The next day felt... quieter.
Too quiet.
Sebastian didn't show up. Neither did Evelyn. Or Luke.
And it sucked.
It shouldn't have. It really shouldn't have. I was used to being alone. I used to like being alone. But apparently, I'd grown far too used to Evelyn's unsolicited commentary, Luke's terrible puns, and Sebastian's broody stare that somehow spoke volumes without him saying a word.
And now?
The silence was loud. And uncomfortable.
I slumped into my chair, trying to shake off the feeling. "Get it together, Liv," I muttered under my breath.
But of course, the universe had other plans. Because it only took ten minutes before Brad and Stacy decided to pounce.
Like they could smell the absence of my unofficial bodyguards.
"Well, if it isn't Olivia the Orphan," Stacy drawled, plopping into the seat beside me uninvited. "Where's your little group of misfit toys today? Finally realized they were too good for you?"
Brad snickered from behind me. "Maybe they figured out she's just a charity case in designer clothes."
I closed my book slowly, exhaled, and looked up at them with a smile that was more teeth than warmth. "Wow. Original. Did you come up with that all by yourself or did you guys hold a group meeting?"
Stacy blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just impressed, honestly. You've been calling me the same three names for months. I thought maybe you had range. But nope. Same tired insults, different day."
Brad leaned over my desk. Too close. "Feeling brave today, princess?"
"No," I said sweetly, "just bored. And your face isn't helping."
His eyes narrowed.
"Try smiling," I added. "It won't fix the personality, but at least it'll be less painful to look at."
That did it.
His hand came down on the desk with a bang, and before I could react, he shoved me. Right out of my chair.
I landed hard, my elbow smacking the cold floor, breath whooshing out of me. The classroom fell dead silent for a second.
And then came the laughter.
From Stacy. From a few others. But I didn't care.
Because despite the sting in my arm and the ache in my side, I felt something strange curl up in my chest.
Pride.
I stood up slowly, brushing off my skirt, and looked Brad dead in the eyes.
"Feel better?" I asked calmly. "Because I do."
He didn't respond, just glared, his jaw tight.
I walked out of the room without waiting for permission, not even bothering to hide the shake in my hands. My heart was pounding. My body ached. But something had shifted.
I wasn't the same Olivia anymore.
Sebastian, Evelyn, and even Luke—they'd brought something back in me. Something I didn't realize I'd lost. The version of me that didn't just shrink under people's shadows. The girl who used to be sarcastic, sharp, and unafraid.
They weren't here today.
But the version of me they believed in—she was.
And I kind of liked her.
The rest of the day was a blur. My eyes kept drifting to my phone. I'd messaged Evelyn. No response. Then Sebastian.
Still nothing.
My chest tightened every time I refreshed the screen.
Where were they?
After school, I dragged myself to the café for my shift. I hadn't been there in months—ever since everything changed. The place smelled the same though. Coffee beans and sugar and a little too much cinnamon.
The café felt both foreign and familiar, like slipping into an old sweater that still kind of smelled like you.
I tied the apron around my waist, ran a hand through my hair, and stepped behind the counter. The hum of the coffee machines, the clink of cups, the low chatter of regulars—it should've been comforting. But I was too wired. Too tense.
Sebastian, Evelyn, Luke... where were they?
I pulled out a rag and started wiping down the counters even though they were already spotless. Anything to distract my brain. Anything to stop me from checking my phone every five seconds like a girl desperate for a text that wasn't coming.
"You're scrubbing like you're mad at the marble," a voice teased behind me.
I didn't even turn. "Don't start, Asher."
He chuckled, low and familiar. "I'm just saying. The counters never did anything to you."
"Unlike some people," I muttered under my breath, then added louder, "Shouldn't you be out front being charming or whatever it is you do?"
There was a pause. "I'm trying, Liv. I know I messed up."
I spun around. "You think?"
We locked eyes, and for a second, it felt like being back in that tiny storage room where we used to hide from Mrs. Greely's mandatory team huddles. Back when he still talked to me at school. Before he decided I was forgettable.
"I just... I didn't know how to act. School's complicated," he said.
"No. It's not," I shot back. "It's very simple. You either acknowledge someone you care about or you don't."
He blinked. "I did care—"
"Well, thanks for the clarity now that it doesn't matter."
I grabbed an empty mug and stormed off to take an order from table six.
By the time my shift ended, my phone buzzed again.
Mom.
Great. Just when I thought this day couldn't get worse.
I answered with a sigh. "What?"
"Olivia," her clipped voice said. "Your father and I will be home tonight. Dinner at seven. Be presentable."
And that was that. No "How are you?" No checking in. Just an order.
Great.
Dinner with my parents always felt like a board meeting I wasn't invited to—just required to attend, nod, and leave quietly without touching anything.
The house was too quiet when I walked in.
Too clean. Too cold.
I stepped out of my shoes, setting them neatly by the door like I was still the obedient daughter they expected. My shift at the café had drained the last bit of energy I had, and now I had to endure the one thing worse than Stacy's mouth or Brad's hands—dinner with my parents.
