U STUPID FUCK @ador FUUUUCK U BRO FUCKUDKXUKDUXJDUKFUCKFUKCUFKCUKFUCKUFJCU U WHWRES MY BIAS BRO FUCK U. DANNNNIEEEEELLLLELELELEKFG COME HOME I MISS U SM
middle school began with rain, and ended with a regret that lingered long until graduation. after years apart, two former classmates unexpectedly find themselves sharing the same university. as fate brings them together once more, they’re forced to confront the memories they left behind and the words neither of them ever got to say.
pairings: student!sophia laforteza x student!female reader
genre: slowburn
part 1: !!
listen!
at first, it felt incidental.
danielle would arrive mid-afternoon, waving lightly as she approached the table, and some times sophia would be beside her, already adjusting to the rhythm of the group before anyone even acknowledged it.
no one made a big deal out of it. martin talked to her like she had always been there, shota barely changed at all, and danielle included her easily, without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
and slowly, it became that. a chair would be pulled out, a space would be made, and their voices would clash together in the conversation. she was even introduced to daniela even though that girl studied nowhere near your university.
but you never did the same, not once. you acknowledged her when needed. a nod, a glance, a short reply. nothing more.
and always—without deciding it consciously—you just kept your distance.
even in calculus lectures, even in group hangouts, even when the table naturally shifted to make room.
you never sat beside her, never stayed long enough in her space for it to become familiar again.
it wasnt because anyone/she had told you to stay away, but because your thoughts always pulled you back to that afternoon in tenth grade.
the sound of the broom hitting the floor, the chair scraping back too hard, sophia wincing, and the moment you ran.
so you stayed where you were, as if distance could rewrite what happened, as if she had ever asked for it in the first place.
—
danielle noticed it first. the way she noticed was not all at once, just in pieces. you sitting a little farther down the table than necessary. sophia pausing half a second before speaking to you, and you answering, but only after a delay. that didn’t exist when you talked to anyone else.
—
one afternoon after class, danielle dropped her bag onto the seat across from you.
sophia wasn’t there yet, martin and shota were somewhere else, arguing about something unimportant.
danielle leaned forward to you.
“hey,” she said casually while unwrapping her snack. “why don’t you sit next to sophia more?” you didn’t look up immediately but your pen kept moving.
“what?” you half replied. danielle shrugged.
“like, you two literally knew each other already, right?” you paused for half a beat at her words. then— “yeah.”
she tilted her head at you. “so why do you act like you don’t?”
that made your hand stop. danielle didn’t notice yet, she just kept on talking.
“it’s kinda funny actually. she sits with us like she’s always been here, but you still act like she’s new or something.” a small laugh left her.
“but like, you’re like politely avoiding her.” you finally looked up at her and said, “i’m not avoiding her.” like a defense.
danielle raised an eyebrow. “you kind of are though.” she leaned back slightly.
“i mean, you don’t sit beside her, you barely talk to her unless someone else is there, and you always look away first—”
she stopped mid-sentence, because she finally noticed your expression. you weren’t angry, nor were you disappointed at the topic.
you just looked uncomfortable.
danielle blinked, her voice got softer a little.
“did something happen between you two?” her question landed differently to you. because it wasn’t that something had happened between the two of you. it was more on what you did.
your fingers tightened slightly around your pen, and for a second, the table around you felt further away than it actually was.
you answered too quickly.
“no.” danielle nodded slowly at that, not fully believing it. she looked down at her food, then back up again.
“it’s just weird,” she smiled, “because if something had happened between the two of you, why hasn’t she said anything?”
that part made something in your chest shift, because you were aware of that. sophia never avoided you. she had just adjusted around you.
like your distance was something she had learned to recognize and respect without questioning it.
danielle tapped her spoon lightly against her cup.
“you know,” she added, trying to lighten it again, “she actually asked me once. like, out of nowhere. she just said, ‘did i make her uncomfortable?’” a small laugh left danielle’s mouth, not the kind that found anything funny, the kind that wanted to ease the small tension in the air.
“and i told her no, you’re just like that with everyone.” she looked at you, “but honestly, you’re not though.”
silence finally settled properly this time.
“wait.” her voice dropped slightly.
