STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO OF MANDATORY FESTIVALS, JAIL BOOTH SCAMS, AND THE PRESIDENT

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"You people are unhinged," I muttered.

"You're the one at the center of a campus fanfic war," Mico said calmly, not looking up. "Statistically, this is inevitable."

I was about to launch myself into the nearest garbage bin when the crowd near the west stairs parted.

And like a curse I couldn't escape—he appeared.

Khaizer Dylan Dela Vega.

President Mode: Activated. Sharp uniform, sleeves perfectly rolled, clipboard in one hand, unreadable expression on his face. The High Chamber followed behind him like trained shadows.

He didn't look at me.

He didn't have to.

Because when his gaze swept the courtyard and paused—just for a second—I stopped breathing.

Only a second. Barely there. But it scorched.

"Uh," Jodie whispered, "did you two just act out an entire teleserye in three seconds or—?"

I shoved a cupcake in my mouth and walked away before I imploded.

And then came the jail.

No, really. The Jail Booth.

I was minding my business, on my way back from the snack stall, when two second-years in cardboard police hats blocked me.

"Violation!" one shouted gleefully. "Red shirt on Fire Day! That's a theme clash!"

"Excuse me?" I blinked. "I'm wearing maroon!"

"Rules are rules, Ate!" they said cheerfully—and slapped handcuffs on me.

I stared at the plastic cuffs. "WHAT KIND OF SCAM—"

"Jail Booth policy! You'll have to sit until someone posts your bail!"

Ten minutes later, I was still inside a booth shaped like a cardboard prison cell, slumped on a plastic chair while two underclassmen painted flames on the walls.

I stared at my phone.

No response.

No read receipts.

KD's name sat quietly at the top of my messages.

I didn't want to care.

But I still called him.

Pathetic, I thought. Absolutely pathetic.

Then the cuffs clicked open.

"You're free!" one of the kids beamed. "Someone paid your bail!"

I stepped out—and nearly choked.

"What took you so long?" I said, glaring.

KD stood there, arms crossed, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

"Have you been locked in there this whole time?" he asked like he'd just bumped into me at a grocery store.

"YES," I hissed. "I was stuck there forever! You took so long to show up!"

"My bad, Miss Jail Queen," he said, walking beside me. "My phone was on silent. Didn't see the message right away."

I smacked his arm. "I hate you."

He didn't flinch.

Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice dipping just enough to knock the sense out of me.

"And yet..." he said softly, "you still called me to save you."

I stared at him, mouth parting, brain short-circuiting.

We stopped at a noodle stall. I ordered enough food for a village. He paid no attention—just leaned back, arms folded, eyes on me.

You're not eating?" I asked, pointing at the skewers.

"With how you look right now?" he replied. "Looks like that's not even enough for you."

"You're so mean," I muttered, half-eating, half-sulking.

But he didn't tease me after that.

He just watched.

Quiet. Gentle.

Like the rooftop wasn't far behind us. Like the echo of I missed you still hung between us.

"You really enjoy seeing me suffer, huh?" I said, stabbing a dumpling.

"And I'm starting to think," he said with a smile, "you don't really mind when I save you."

Before I could throw a fishball at his forehead, his phone buzzed again.

He checked it.

High Chamber updates.

Duty calls.

He stood slowly, face shuttering back into Ice President.

"Go," I said quietly. "Mr. President things."

But before he turned—

He leaned close.

Just enough.

"Don't worry," KD whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Then he ruffled my hair and left.

Leaving me with cold dumplings—

—and a heart that had no idea what to do with itself.

This man was going to kill me.

And honestly?

I wasn't sure I wanted to stop him.

KD's POV

I didn't need to look back.

I could already picture her face—murder in her eyes, confusion on her lips, heart doing things she'd never admit.

She still called me.

That's all I needed to know.

Not because I needed to be her hero.

But because she still let me be the one to show up.

And I would.

Every single time.

"I told her—I wasn't going anywhere."

And I meant it.

Because I wasn't planning to.

Not from her.

Not now.

Not ever.