Jay's POV
Returning to school was supposed to feel familiar.
It didn't.
The moment my car stopped inside the parking lot , I knew something inside me had shifted permanently. The building was the same—tall, imposing, proud of its legacy. The iron gates still carried the weight of years of discipline and rebellion alike.
Students still poured in laughing, arguing, living in moments that once defined my entire world.
But I wasn't the same person who had walked through those gates before.
I stepped out alone.
No driver hovering nervously.
No bodyguard scanning the crowd.
No one beside me.
Just me—and the quiet decision to keep it that way.
The moment I appeared, the atmosphere changed. Conversations dipped. Eyes turned. Whispers threaded through the morning air like smoke.
"I wonder how she survived it all "
"She has really got some nerve "
"I really like her car "
"I know you like it, but just think, how she got it , is she something like a mafia "listening to it , I smirked. Well in joke also , you said something which is true . 😏
"That's Jay…"
"She's back?"
"From Section E?"
"Why does she look like that?"
I didn't slow down. I didn't lift my chin arrogantly either. I simply walked forward, heels clicking softly against the stone path, my expression unreadable.
Section E stood near the corridor—exactly where they always did.
My old section.
My old chaos.
My almost-family.
Faces I once knew by heart stared at me openly now. Surprise. Confusion. A few hopeful looks. A few guarded ones. Someone even took a step forward, as if to call my name.
I didn't look at them.
Not because I hated them.
Because I needed distance.
Because the girl who used to belong there had learned something the hard way—attachment could be used as a weapon, as a leverage.
So I walked past them.
Straight ahead.
No pause.
No acknowledgment.
The silence I left behind was louder than any confrontation.
Inside the classroom, the air smelled faintly of chalk and old paper. Desks were arranged like no one reallycared about it , the same seating chart as always. Students shuffled into their places, sneaking glances at me like I was an unsolved equation.
I chose a seat by the window, far from everyone else.
Alone.
Sunlight spilled across the desk, illuminating years of etched initials and careless scratches. I placed my bag down carefully and sat, posture straight, hands calm. My heart didn't race. My thoughts didn't spiral.
I was… steady.
I took out my headphones and started to listen music on full volume.
Sir Alvin entered a moment later, clearing his throat. "Settle down, everyone."
The room quieted.Sir done the roll call .
The lecture began.
For the first time since I could remember, I actually listened.
Not half-listened. Not tuned it out while planning my next move or replaying conversations in my head.
I listened.
When the teacher began explaining the topic, I reached into my bag and pulled out a notebook. The paper was crisp, unused. My pen felt heavier than it should have.
And then—I started taking notes.
Neat. Focused. Intentional.
I wrote like someone who wasn't just passing time, but reclaiming it.
Every word felt grounding. Every sentence reminded me that control didn't only come from power—it came from discipline. From choosing where your attention lived.
I didn't speak to anyone.
Not once.
I didn't react when someone whispered my name. I didn't look up when a chair scraped nearby, I pretended to keep my face straight when Ci n was hesitating whether to sit closer to me.
I wanted to call him out , to say that I forgive him , but I could not because if I did that everyone will start to explain everything and I am not ready for it.
So , I studied to keepmymind divertedfrom everything.
.
And the strange thing was—I liked it.
By the time the lunch bell rang, my notebook was filled. My mind felt clear in a way it rarely did. Purpose had a calming effect when you let it.
Students immediately erupted into noise, standing, laughing, moving in groups.
I stayed seated.
Calmly, I pulled out my phone.
I'd already spoken to the principal earlier that morning for the approval to go to the cafeteria for lunch. Permissions were arranged. Rules bent—quietly, professionally. Power didn't always need to announce itself.
I typed a single message into the group chat.
Cafeteria now.
No explanations.
I packed my things and walked out.
The cafeteria buzzed with sound when I entered—trays clattering, voices overlapping, the usual chaos of lunchtime. Heads turned when they saw me, but this time I didn't mind.
I chose the largest table near the center.
Then I sat down.
One by one, they arrived.
Chloe was first.
She stopped short when she saw me sitting alone, brows lifting slightly. "So… this is how it's going to be?"
I smiled faintly. "Sit."
She did, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "You really ignored everyone today, didn't you?"
"I needed to," I replied simply.
Sebastian arrived next, sliding into the seat across from me, eyes scanning my face like he was checking for cracks. "You look… different."
"Good different?" I asked.
He smirked. "Dangerously focused different."
Aurora followed, her presence sharp and elegant as ever. She didn't ask questions. She just sat beside Chloe, crossing her legs. "So," she said coolly, "you finally decided to starve the noise."
Matteo—Leo—joined last, dropping his tray down and leaning back comfortably. "I saw the looks you got," he said. "Section E's confused."
"That was the point," I replied.
They exchanged glances, unspoken understanding passing between them.
For a moment, we just ate.
It felt strange—normal, almost. Like we were just students again, hiding from responsibilities that would eventually find us.
Then Chloe broke the silence. "You really didn't talk to anyone today."
"I talked to myself," I said. "That was enough."
Aurora studied me closely. "You're preparing."
"Yes."
"For London?" Seb asked quietly.
I nodded. "For everything."
Leo leaned forward. "You know ignoring them won't last forever."
"I know," I said. "But silence buys clarity. And clarity buys power."
Chloe smiled softly. "You always did learn fastest when you isolated yourself."
I met her gaze. "I learned what it costs to be accessible."
They didn't argue.
Because they knew.
We finished lunch together—laughing lightly at memories, sharing small updates, pretending for just a while that the world outside this table wasn't sharpening its knives.
When the bell rang again, we stood up as one.
Aurora glanced at me. "Stay safe, OK, and try not to burn the school.
I smiled—small, genuine. "No promises."
As I walked back toward class alone, I felt something settle inside me.
I wasn't running from who I used to be.
I was refining her.
School wasn't an escape.
It was a reminder—that even in a room full of people, the strongest choice you could make was knowing when to stand alone.
And I was very, very good at choosing my battles.
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