The dining table gleamed under the crystal chandelier, too polished to feel like home. My father sat at the head, sipping whiskey with the same smug face he wore to business meetings. My mother scrolled on her phone, perfectly manicured fingers tapping like a metronome of disinterest.
They didn't even look up when I entered.
"You're late," my mother said without glancing at me.
"I came straight from work," I replied, sliding into the chair at the farthest end of the table. The seat that made me feel the smallest.
"We told you dinner would be at seven. Not whenever you felt like showing up," my father added sharply, folding his napkin with military precision.
I stared down at my plate. Lamb. Truffle potatoes. Steamed asparagus arranged like soldiers. Everything tasted like obligation.
The conversation between them started easily—like I wasn't even there.
"This quarter's profits were lower than expected," Dad muttered to her. "We need to move the dates for the Milan trip. I'm not walking into that meeting without leverage."
Mother nodded, still scrolling. "Did you see what Grayson & Co. just posted? They're doing charity partnerships now. It's getting out of hand. Everyone wants to look humble. It's exhausting."
"Fake humility is the new black," he said. "We should start a scholarship. Name it after your grandmother."
"Oh, perfect," she said with a dry laugh. "Make it look like we care about underprivileged children. Maybe then the press will stop sniffing around that rumor."
I didn't ask what rumor. I didn't want to know.
They weren't talking to me. Not yet.
Then Mother finally looked up. "And you," she said sharply, like she'd just remembered I was sitting there. "You came home looking like you crawled out of a Goodwill donation bin."
I swallowed. Hard. I didn't say anything.
Dad looked over his glass. "Is that what you wore to work today? That café job? Is it still poisoning your brain?"
"It's just a part-time shift," Mother added, her tone clipped. "We let you do it for independence. Not to make a career out of it."
I kept my eyes on my plate. A single roasted carrot. Two bites of something that was once chicken.
Father leaned back. "Do you know what the Donovans said last week? They heard our daughter was working behind a counter. With a mop. What are we supposed to say to that?"
"She doesn't care," Mom said. "She never does."
"I spoke to Sinha today," my father said. "His son just got into Harvard. Full scholarship. Computer science. Can you believe it?"
"He was always a bright boy," my mother chimed in. "Unlike some people."
A beat passed. My fork clenched tighter in my hand.
"She barely passed her history exam," my father said, turning to me with a pointed look. "History. Not even a real subject anymore."
I didn't respond. Just chewed slowly. Swallowed the humiliation with every bite.
"Do you even understand the damage you've done to this family's reputation?" my mother snapped. "Your teachers talk. People listen. It reflects on us."
"She hides in that café," my father added. "What do you even do there? Pour coffee? You think that's a career?"
"I just—" I began, but he cut me off.
"You just what? Embarrass us? Waste your potential? Sinha's daughter is running a nonprofit at her age, and ours is playing barista with a C-average."
I blinked. Hard. The food turned to ash in my mouth.
"I like literature and history," I said quietly, knowing it wouldn't matter.
My mother scoffed. "Oh, how romantic. Maybe you'll write a poem about how disappointed we are."
They laughed. Like it was funny. Like I wasn't sitting right there, shrinking smaller by the second.
The chandelier flickered slightly above us. Or maybe I imagined it.
I looked down at my plate again, the knife in my hand reflecting a warped image of my face. I didn't recognize myself anymore.
Mother rolled her eyes. "We are cursed. Truly. All our friends have picture-perfect children and what do we get? A walking stain. I don't know why I bothered with private schools. I should've just hired a governess."
My mind drifted.
Sebastian.
His voice, that sarcasm hiding bruises I hadn't yet seen. Evelyn's nervous smile. Luke's light, the way she described him. They hadn't been at school today. Or yesterday. No texts. No replies. Just silence.
And here I was—alone again, surrounded by people who shared my blood but none of my heart.
I stood slowly, placing my napkin on the table. "May I be excused?"
"You're not ten, Olivia," my mother said flatly. "But sure. Run away like you always do."
I didn't say anything. Just walked up the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
When I reached my room, I shut the door behind me—not gently, but not loud enough to give them another excuse.
I sat on my bed and stared at my phone.
Still no message from Evelyn.
Still no reply from Sebastian.
I typed:
"Are you okay?"
Sent.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then... nothing.
I texted Evelyn again:
"Just let me know you're okay."
No reply.
I curled under my blanket, holding the phone like it could fill the hole in my chest. I hated this. The silence. The waiting. The ache of abandonment disguised as independence.
Maybe I was selfish to worry. Maybe they were fine.
But I wasn't.
I missed them—Sebastian's teasing that felt too sharp to be harmless, Evelyn's chaotic sweetness, Luke's quiet kindness. Together, they had started pulling me back into color. Now I was grayscale again.
Tears filled my eyes, and I didn't wipe them away.
This was what it felt like. To care about people so much that their silence physically hurt.
I used to think I was fine being alone. That it was safer that way.
But now... it just felt like I was invisible again.
A girl screaming underwater.
And no one even noticed.
but i still—still—I hoped.
I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall silently into the pillow, wondering if he was thinking about me, too.