The rumors didn't creep this time.
They erupted.
By the time I stepped onto campus the next morning, the air was already charged. Whispers weren't whispered anymore. They moved freely, unchecked, sliding through corridors and classrooms like smoke.
Did you see them yesterday?He grabbed her hand.She didn't pull away.Something's going on.
I kept walking.
I always did.
But today, the looks were sharper. Curious. Hungry. People weren't guessing anymore—they were waiting for confirmation.
Rayan wasn't in his usual place.
That was mistake number one.
In class, the tension was unbearable. Every empty seat spoke louder than words. When the teacher paused, scanning the room, a murmur rippled through the students.
Still no Rayan.
I didn't react. Not outwardly. But control doesn't mean ignorance. It means awareness without display.
Then the door opened.
He walked in late.
Every head turned.
His expression was unreadable, jaw set, eyes dark. He didn't look at me at first. He went straight to his seat like nothing had happened.
Like yesterday hadn't rewritten everything.
That irritated me more than it should have.
Break time came fast.
Too fast.
I was halfway down the stairs when he caught up with me.
"This is getting out of hand," he said quietly.
"Is it?" I asked.
"Yes," he snapped, then stopped himself. "People are talking."
"They always do."
"This time it's different."
I finally looked at him.
"So is this," I said.
His eyes searched my face, as if looking for the moment I'd crack.
He didn't find it.
"You're enjoying this," he accused.
"No," I replied honestly. "I'm refusing to hide."
That shook him.
Because hiding was his instinct.
By lunchtime, the rumors had evolved.
Now there were sides.
Some people looked at me with curiosity. Others with judgment. A few with open hostility. Rayan's friends hovered near him, tense, protective, whispering urgently.
I sat alone.
Again.
Not because I had to—but because I chose to.
Then the courtyard went quiet.
Rayan stood up.
That was mistake number two.
He walked straight toward me.
Public.
Unavoidable.
Every eye followed him.
My heartbeat didn't change—but the air did.
"You're doing this on purpose," he said, stopping in front of me.
"I'm doing nothing," I replied. "I'm existing."
"That's the problem," he said. "You don't bend."
"No," I said softly. "I don't."
People leaned in. Phones appeared. This wasn't just gossip anymore.
It was spectacle.
"You want control?" he asked, voice low. "Fine."
And then he made his choice.
He took my hand.
Not secretly.
Not hesitantly.
Open. Clear. Defiant.
The courtyard exploded.
Gasps. Whispers. Someone laughed nervously. Someone else cursed under their breath.
I looked up at him.
His hand was steady.
His expression wasn't.
"This ends today," he said quietly, just for me. "One way or another."
He had chosen visibility.
He had chosen me.
And in doing so, he'd burned every bridge behind him.
I didn't pull away.
That was my choice.
By the time the bell rang, the damage was done.
Teachers had noticed.
Students had recorded.
Rumors had become facts.
We walked side by side without speaking.
Not because there was nothing to say—
But because everything had already been said.
That night, messages flooded my phone. Names I barely recognized. Warnings. Curiosity. Thinly veiled threats.
And one message from an unknown number:
You should've stayed invisible.
I stared at the screen.
Slowly, I smiled.
Because I knew something they didn't.
There's no going back once you're seen.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow would demand a price.