Lola and Medina watched with quiet amusement.
"Do you have Instagram?" one of the brothers asked, casual but hopeful.
"And your contact?" the other added, laughing softly.
Blue hesitated for only a moment before nodding. She shared both, unsure why it felt so easy—so harmless. It didn't feel like a promise, just a moment passing as moments often did.
After a few goodbyes and exchanged smiles, the girls continued on their way home.
"Well," Medina said, breaking the silence, "that was interesting."
Blue smiled faintly, the warm evening air brushing against her skin. She didn't think much of it—not yet. Still, as the road stretched ahead and the school disappeared behind them, she sensed something shifting, subtle and quiet, like the beginning of a story she hadn't planned to tell.
The holidays settled in slowly, without urgency. Days blurred into one another, marked by early mornings and the soft rhythm of household chores. Blue spent most of her time helping her grandmother and aunt—washing dishes, folding laundry—small tasks that filled the hours and kept her hands busy as Medina and Lola filled in the other chores.
Her aunt often called for her first.
"Blue, can you come help me with this?"
She never complained. She rarely did.
Among them all, Blue was her aunt's favorite—not because she asked for it, but because she listened. She followed instructions, stayed home when she was told to, and spoke honestly, even when the truth was uncomfortable. It was a quiet kind of trust, built over time.
When the internet refused to connect, it was Blue who knelt beside the router, resetting cables and tapping patiently at her phone until the signal returned. When her aunt couldn't figure out how to arrange her room or find something she had misplaced, Blue was there,helping Medina move things around until everything felt right again.
"You're too smart for your own good," her aunt would say, shaking her head with a smile.
Blue only shrugged.
In between chores, her thoughts drifted—often back to the end of term, to the brief encounter near the shops. The brothers' faces returned to her memory a times than she expected. Not in a way that unsettled her, but in a way that felt curious, almost light. The easy laughter. The questions. How natural it had felt to share her contact, as though she hadn't been guarding herself so tightly after all.
Her mother visited a couple of times during the holidays, checking in, asking how school had ended and whether Blue was resting enough. They talked in the evenings, sitting side by side, the conversation drifting between everyday things and quiet reassurances.
"You seem calmer," her mother said once, studying her closely.
Blue smiled. "I feel calmer."
At night, when the house finally fell silent, Blue lay awake thinking—not about what she had lost, but about who she was becoming. The holidays weren't dramatic. There were no big moments, no grand changes. Just small realizations unfolding slowly, like the steady passing of time.
And somewhere between helping in the kitchen, fixing the internet, and listening to her family laugh, Blue felt herself settling into something new—something steady, something honest.