After that library moment, everything seemed to slide back to normal — but it was a fragile normal, like walking on thin ice.
Nayla stopped sitting close. She stopped those lingering glances and soft touches that made Zen's chest flutter painfully. She buried herself in her books again, folding herself into the neat, safe world of study notes and textbook facts.
Zen laughed with her usual crowd, smoked her cigarettes behind the building as always, carried her tiredness like a secret weight no one could see.
But inside, everything was tangled.
Zen's heart was a storm of confusion. Why did Nayla pull away? Why did her absence feel heavier than her presence?
She caught herself replaying that library moment over and over — Nayla's fingers brushing hers, the softness of her voice, the sudden vulnerability that didn't fit the studious, composed girl Nayla usually was.
And then there was the jealousy — burning and bitter — when Nayla mentioned her crush.
Who is this girl? Zen wondered, restless and aching.
Nayla was a puzzle Zen couldn't solve. A riddle wrapped in silence and careful words.
And maybe — maybe Zen was afraid. Afraid that the feelings tangled inside her own chest were too raw, too loud, too dangerous.
So she smoked. She pushed away. She hid behind sarcasm and smoke, trying to keep her heart intact.
YOU ARE READING
The Script I Never Wrote
RomanceYou walked into a heart already shattered, thinking you could be the light that heals. But instead, you became the storm that tore open old wounds, breaking what was barely holding together. You promised salvation but left only devastation, pulling...
