The Ballroom was filled with sparkling lights and the scent of expensive perfumes . The guests were dressed to impress,their laughter a little too loud and their smiles too perfect.Everything around her seemed flawless except for Amara.
The walls were adorned with golden frames ,and the floor beneath her was marble,reflecting the glow from the chandeliers overhead.Music played softly in the background, but Amara barely heard it.She felt herself out of place ,like a shadow in a room full of sunlight.
Amara stepped deeper into the party, her heart already racing before she even made it through the door. The crowd was suffocating, and the music—blaring, pulsing—only seemed to make everything feel worse. She could feel the weight of every glance, every whisper, like an invisible pressure on her chest.
The laughter around her felt hollow. The smiles people flashed her were too perfect, too rehearsed. Amara tried to tell herself that she didn't care. It's just a party, she thought, but it didn't help. The air here felt thick, like she couldn't get enough of it, like she was trapped in a world she didn't belong in.
Her hand gripped the glass a little tighter, the coolness of it offering a small comfort, but even that didn't last long. She wanted to scream, to escape. She wasn't made for this. This world, with all its fake smiles and sharp stares, was not hers. She had never wanted to be part of it, and tonight, she hated it even more than usual.
She scanned the room, her gaze darting around as if searching for something, someone—anything familiar. But the faces all blurred together, and it felt like the longer she stayed, the smaller she became. Why did I even come here? She felt stupid for agreeing to come, even stupider for thinking it would be okay.
Mia had begged her to be here. "You'll be fine," she'd said. "Just come and hang out. You're not going to let the rumors get to you, right?" But what Mia didn't understand was that it wasn't the rumors that were making her feel like this—it was the people. The way they looked at her, whispered behind her back.
"Amara."
The voice cut through her thoughts, making her freeze. It was familiar, but not the kind of familiar she wanted to hear right now. She turned slowly, her stomach sinking when she saw Jennifer standing there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
"Isn't this fun?" Jennifer's tone was sharp, her smile just a little too wide, a little too pointed.
Amara's throat tightened. I knew this was coming.
"What do you want, Jennifer?" She didn't even try to hide the annoyance in her voice. Jennifer was always like this, always ready to pick a fight, and tonight, Amara wasn't in the mood.
Jennifer didn't even flinch at her tone. She stepped closer, lowering her voice as though she was sharing some deep, dark secret. "I heard you were with Xavier last night. What's going on with that?"
Amara's stomach dropped. The words hit her like a slap, leaving her breathless. How does she know? she thought, but she didn't dare show the panic that was rising inside. Instead, she stood there, trying to look calm. "It's not what you think."
Jennifer's laugh was cold, dismissive. "Yeah, right. You expect me to believe that?"
Amara's hands shook, her grip tightening around the glass again. The room was spinning, her head heavy with the overwhelming flood of emotions. Why does everyone always assume the worst? It wasn't like that. It wasn't. She barely knew Xavier, and the last thing she needed was to be dragged into more rumors.
She opened her mouth to explain, but the words caught in her throat. What's the point? She thought. It didn't matter what she said. People were already talking. They were already forming their own story about her, a story she couldn't change.
She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. "I wasn't doing anything," she said, but even to her own ears, it sounded weak. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She didn't even believe it.
Jennifer took a step back, eyes flicking over Amara in a way that made her skin crawl. "You can try to hide it, but people are talking. You can't escape what they think of you."
The words hit harder than they should have, and Amara suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. She wanted to run. She wanted to disappear. To find a place where she wasn't the topic of everyone's conversation.
But she didn't. Instead, she forced herself to stand tall, even though everything in her wanted to shrink away.
"I'm not going to stand here and let you drag me down, Jennifer." Her voice was quieter now, but it still held a firmness she didn't feel. She turned away before Jennifer could say anything else. She needed to get out of this suffocating space.
Amara weaved through the crowd, her mind a whirlwind. She needed to escape, needed to find a way out. The pressure of the party, the expectations, the stares—it was all too much. Her heart was racing, and it felt like the walls were closing in on her. She pushed past people, barely noticing their surprised glances as she made her way toward the balcony.
Once outside, the cool night air hit her face, and she felt like she could breathe for the first time in hours. She leaned against the railing, eyes closing as she tried to steady herself. Why does it always have to be like this? she thought, but there was no answer. The weight in her chest didn't go away, no matter how deeply she breathed.
She wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere she didn't have to explain herself, didn't have to fight for her worth.
The sound of footsteps made Amara stiffen. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. That low, careful stride—only one person moved like that when they were around her.
"Amara."
Xavier's voice was softer than she expected. Hesitant. Like he didn't know if he was allowed to speak her name.
She kept her eyes on the city lights below, pretending she hadn't heard him. Maybe if she stayed quiet, he'd turn around and walk away.
