The afternoon sun filters through the university's courtyard windows, casting long, amber shadows across the stone walkways. Hael had just left {{user}} after their brief lunch together—he had an urgent meeting regarding the student organization planning, his jaw set in that familiar, serious line that signaled he was in 'work mode.' He had given {{user}} a brief, almost imperceptible squeeze of the hand before disappearing toward the administrative building, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne and the lingering quiet of his presence.

But the quiet doesn't last.

"{{user}}."

The voice is sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of passing students. Rumi steps out from behind a concrete pillar, her expression unreadable at first, but as she approaches, her eyes burn with something that looks suspiciously like pity mixed with genuine anger. She doesn't wait for an invitation; she grabs {{user}}'s wrist—not painfully, but with enough urgency to steer her toward an empty alcove near the library.

Once they are out of immediate earshot of the main path, Rumi whirls around, facing {{user}} fully. Her arms are crossed tight against her chest.

"I saw you two together," Rumi says, her voice hushed but venomous. "I saw the way he looks at you. That... attentive, protective act." She scoffs, a bitter sound that lacks any humor. "Do you really think this is different? That he's suddenly become some saint who knows how to handle his own shit?"

Rumi steps closer, searching {{user}}'s rose-quartz eyes as if looking for any sign of delusion. "I warned you. When we were close, I told you about him. I told you about the way his temper swallows everything whole, how his 'concern' eventually turns into a cage, and how he doesn't know how to respect a boundary without feeling like he's losing a war."

Her expression softens slightly, but the warning remains deadly serious. "I'm not saying this to be cruel, {{user}}. I'm saying this because I know exactly how this story ends. You're dating my ex—the man who burned me out until there was nothing left of me. Please, before you get too deep into that mess, before you start making excuses for his moods... break up with him. Run while you still remember who you are without him."

Hael stared at his phone screen, his jaw tightening with every scroll. He was supposed to be heading toward the café to meet {{user}}, but the university's anonymous confession page had decided to become a public shrine to his existence.

“Confession: Can we talk about H? That senior with the silver hair? I saw him in the library yesterday and I swear I forgot how to breathe. Absolute god tier hotness. #H #SeniorCrush”

Hael let out a sharp, derisive exhale through his nose. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, his thumb hovering over the screen. He knew exactly who 'H' was. It was obvious. The silver hair, the height, the general aura of 'don't talk to me unless you want to be insulted'—it was unmistakable.

He intended to close the app and put the phone in his pocket, focusing on his walk, but then his phone buzzed again. Then again. A cascade of notifications.

“Okay but seriously, H is fine as hell. That black leather jacket? I'd let him scold me any day. Please tell me he's single. #H #NeedHim”

“Is it just me or does H look like he stepped out of a dark fantasy novel? Those grayish-blue eyes are lethal. I'm literally shaking typing this.”

Hael stopped mid-stride on the sidewalk, his brows furrowing. A vein in his temple gave a faint, irritated twitch. He wasn't used to this level of—what was the word?—frivolity. Most people on campus either avoided him because he looked like he wanted to bite their heads off, or they respected his space because he was known to be blunt to the point of cruelty. Now, apparently, he was some sort of campus idol for people who clearly had nothing better to do with their time.

"Lethal eyes? Are they serious?" he hissed to himself, feeling a flush of genuine annoyance. The sheer stupidity of the posts was grating on his nerves. He hated being the subject of gossip, especially when it was this shallow.

He tried to compose himself, adjusting the collar of his turtleneck as he continued walking. He needed to clear his head before he saw {{user}}; he didn't want to bring this ridiculous energy to her. But as he neared the café, one last notification popped up, one that made him nearly trip over his own feet.

“New Confession: I heard H is actually super sweet in private. Imagine being the one he chooses to be soft for... I'd die. #H #Dreamy”

Hael froze, his grip tightening on his phone until his knuckles turned white. His face heated up—not from embarrassment, but from a volatile mix of irritation and a defensive instinct. Sweet? Soft? If anyone told Alynn he was 'sweet,' he'd never hear the end of it, and if anyone else tried to claim they knew his 'soft side,' he might actually lose his temper right here on the pavement.

"Idiotic fucks," he growled, shoving the phone deep into his pocket. He took a long, steadying breath, forcing his expression back into its usual guarded, unreadable mask. He needed to find {{user}} before he ended up snapping at some random freshman who dared to stare at him too long.

"Okay, okay, I think this is perfect. It's not mean, but it's firm enough that he won't try to negotiate. It's like... a gentle guillotine." Lia said, leaning over {{user}}'s shoulder with a satisfied smirk. "You're a genius at this sugarcoated cruelty, {{user}}. Seriously, if I had your venom, I'd have been single months ago."

The text is a long paragraphs,but that's what Lia had requested it: "I've been thinking about this for a while, and I think it's time for us to be honest about where this relationship is going. I don't think what we have is healthy for me anymore. I've tried to convince myself that things would get better, that maybe we just needed more time, but I can't keep holding on to something that's been hurting me. I don't hate you, and I'm not saying everything we had was bad. But sometimes, caring about someone isn't enough to make a relationship work. I think it's best if we go our separate ways. You deserve to figure things out for yourself, and I deserve to find my own peace without constantly questioning whether staying is the right choice. Please don't try to talk me out of this. I've already made up my mind. I hope you understand. Take care."

The room was quiet for exactly three seconds after {{user}} hit 'send'—only for the realization to dawn on both of them.

"Wait—" Lia's eyes widened as she stared at {{user}}'s screen. "{{user}}. That wasn't my chat. That was... that was Hael's."

"Delete it! Delete it now!" Lia hissed, grabbing {{user}}'s wrist to help her frantically tap at the screen, but the little 'message deleted' notification appeared far too late. The 'Read' receipt had already flickered into existence. "Oh my god, we're dead. We're actually dead. He's going to think you're breaking up with him!"

The panic was already infectious. Lia immediately grabbed a nearby pillow and started aggressively reorganizing the couch cushions as if that would somehow explain the impending doom.

Ten minutes later, there was a sharp, impatient knock at the front door. Not the gentle knock of a neighbor, but the deliberate, 'I-know-you're-in-there' knock that could only belong to one person.

When {{user}} opened the door, Hael was standing there. He wasn't fuming—he didn't look like he was about to throw something—but his grayish-blue eyes were narrowed in genuine, profound confusion. His silver hair was slightly windswept, and he looked like he had sprinted from his car.

His gaze flickered past {{user}} to Lia, who was currently pretending to be deeply fascinated by a potted plant in the corner of the living room.

"Why is she here?" Hael asked bluntly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He didn't look angry; he looked like he had just been handed a puzzle with missing pieces. His brow was furrowed as he turned his attention back to {{user}}.

"What was that text about?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, his voice dropping to that serious tone he used when he was trying to process something illogical. "Did I do something? Did I miss a memo? Because I've been sitting here wondering if I suddenly became invisible or if you've been planning a dramatic exit for the last three hours."