Avoidance is louder than rejection.
I learn that the next morning.
Jay Jay doesn't wait outside her classroom.
She doesn't slow her steps so I can catch up. She doesn't look over her shoulder—not once.
She walks straight past me like I'm just another face in the hallway.
I don't follow.
That's the rule I set for myself.
At lunch, the seat beside her stays empty.
Not because no one wants it.
Because she chose a different table.
Kiko sits across from her, talking animatedly. She nods, smiles politely. It doesn't reach her eyes—but it's enough.
Enough to tell me I'm not welcome there.
I eat alone.
In class, she doesn't turn around. When the teacher pairs us for an activity, she calmly asks to switch.
"Nothing personal," she says, not looking at me.
It feels personal anyway.
By the end of the day, the space between us feels deliberate.
Carefully constructed.
I deserve it.
I said something I shouldn't have. I crossed a line I promised myself I wouldn't.
So I do what I always do when I've hurt her—
I step back.
Days pass like that.
Jay Jay avoids places I'll be. Takes longer routes. Laughs a little louder when I'm not nearby. If we accidentally make eye contact, she looks away first.
People notice.
"Did you guys fight?" "Guess that was just a phase." "Knew it wouldn't last."
I don't correct them.
Because this isn't about what it looks like.
It's about what she needs.
One afternoon, I hear her laugh—really laugh—from down the hall. My chest tightens before I even realize why.
I turn.
She's with Kiko.
Again.
He says something. She shakes her head, smiling despite herself.
I look away.
That night, I sit on my bed, staring at my phone.
I don't text her. Don't check if she's okay. Don't show up where I used to.
Because wanting her doesn't give me permission.
And because control isn't about holding on.
It's about letting go when staying would hurt her.
Still—
When I walk past her the next morning and she doesn't acknowledge me at all, something cracks.
Not loudly.
Just enough to remind me—
Silence can be cruel.
And distance, when chosen, hurts more than jealousy ever did.