“are you actually okay? with her joining, i mean.” you didn’t answer immediately. you couldn’t answer. because if you were being honest, you weren’t okay with sophia bring near you at all. how could you even be okay?
“it’s just…”
you stopped for a moment, because for a second, it felt strange hearing your own voice shape it.
danielle didn’t interrupt, she just waited.
you exhaled slowly.
“…back in tenth grade,” you said, quieter now, “when you weren’t around yet. before you transferred.”
your fingers tightened around your pen, you didn’t look at her. you couldn’t, really.
“sophia and i… we got into a fight somehow.” you swallowed.
“it was mostly me.” your voice dropped further.
“i pushed her. she stumbled. she fell.”
“i was mad and i left her there,” you added, almost like an explanation you didn’t deserve to give.
another pause as your throat felt like crushing, but you kept going anyway.
“and after that… i came back to school like normal, but then she wasn’t there anymore.”
you finally looked up, briefly, and danielle wasn’t smiling anymore. you continued, because stopping felt worse.
“when i came back to school, you were there already. you…” you hesitated, jaw tightening, “—replaced her seat.” that word sat wrong immediately inside you.
replaced. you shook your head slightly.
“i thought she transferred schools.” your voice cracked a little at the edge.
the silence you left was longer this time. you stared down at the table, at your spoon that was untouched, and at your hands that was still.
then softly, almost like it wasn’t meant to be said to anyone at all.
“i kind of bullied sophia.”
“which led her to switch classes. which i thought back then meant she had transferred schools,” you added.
danielle didn’t speak right away, not because she didn’t hear you, but because she was still trying to understand how something that quiet had been sitting inside you this whole time without anyone noticing.
then she shook her head.
“…i don’t think that’s the right word.” you looked up immediately.
“it is.” she frowned at your response, then looked at her food.
“i mean…” she hesitated.
“you pushed her and that’s wrong.”
you nodded, whilst playing with the cap of your pen.
“but…” she paused, like she was choosing each word one at a time. “i just—that’s not what confuses me now.”
you looked at danielle and she met your eyes.
“…it’s sophia.” she says.
“what about her?”
she frowned a little deeper. “she doesn’t act scared of you, given that you said you bullied her.”
your stopped playing with your pen as danielle looked away for a moment. thinking.
“actually…” she raised her head to meet your eye. “she never acts uncomfortable, it feels more like she’s trying to be careful around you”
you stayed silent and she continued.
“she sits with us, she talks to everyone.”
“and…” she stopped. “…she really looks at you a lot.” your chest tightened again. “what?”
danielle blinked. “you never noticed?”
you didn’t answer, because no. you hadn’t. you were too busy avoiding her gaze, how could you even notice. danielle leaned back in her chair.
“i mean, not in a weird way, but whenever you’re around.” she huffed.
“she looks at you.” you stared at her, speechless, then danielle said something that made your stomach drop.
“if i’m being honest…” she looked back at you. “if that afternoon really affected her as much as you think…”
she thought for a moment, trying to decide on whether should the words come from her or should it be said by sophia herself. because danielle wasn’t sure what sophia could be thinking now that she became aware of the story.
“why does she keep on coming with me? like keeps on hanging out with us?”
you blinked and your mind immediately answered.
because danielle invites her.
you looked away immediately.
“that’s different.” danielle frowned at your choice of words. “how?”
“you keep on inviting her and because she’s nice.” danielle stared at you and you continued before she could answer.
“that’s literally it.” your fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of your cup in front of you.
“that doesn’t mean anything.”
danielle stayed quiet so you kept talking, because now that the words had started coming out, they refused to stop.
“that day, after i pushed her, she was still nice to me and up until now.” your voice lowered at the last, then you exhaled.
“y/n.”
you looked away, “you know. if i had been nicer back then.” you paused then you sniffed.
“i should’ve defended her.” the phrase sat there, unfinished.
there was nothing else to add. you couldn’t change tenth grade. you couldn’t walk back into that classroom. you couldn’t unpush her. you couldn’t unhear her saying those things about herself.
danielle sat quietly for a moment, then she spoke, “do you want to know something weird?” you looked at her.
“she never talks about middle school, like any details of it. if someone mentions it, she answers, but she never brings it up herself.” she looked down at her palm, thinking.