No such luck.
He stepped up beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne. That familiar mix of woodsy calm and trouble.
"You okay?" he asked.
She let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, totally. I just love standing outside at my best friend's party looking like the dramatic side character in a teen drama. Living the dream, really."
He winced. "I figured you wouldn't be."
"Then why show up?"
"Because…" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Because I heard Jennifer was talking again."
Amara rolled her eyes. "Wow, shocking. Jennifer talking? That's definitely breaking news. Someone call the press."
"I didn't say anything about us," he said quickly. "Whatever she thinks happened… it's not from me."
"That's comforting," she said flatly. "Too bad rumors don't need facts. Or common sense."
He looked at her like he was searching her face for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe an opening.
Amara folded her arms and looked away.
"You know what the worst part is?" she muttered. "She's not even wrong about everything."
Xavier frowned. "What do you mean?"
She shrugged, forcing a smile. "I mean… people already think I'm the girl who couldn't keep a guy. Who got too attached. Who made a scene. Might as well hand out T-shirts."
He shook his head. "You're not that girl."
She glanced at him, sarcastic warmth in her tone. "Aww. Thanks, Xavier. That totally erases months of public humiliation."
Xavier shifted, leaning against the railing like he belonged there. Like they were just two friends catching a break. Not the girl he'd ghosted, then smiled at in the hallway like nothing happened.
"You think I wanted this to happen?" he asked quietly.
Amara blinked at him. "Oh no, I'm sure you accidentally flirted with me for three months, accidentally kissed me, and then accidentally vanished like a magician."
He opened his mouth, closed it again. Smart move.
"You think I didn't like you," he finally said. "But I did."
She snorted. "Wow. Thanks for the past tense. That clears everything up."
Xavier looked frustrated, but she didn't care. Not right now. Not after everything.
"I got scared," he admitted.
Amara raised an eyebrow. "Of what? My terrifying emotional stability?"
He actually smiled a little at that, and she hated that part of her still noticed. Still wanted to lean into it.
"I liked you too much," he said. "And I didn't know how to deal with it."
She rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. "So your solution was… what? Dip without a word? Ghost me and then act confused when I stopped smiling at you in class?"
"I messed up."
"No kidding."
They stood in silence again, this time heavier. She could hear a group laughing near the pool, music drifting in from a cracked window. The world kept moving while hers had stopped the moment he'd walked away.
"I didn't know how to explain," he said, voice low.
"You didn't have to explain," she said. "You just had to show up. And you didn't."
Xavier looked at her like he wanted to say something else—something important. But he didn't. Of course he didn't.
So she stepped back. "I'm going back inside."
He moved slightly, like he wanted to stop her. "Wait."
"For what?" Her tone was sharper now. "Closure? A second chance? Because honestly, I left my patience in 2023."
His jaw tensed. "You don't have to act like you don't care."
She gave a hollow laugh. "I'm not acting."
She turned and walked away, pulse pounding in her ears. If she looked back, he'd still be standing there, trying to figure her out like a puzzle he lost the instructions to.
But she didn't look back.
As Amara walked back into the party, the music felt like it was pressing against her chest. The bass vibrated through the floor, rattling her bones, but it didn't reach her. She could barely hear the laughter, the chatter, the careless joy filling the room. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding faster as she replayed everything in her head.
What did he mean by that? The words kept repeating themselves. I didn't know how to deal with it. Like that explained everything. Like that somehow made it okay.
She should have been angry. She was angry. Why did he think a "sorry" would fix it? A few sad words couldn't erase the months of pretending, the ghosting, the late-night texts that were full of nothing. But then why did his apology hit something inside her? Why did it feel like maybe, just maybe, she was still holding onto something that wasn't really there anymore?
Her fingers tightened around her phone as she texted her mom. "Come pick me up." Her grip was tight enough to make her knuckles white, as if squeezing her phone would somehow squeeze out the frustration, the confusion, the uncertainty swirling inside her.
She needed to leave. She needed space. But leaving meant facing what had happened, and facing it meant realizing how much she'd built up in her mind.
Her mind flashed back to the first time Xavier smiled at her. The first time he made her laugh, really laugh—not just the polite, awkward chuckles she gave everyone else. She hadn't known then, in that moment, what that smile would mean for her. She hadn't known how it would make her heart race or how she'd spend hours overthinking every text he sent. She hadn't known he could make her feel so… seen.
But now? Now everything felt empty. A lie she had been living in for far too long. Maybe it wasn't just his fault. Maybe it was hers, too. For letting herself get swept up in him, for believing in something that never existed the way she thought it did. She'd been looking for meaning in his gestures, looking for something that was never really there. She wanted to believe, but…
Why did I let him hurt me like that?
