The moment I stepped into the lecture hall, I noticed it.
Viola was already seated near the middle, her head bent over her notes like she was in deep focus. But what caught me wasn't her concentration—it was the empty chair beside her. My chair. The one she always kept free for me, even when the class was crowded.
Instead, her bag sat there, zipped up neatly, taking up the space like a silent "reserved" sign for someone who wasn't me.
I froze halfway down the aisle. Maybe she didn't notice me. Maybe she was just holding it for a quick errand and planned to move it later. I tried to convince myself, but the moment our eyes met across the room, she looked away. Not down shyly—away. As if she couldn't stand to hold my gaze.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and moved to the back, sliding into a seat that felt colder and harder than usual. I told myself it was nothing. Maybe she was having a bad morning. But the knot in my chest stayed, tightening with every passing minute of the lecture.
When class finally ended, I didn't even wait for the lecturer to finish packing up. I shot out of my seat and headed straight for her.
"Viola." My voice was firmer than I intended, but I didn't care.
She froze mid-step, her notebook clutched to her chest. For a second, I thought she would turn and smile at me like always. Instead, she gave me the smallest glance, almost as if it hurt to look at me, and muttered, "I have to go."
"Go where? We haven't even talked—"
She turned her back and walked faster. I followed her down the steps, weaving through the chattering students pouring out of the hall.
"Viola, can you just wait? What's going on with you?"
She didn't answer. Her pace quickened, her ponytail swaying like a clock counting down my patience. I followed her out the doors, across the courtyard, and toward the main gate.
That's when I saw it—parked just outside the gate, a sleek black car that looked like it didn't belong anywhere near campus. Leaning against it was Lateef.
The moment Viola stepped into view, his posture changed. He stood straight, his face softening as he opened the passenger door for her like some scene from a drama. She slid in without hesitation.
Then his eyes found me. And he smiled. Not a polite, distant smile—no, this one had an edge, a hint of knowing something I didn't. He even lifted two fingers to his temple in a mock salute before heading to the driver's side.
I stood there, confused and a little breathless, watching the car roll away like it had just swallowed my best friend whole.
The rest of the day blurred by in a haze. I tried to focus on my other classes, but my mind kept replaying that moment—her walking past me, the way Lateef smiled, the way she didn't say a word.
By the time the sun began to set, my decision was made. I wasn't going to sleep without knowing what was going on.
When Baal picked me up after class, I told him.
"I need to see Viola," I said, fastening my seatbelt.
He glanced at me briefly before starting the engine. "Something happened?"
"She's… avoiding me. I don't know why. I just need to talk to her."
He didn't ask more, didn't question it—just nodded and drove. The hum of his luxury car was steady, but inside me everything felt jagged.
When we reached her residence, I got out quickly. The building's exterior was bathed in the warm orange of the streetlights, but it felt cold to me.
I climbed the short steps and knocked.
"Who's there?" she called from inside, her voice sharp.
"It's me," I said.
The door opened just enough for her to peek through. The moment she saw it was me, she sighed and turned away, leaving the door ajar. She didn't invite me in.
I stepped inside anyway, the click of my heels on the tile sounding far louder than I wanted. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed.
"Viola, I'll just ask you straight," I began, my voice trembling slightly despite my effort to sound firm. "Do you have a problem with me?"
She didn't reply. Just stared at a spot on the floor.
I took a step closer. "Viola. I'm asking you. Do you have a problem with me?"
Suddenly, she lifted her head, eyes bright with a sharp, almost painful energy. "Yes! Yes! Yes, I have a problem with you!"
Her voice cracked on the last word, and my stomach sank.
She took a shaky breath, and the words spilled out like she'd been holding them in for too long. "You're always so wrapped up in your own world, Zaria. You and Baal disappear for days, locked away like nothing else matters, while you guys are all lovey dovey and I'm just… left behind. And your so-called supporters from the trade fair? They humiliated me. Do you know what they did? One of them slapped me—on my face, Zaria. They called me your lapdog, like I have no worth of my own. I'm already going through so much, and now it's like I can't even breathe. It's suffocating me."
Her hands were trembling now, her lips pressed tight to stop them from quivering.
I felt my chest ache. I hadn't even realized… not fully. I'd been so wrapped up in Baal, in my own whirlwind life, that I'd just assumed she'd always be there.
She was already crying now, tears sliding down her cheeks unchecked.
Something in me broke. My own tears rose without permission, blurring my vision. "Viola…" I whispered.
I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around her. She resisted for half a second before collapsing into me, her shoulders shaking.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, stroking her hair. "I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I didn't even realize…"
We stood there, holding each other like we were trying to glue the cracks back together. Our sobs filled the small space, unashamed and raw.
In that moment, it didn't matter who was right or wrong. We were just two friends who had hurt each other without meaning to, clinging to what was left and hoping it was enough to heal.
After we cried in each other's embrace for what felt like forever, we finally pulled back, our eyes red and swollen. We sank onto the couch, and she began to talk. I stayed quiet, letting her pour everything out without interruption. I wanted her to say every single thing on her mind. I just listened, offering small smiles now and then to let her know I was here.
She told me everything—from the humiliation at the trade fair to the sting of being left behind. And then, almost hesitantly, I asked about Lateef.
She looked away for a moment before telling me how he had been there right after the clash with my fans—how he'd taken her outside for fresh air, how one thing led to another, and how they eventually ended up in the sheets.
Oddly, I didn't feel angry. I was just… relieved she trusted me enough to say it. Deep down, I knew I had wronged her, and now all I wanted was to make it right.