“and i don’t think she likes talking about it.”
your teeth gritted against each other, then danielle said something softer. “but whenever your name comes up…” she chuckled lightly. “she never looks upset.”
you stared at her because somehow that didn’t make anything feel lighter.
because anger made sense, resentment made sense, avoidance made sense. but quiet? quiet was just impossible to interpret.
“i’m not saying this so you’ll suddenly become friends again or so you’ll stop avoiding her.” she shook her head.
“i’m just saying…” she looked at you. “…you might be remembering a version of sophia that doesn’t exist.”
she was right. the sophia in your head was still fifteen. still sitting on the floor. still holding onto the broom.
—
midterms ended on a friday.
by the time the last examination paper was collected, the entire lecture hall exhaled all at once.
someone cheered from the back. someone else groaned dramatically. a few students immediately stood up and left before the professor could even finish speaking.
you packed your things a little slower, your brain still somehow felt full. full of formulas, calculations, and information you were probably going to forget by next week.
then your phone vibrated.
(martin, danielle, daniela)
drinks at my house tonight
another message followed immediately.
nobody is allowed to say no
you chuckled, then the group chat exploded.
LETS GOOOOOOOO
im bringing chips
a small smile tugged at your lips before you locked your phone, then stood up.
outside, the weather was unusually pleasant, the air felt lighter somehow. like everyone had been given permission to breathe again.
—
martin’s house looked exactly how you remembered. warm lights spilled through the windows while music echoed faintly from inside.
someone had already opened the gate before you arrived.
you stepped in.
“y/n!” martin waved dramatically from the patio.
“you’re late.” he says.
“i’m literally on time.” you rolled your eyes.
“still late.”
you rolled your eyes.
danielle laughed from beside him. “he’s been saying that to everyone.”
you slipped your shoes off near the doorway and walked inside.
shota was already sprawled across the couch. “i’m dead.” he says, mimicking a corpse.
“same.” you replied as you lay beside him. “midterms took ten years off my lifespan.” you added.
“mine too.” danielle dropped herself beside you as she says, “i don’t even remember my own name anymore.”
martin pointed toward the kitchen. “food’s there! get your lazy asses up and drink!”
everyone immediately stood up.
—
an hour passed, then another, music played quietly in the background.
from time to time, you looked around the room.
martin argued over your movie recommendation,
daniela laughed too loudly,
shota nearly spilled a drink, trying to steal fries from someone else’s plate,
danielle was grilling food.
and sophia.
sophia was laughing at eveything that was happening.
—
another hour passed.
and eventually, exhaustion won.
martin passed out first.
someone had left the television running.
the lights around the pool reflected softly against the water outside.
“i’ll just buy pocari sweat.” you muttered, mostly to yourself.
nobody answered, everyone was deep asleep already. you expected it from them. it wasn’t the first time they all passed out, leaving you awake. meaning you’d be in charge of cleaning.
you grabbed your wallet and walked toward the nearest convenience store.
—
when you returned, nothing had changed. except it was quieter now.
then noticed something, there was still alcohol left. you stared at it for a second, then grabbed the bottle.
you walked outside and sat beside the pool. the water rippled gently beneath the lights and by your feet.
you took a sip. then another.
your shoulders slowly loosened.
the silence almost felt deafening.
then—
“mind if i join you?”
you almost flinched. your head snapped toward the voice.
sophia stood a few steps away, one hand holding a bottle of water while the other rested inside the pocket of her hoodie.
“oh.” you blinked. “yeah— i mean sure—go ahead.”
she nodded once, smiling lightly. “thanks.”
then she sat beside you, leaving enough space between the two of you that it didn’t feel intrusive.
the pool lights reflected against the water, making small ripples dance across both your faces.
neither of you spoke.
from inside the house came the distant hum of an air conditioner and the occasional shifting noises of someone asleep on the couch.
you looked down at the bottle in your hands while she looked at the water.
the silence settled naturally at first. then a little too long.
you cleared your throat.
“don’t you feel sleepy yet?”
