Maya's POV
Liam was still standing there, breathing hard, his hand gripping his left shoulder like it was the only thing keeping him upright. My heart raced as I watched him fight the pain, pretend it was nothing, pretend he was fine.
He wasn't fine.
Not even close.
"Liam, please sit down," I said.
He shook his head. "I am good. We can start."
"You can barely stand," I whispered.
"I said I am fine."
The sharpness in his voice made me freeze. Not because he was angry at me, but because he was angry at himself. His jaw was tight. His eyes were stressed. He looked like someone carrying something too heavy for one person.
He limped to the chair anyway, using only his right arm to pull it out. He sat slowly, trying to hide the wince that escaped his mouth. I saw it anyway.
I sat down across from him, my heart still hammering, unsure how to begin after what I had just witnessed.
He forced out a weak smile. "So. Tutor me."
His voice sounded light, but the pain behind it was obvious. He placed his right elbow on the table and leaned on it. His left arm stayed stiff at his side, unmoving, like it belonged to a different person.
I opened the textbook, but my mind was still spinning.
How was he pretending this was normal?
I whispered, "Liam, if your shoulder is hurt, maybe you should not be doing this today."
He tilted his head. "I need to pass. No excuses."
"But your arm is not moving at all."
"I said it is fine."
He said it again, but the truth sat loud between us.
His left arm never moved.
Not a single inch.
He kept it straight, close to his body, guarded like he was afraid someone might touch it by accident.
I took a breath and opened my notes. "Okay. We can start with chapter two."
He nodded, leaning forward with surprising focus. It shocked me. I expected someone like him to be distracted, restless, maybe even rude. But he listened carefully. He asked questions. He stayed engaged.
And he looked at me. Really looked.
Not like I was invisible.
Not like I was a background character.
Not like I was just a tutor.
I tried not to overthink it.
We started working through the first topic. I explained the formula, and he followed along, using his right hand to write slowly. Every line he wrote looked a little shaky, but he kept going.
At one point, I noticed his fingers trembling slightly.
"Are you okay?" I whispered again.
"I am trying my best," he answered quietly. "Just keep going."
I nodded, and we continued.
For a moment, it felt almost normal.
Almost.
But every time he shifted, his jaw tightened in pain. Every time he tried to move his left arm even a little, his breath hitched. Every time he reached for his pen or notebook, he used only his right hand.
The room felt warm with pressure.
I forced myself to focus on teaching, even though his quiet suffering pulled at my chest with every passing minute.
We reached a practice problem. He stared at it for a while, then asked, "Can you break it down again? Slowly?"
His voice was softer now. Almost shy.
I leaned forward and explained step by step. He nodded, learning faster than I expected. But still, he never moved the left arm. Not once.
Finally, after fifty long minutes, I sat back and whispered, "You did well."
He smiled again, small but real. "Only because you taught well."
My cheeks warmed, and I quickly looked down at my notes.
Then he stood up.
And instantly winced.
His eyes squeezed shut. His body leaned slightly to one side. His left arm hung heavy like he couldn't lift it even if he wanted to.
"You are not okay," I whispered.
"I will be," he answered, forcing a breath. "I just need to go."
He reached for his phone with his right hand, slipped it into his pocket, and grabbed his backpack. But halfway through lifting it, his shoulder jerked, and he dropped the bag fast.
"Careful!" I said, stepping forward.
"I am fine," he whispered through clenched teeth.
He bent to grab the bag again.
His phone slipped out.
It hit the floor with a loud crack.
We both reacted at the same time.
"I got it," I said quickly, reaching down before he could bend and hurt himself more.
He froze, panic flashing in his eyes.
"Wait."
But I had already picked it up.
His phone lit up instantly.
A new text appeared on the screen.
From a number saved as Unknown.
My breath stopped.
The message popped up in clear bold letters before I could look away.
Coach is asking questions. How much longer can you hide it?
My whole body went still.
The words felt sharp.
Cold.
Serious.
Hide it.
Hide what?
Hide his shoulder?
Hide an injury?
Hide a secret?
I didn't breathe. I didn't blink. I just stared.
Liam reached out quickly with his right hand to grab the phone. His face changed fast. His expression tightened into something I had never seen on him before.
Fear.
Real fear.
"You were not supposed to read that," he said quietly.
I swallowed, my throat dry. "I did not mean to."
He stepped closer. Too close. His eyes locked with mine, and his voice dropped lower.
"You cannot repeat that. Not to anyone."
I held the phone out slowly. "Liam… what are you hiding?"
He didn't take the phone.
He didn't move.
He just stared at me like he was fighting a war inside his mind.
His right hand trembled slightly as he finally grabbed the phone from my hand. "You need to forget what you saw."
"I cannot," I whispered. "That message… Liam, something is wrong."
His breathing changed. Faster. Shakier.
"Maya, listen to me."
I didn't move.
He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, but the pain in his shoulder made his face twist again.
"I cannot let the coach know. I cannot let my team know. I cannot let anyone see this. If they do…"
His voice cracked.
"Everything ends for me."
I felt my heart sink. "Why did you not tell someone? You could get hurt worse."
"I do not care about me," he said. "I care about the season."
Then he said something that made my chest tighten.
"You cannot tell. You cannot even hint. If anyone finds out, it will ruin everything."
I whispered, "Liam, this is serious. Your arm is not moving."
He looked away.
For the first time, he looked defeated.
"Maya…" he whispered, "if you say a word… I lose my future."
His voice broke.
"This is the only thing I have."
I stood there frozen, torn between fear and sympathy.
He turned toward the door, breathing shallow, his left arm still stiff and lifeless.
But before he could step out, his phone buzzed again in his hand.
He froze.
I froze.
A second message appeared.
My heart dropped as he read it.
Then he lifted his eyes to mine, and the fear in his face was worse than before.
"Maya..." he whispered, voice shaking, "they know something is wrong."
He turned his phone toward me.
The new message said:
We saw you wince today. Do not lie to us. Meet now.
My heart stopped.