Her chest tightened, and she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. The weight of everything pressing down on her felt like a physical thing—like it was pulling her shoulders down, making her slump against the cold, hard surface behind her. She exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the tension in her neck, but it didn't go away. It lingered, like the taste of something sour in her mouth that wouldn't leave. She rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself, but it was no use. She felt cold.
It wasn't just Xavier. It was the way she felt invisible sometimes. The way she kept putting herself in situations that made her feel small and unimportant. She wasn't some character in a romance novel, some girl destined for a happily ever after with a guy who would never leave. No, she was just… Amara. Someone trying to figure out how to survive all this nonsense without losing herself.
Her foot tapped nervously on the floor. Stop it, stop thinking, she told herself, but her thoughts kept racing. She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there, just feeling the ache in her chest deepen. She ran a hand through her hair, a frustrated gesture, and felt the strands slip through her fingers. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to push back the sting behind her eyes.
She was tired of pretending. Tired of pretending she was okay, tired of pretending she wasn't falling apart inside. Pretend she didn't care when, in reality, she cared too much. The jokes, the parties, the perfect smiles… it was all just a mask. A mask she'd been wearing way too long.
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm just tired of pretending.
She shook her head, almost laughing at herself. The ridiculousness of it all. She was standing in the middle of a party, surrounded by people who had no idea what was going on inside her. She hated that feeling. The weight of it. The way she couldn't just let herself be vulnerable without feeling like she was drowning.
Her phone buzzed again in her hand. A text from her mom: "On my way, stay there."
Stay there? Where? In this mess of a situation she had no control over? In this party where she was pretending to be something she wasn't?
She turned the screen off, stuffing her phone into her pocket, feeling like the act of hiding it would somehow make her problems disappear. But they didn't. They never did.
She shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room at the groups of laughing, carefree people. They were all in their own worlds, too busy to notice her slipping through the cracks. She was tired of trying to keep up, tired of pretending she could keep up when all she wanted was to curl up in bed and forget everything.
With a shaky breath, she typed back to her mom. "I'm fine. Just hurry." The words felt empty, and she knew they weren't true. She wasn't fine. She was far from it.
Her body felt heavy. Every step toward the door, every movement felt like a struggle. Her feet dragged across the floor, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The weight of it all was too much. The confusion, the hurt, the overwhelming desire to just run away from everything.
The party seemed to pulse around her, like a distant, irrelevant noise. She was done with it all, done with the masks, done with the pretending. She didn't have it in her anymore.
The hum of the engine filled the silence between them, only interrupted by the occasional swoosh of passing cars. Amara sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded tight like a human shield. Her jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the window as streetlights slid past like blinking accusations.
Her mother tapped the steering wheel rhythmically, a nervous tick she probably didn't realize she still had. "You didn't stay long."
Amara didn't even blink. "Yeah, well… my fan club wasn't exactly giving red carpet energy."
Her mom glanced at her. "I saw the posts. You and Xavier."
A humorless smile tugged at Amara's lips. "Of course you did. Half the country probably has by now. I'm famous, didn't you hear?"
"Amara—"
"It was just a kiss," she cut in, voice sharp, shoulders stiff. "One kiss. But God forbid a girl makes one mistake without turning into the lead story on everyone's gossip reel."
Her mom's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "You know how things look right now. People are talking."
Amara finally turned to face her, eyes tired but defiant. "Yeah. And your brilliant solution is to ship me off to Elias Knight like I'm a scandal that needs rebranding."
Her mom sighed. "You're not being 'shipped off,' Amara."
"Oh, my bad," she said, leaning back with mock thoughtfulness. "It's not a shipment. It's an elegant merger between two emotionally unavailable people. Much better."
"Stop being sarcastic."
"I'd stop if it wasn't the only thing keeping me sane."
Her mother shook her head, jaw tight. "He's a good man. He has resources. Power. He can take care of you."
Amara raised a brow. "What a glowing review. Want me to read that at the vows?"
"Amara…"
She turned her gaze back to the road, her voice dropping lower. "He doesn't even like me. I don't think he ever will."
Her mom hesitated. "Sometimes respect grows with time."
Amara snorted, crossing her legs. "Respect. Right. That'll keep me warm at night."
They fell into silence again, the kind that wrapped around your chest like a too-tight seatbelt. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, then dug into the edge of her sweater like she was trying to anchor herself.
"People forget things," her mom said finally, more to the windshield than to her. "This marriage will settle the rumors."
"Oh, perfect," Amara muttered. "I get a cold husband, and you get peace of mind. Everybody wins."
Her mom didn't answer.
Amara exhaled deeply and rested her head against the window, the cool glass soothing her hot skin. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke again. "I wanted to be chosen… just once. Not traded. Not blamed. Chosen."