“not really.” she turned slightly toward you. “my tolerance’s high.”
you hummed awkwardly. “oh.” your fingers traced the condensation dripping from the bottle. “that explains it.”
a small laugh escaped her. “yeah.”
you nodded, then looked back at the water.
another silence followed, not uncomfortable exactly. it was like both of you were waiting for the other person to decide what this conversation was supposed to be.
you glanced toward the house. “everyone’s completely gone.”
she followed your gaze. “i think martin passed out first.”
you chuckled quietly. “he did.”
she smiled. “he was trying to sing twenty minutes ago.” another small laugh left her, then it faded. the silence returned once more.
the night breeze passed between you. you adjusted your grip on the bottle while she adjusted her glasses.
and for some reason, despite sitting right beside her now, it still felt like there were years sitting between the two of you.
you stared at the water for a moment.
“you still wear glasses.” the moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
because obviously she still wore glasses.
sophia blinked, then let out a small laugh. “i do.”
you looked away immediately. “sorry.”
“for what?”
“that was a weird thing to say.”
she smiled a little. “it’s okay.”
you hummed. “i didn’t know what else to say.”
“that’s okay too.”
you nodded once.
the pool lights reflected against the underside of her glasses for a brief moment before disappearing again.
“my eyesight got worse actually.” she said.
“really?”
she nodded. “yeah.”
“too much studying?”
“probably or too much staring at screens.” she laughed quietly.
you smiled a little.
then the silence returned.
you took another sip from the bottle. “danielle says you study all the time.”
she looked over. “she exaggerates.”
“does she?”
“a little.”
you huffed quietly. “she said you explain everything to her.”
“sometimes.”
“that sounds exhausting.”
a laugh escaped her. “it kind of is since some people in the lecture joins our study.”
“then why do you still do it?”
she thought about it for a moment. “i don’t know.” she shrugged. “since they ask?”
you nodded.
she’s still the same way she had always been.
your fingers tightened around the bottle. the realization settled slowly. all these years and she was still the same person. and somehow that made everything kind of blurry.
because she had remained kind and you remembered being cruel.
you swallowed. the words sat at the back of your throat now, the ones you had been carrying since tenth grade.
you stared at the water, then quietly murmured,
“…sophia.”
she turned toward you. “hm?”
you looked down at the bottle in your hands. your fingers pressing against the plastic hard enough to make it crinkle.
the apology was already there, you just didn’t know how to say it yet.
she waited.
your eyes remained fixed on the water.
“…do you ever think about middle school?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.
sophia stopped, then looked back at the pool. “sometimes.”
you nodded. “i do too.”
she hummed softly. “yeah?”
you nodded once. “from time to time.”
she didn’t say anything after that.
the night breeze brushed past both of you. your fingers absentmindedly peeled at the label wrapped around the bottle.
“i used to think you transferred schools.” you said.
she turned her head slightly. “…why?”
you laughed awkwardly. “when i came back after getting sick…” you paused. “…danielle was sitting there already.”
you motioned toward the empty air between you. “so i just…” you shook your head “kind of assumed.”
beside you, sophia went still. she blinked once, then again, and slowly, almost painfully, her brows drew together.
“…you were sick?”
you looked over. “hm?”
“back then.” she adjusted her glasses, but her hand trembled just enough for you to notice. “…you got sick?”
you blinked twice. “oh.” you looked back at the water. “yeah, i had a fever.” you shrugged. “my mom wouldn’t let me leave the house.”
sophia didn’t answer right away. the silence stretched, thin and uneasy, until it felt like she was holding her breath. “…for how long?”
“five days.” you answered. “i think.”
sophia stared at you, her face had gone pale in a way that made your stomach twist. “five days.”
you nodded. “yeah.” you gave a small, helpless laugh. “it was bad.” then you glanced at her. “why?”
she looked away almost immediately, like the question had burned. “…nothing.”
your brows furrowed. “nothing?”
she nodded too quickly. “mhm.”
you watched her for a moment. she was staring at the pool now, but it was obvious she wasn’t seeing it. her mouth had gone tight. her shoulders looked tense, drawn in on themselves.
then, in a voice so quiet it almost disappeared into the night, she said, “…i thought back then that you weren’t coming back.”
your grip around the bottle loosened. “huh?”
she let out a small, shaky laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all. “nothing dramatic.” she shook her head, but her eyes were glossy now, fixed stubbornly ahead. “it’s just—” she swallowed. “—you suddenly stopped showing up.”
the night breeze passed between you.
she pressed her lips together, like she was trying to keep something from spilling out.“and because of what happened…”
she stopped herself.
