That feels right. Like cosmic justice.
I hope you're happy at Thornhill. I hope you've found people who deserve you. I hope you never think about me.
-E
I fold the letter carefully and put it back in the box.
These letters are my penance. My confession. My punishment for being too much of a coward to tell her the truth when it mattered.
Tomorrow I'll see her again. In Business Strategy, I checked the roster. We're in the same section. She's going to hate that. Probably try to get me removed from the class.
Good. Let her fight me. Let her rage at me. Let her feel anything except the indifference she's trying to project.
Because indifference is worse than hatred.
Indifference means I don't matter and pathetic as it is, I need to matter to her. Even if it's as the villain in her story.
Even if it means she'll never know I'm the villain who's been in love with her since we were twelve years old.
My phone buzzes. Another text from my mother.
Mom:Your father and I expect weekly updates on your school progress. Don't make us regret this transfer.
I stare at the message. The implied threat. The control that's been suffocating me my entire life.
The same control that made me choose between them and Ivy three years ago.
I chose wrong.
I know I chose wrong, but I can't undo it. Can't go back. Can't fix what I broke.
All I can do is exist in her orbit and hope that someday, maybe not this year, maybe not ever, she'll let me explain.
Let me apologize.
Let me show her that the person who hurt her is drowning in regret.
But tomorrow morning, in Business Strategy, when she sees me walk into that classroom, I'll be the asshole who smirks ather discomfort. Who takes the seat right behind her. Who makes sure she knows I'm not going anywhere.
Because that's the role I've cast myself in and I play it so well that sometimes even I forget it's an act.
Chapter 3
Ivy
Business Strategy meets Monday,Wednesday, Friday at 9 AM in Sterling Hall, room 304.
I arrive fifteen minutes early like I always do. Get my usual seat, third row, right side, close enough to show engagement but not so close that I look desperate. Pull out my laptop, my color-coded notes from the syllabus, my specially ordered textbook with all the chapters already flagged.
I'm prepared. I'm ready. I'm in control.
Then Ethan Zhang walks through the door.
He sees me immediately. Smiles. That same sharp, mocking smile from orientation and sits directly behind me.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter.
"Something wrong?" His voice is right there, too close, intimate in a way that makes my skin crawl.