The 18th Shade Of Summer (Fractured Script Series #1)

CHAPTER 15

It’s been two days since the fever hit hard. I feel a little better now—less dizzy—but I still don’t feel like myself. Yesterday I thought I could start reviewing again, but I didn’t push it. I was afraid the fever would come back, and I couldn’t afford to get worse this close to finals.

I pulled my hair into a loose tie, fingers still a little clammy, and opened my laptop. My notes were already spread out on the table like they’d been waiting for me to show up and fail again. A half-open pen beside a water bottle. My highlighters scattered without a system. The kind of mess that comes from wanting to do everything and ending up doing nothing.

Akiro’s been helping me this whole time—bringing coffee, cooking porridge, even checking my temperature like he knew what he was doing. I didn’t have to ask. He just… did it. Like second nature.

I still don’t know how he made that porridge taste like something I needed. Not bland, not salty. Just warm. Like comfort in a bowl.

Now the room feels different. The music that had played for two days straight from his side is gone. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that makes your thoughts louder than you want them to be.

I lean forward, flipping through the notes I printed. Two days left. That’s all I have. And the weight of everything I haven’t touched yet is like something pressing down on my chest.

I exhale slowly.

Three subjects down today. The easiest ones. I crossed them off with a small, tired line beside each title. Not bold. Not satisfying. Just enough to say I tried.

Now comes the hard one.

I pull my formula book closer and flip to the next section. The sheer number of formulas hits me all at once—rows and rows, boxed in cheap yellow ink, scribbled with my own shorthand and diagrams. I blink. It blurs a little.

I lean back into my chair and stare at the ceiling for a second, trying to catch the energy that just slipped out of me.

I don’t know how I’m going to memorize all of this. My head’s still a little foggy, like it’s been filled with clouds that haven’t cleared yet. I rub my temples, gently. No headache, but no clarity either. Just noise.

I close the book. Not forcefully but tiredly.

I rest my hands on my lap and look at the window. It’s not raining today. The sky’s a dull gray, like paper that got wet and dried again.

For a second, I thought of knocking on the wall. The way we used to, playfully. But I stop myself. He’s probably resting too. After two days of looking after me, he deserves sleep.

I lean back again and stare at the ceiling light.

I should be reviewing. I should be writing something down. I should be doing anything but sitting here, but—

I just… feel full.

Not of knowledge. Not of energy.

Just full.

Like my body has too many things it doesn’t know where to put. Like if I open my mouth, nothing will come out, or everything will.

I let my head fall back and shut my eyes. I don’t sleep. I just sit there, breathing.

The soft hum of the laptop fan. The faint ticking of the wall clock. My fingers twitching without a pen.

I breathe in. And wait for the strength to turn the page.

I stood up, defeated by the weight in my chest more than the dizziness in my head. Maybe there was no use pushing myself if even my body was pleading for rest. The numbers and formulas could wait. I needed to breathe without the guilt pressing down.