“i thought back then that… i was the reason.”
you stared at her. speechless.
her words landed with a weight you hadn’t expected, and all at once her expression made sense.
the fear she’d been hiding, the guilt she’d been carrying alone, and the way she’d looked at you like she was bracing for something terrible.
she laughed quietly again, but this time it sounded fragile, almost embarrassed
“—that sounds silly.” she blurts out.
your throat immediately tightened. because no. it didn’t sound silly at all. it sounded awful.
because for five days, while you were sick at home, she had been living inside a completely different story, thinking she had driven you away.
then another silence followed.
you hated how familiar it was becoming. because every time things became quiet, your thoughts drifted back there.
“i’m sorry.” the words came out so quietly that for a moment, you weren’t even sure if you’d said them aloud.
sophia looked at you. you couldn’t meet her eyes.
“…for that afternoon, and for everything else.” your voice scraped against your throat.
she didn’t answer immediately and somehow, that made your chest tighten.
because after she disappeared, you had imagined this moment and every version ended with her being angry.
but instead, she looked down at her hands. then at the water, then quietly said,
“…okay.”
you blinked, your eyebrows furrowed a little. “…okay?”
she nodded.
you stared at her. “…that’s it?”
a small laugh escaped her. “…what else am i supposed to say?”
you opened your mouth, then closed it again. truthfully, you didn’t know either.
the pool water shifted softly beside the tiles. and for a while, neither of you spoke. then you gulped a drink from the beer, trying to gather up courage.
“…then why did you sit next to me?” the tension somehow eased after you asked that.
sophia raised her head. “hm?”
“in tenth grade.” you adjusted your grip around the bottle resting on your knee.
“you could’ve sat anywhere.” you said, shrugging awkwardly. “i’ve always wondered.”
sophia stared at the water. for a minute, you thought she wouldn’t answer. then she laughed quietly to herself.
“i don’t know if you’ll remember this.” she smiled lightly.
you frowned. “remember what?”
she glanced at you. “seventh grade.”
you shook your head. “i barely remember seventh grade.”
“yes, that makes sense.” her grin softened.
“it was during lunch and there was this dog.”
you titled your head. “a dog?”
“mhm.” she nodded.
“one of the stray dogs near the canteen.”
you stared at her. “okay…?”
“martin was bothering it.” a laugh escaped you immediately at that, clearly picturing martin.
“he kept trying to grab it.” she continued.
“then someone ran across the courtyard.”
you took another gulp from the bottle. “and?”
“and she tackled him.”
you nearly choked. “what?”
sophia pointed at you. “you.”
you lowered the bottle slowly. “me?”
“yeah.” she chuckled.
“no way.”
“yes way.”
you stared at her.
“what?”
“i did not tackle martin.”
she laughed. “you absolutely did.”
and suddenly— the memory came rushing back. the dog barking, martin crying, you gripping his uniform, some classmates cheering, and a teacher shouting from somewhere.
your brows furrowed while your hand reached the back of your head. “oh my god.”
sophia immediately pointed at you. “see?” she then laughed.
“do you remember now?”
you covered your face. “yes.” the embarrassment hit you all over again.
“i was so mad.”
“you were terrifying.”
“i was twelve.”
“you punched him.”
you looked up immediately. “it was one punch.”
“it was still a punch.”
“he was pulling the dog’s tail then threw rocks at it.” you defended.
“he still got hurt.”
“he deserved it.”
sophia laughed harder.
you groaned as more memories came flooding back from that time. “then both our parents got called to the guidance office.”
“wait, seriously?”
“yeah, i got grounded for like a whole month after they talked to our parents.” you rubbed the back of your neck. “and our moms somehow became friends after that.”
sophia stared. “really?”
“i know.”
“then that’s how you became friends with martin?” she asked, as if flabbergasted.
“it’s funny how our friendship began. we became close when i got grounded, i argued with him a lot that time. i told him it was his fault i got into that situation.” you smiled at the memory.
she laughed again. you couldn’t help but laugh too.
the memory felt ridiculous now as back then it had felt like the end of the world. now it was just another stupid story.
sophia shook her head. “i remember thinking you were scary.”
“that’s rude.”
“you tackled someone.”
“he was bothering a dog.”
“still.”
you rolled your eyes, then looked at her.
“so that’s why you sat beside me?” the question slipped out and sophia’s laughter faded.
then she smiled. “kind of.”
you stared at her.
“kind of?”
she shrugged.
“its one of the reasons why.”
sophia looked down at your hand that was gripping the bottle of beer.
a small smile tugged at her mouth. “i thought you were nice, that’s one too.”
you squinted your eyes. “huh.” you exhaled the sound.
sophia looked down at the glass in her hands.
“do you remember the seventh grade field trip?”
you frowned immediately. “not really.”
“figured.”
“what happened?”
she laughed quietly. “nothing important.”
“then why bring it up?”
“‘cause i remember it and i saw you a lot that day.”
you hummed.
“it was five in the morning. everyone was asleep except you.”
you pointed at yourself. a smile appeared on her face.
“you, martin, and shota were the only one’s up and you guys were arguing.”
“about what?”
“i don’t know, i just woke up because of it.”
you chuckled and said, “sorry.”
“see?” she suddenly exclaimed.
“what?” you asked, confused.
“you said that too.”
you stared. “i did?”
she nodded. “i guess you noticed me stirring awake so you looked back, said sorry, then gave me candy.”
your face immediately twisted. “why would i do that?”
“because i looked annoyed.”
“that’s a terrible reason to give somebody candy.”
“well, it worked.”
you laughed. “i don’t remember any of this.”
“i know.” she said it lightly, then she continued, “later at the theme park.”
you groaned. “what did i do now?”
“nothing much.”
“that’s suspicious.”
“i saw you dragging martin and shota almost everywhere. they looked exhausted while you looked really happy.”
you opened your mouth, then closed it. because why did it feel significant to her for her to remember?
sophia smiled slightly. “you kept leading them ahead.”
“that’s normal.” you replied, remembering the days where you always walked first for shota and martin.
“not really.”
you raised an eyebrow. “how?”
she shrugged. “i don’t know. you just looked excited about everything.” the words settled.
you looked away. “that’s weirdly specific.”
“i guess.” she hums. silence followed, then she laughed to herself.
“there was a roller coaster too.”
you immediately pointed at her, clearly remembering something.
“you cried.” you said.
“i was terrified.” she replied.
“i remember that one.” you grinned.
“of course you do.”
“it was funny.” you teased her.
“for you.” she lets out a sarcastic laugh.
she shooks her head. “i remember thinking you were mean.”
your face showed an unbelieving expression at her words.
“you laughed the entire ride.” she defended herself.
“because you kept screaming.”
“i thought we were gonna die.”
“it was a children’s roller coaster.”
“it was not.”
“it was.”
you both laughed.
then the laughter faded.
sophia’s gaze remained on the pool.
“that’s one of the reasons too.” she said quietly.
you looked at her. “that’s so random. i thought your reason would be something about me being smart.” you joked.
“yeah, it is random.” she replies.
but the truth sat unspoken between sophia’s words. because to you, they were random, but to sophia, they weren’t.
sophia’s jaw slightly clenched. “i just—” then she stopped. for a second there, she looked caught off guard by her own sentence, then she laughed
“after that, i just kept on seeing you around campus.” her smile weakened slightly, she rubbed her thumb against the bottle.
“you were always doing something.”
“that sounds insulting.”
“it is.”
you scoffed and she smiled. “you were loud.” sophia looked back at the water.
“and i just…” she continued. “i thought you were really cool.”
you froze because her words landed unexpectedly. her words felt unexpected.
she didn’t look at you. “every time i saw you, it was just you fighting with martin and you being quiet inside class. i couldn’t understand how you could be loud and quiet at the same time back then.”
the silence stretched and neither of you seemed eager to end it.
beside you, sophia picked up her glass full pf beer. she took a long drink. then another.
you watched her from the corner of your eye. she lowered the half empty glass and stared at the pool. her eyes glistened as she opened her mouth to speak.
“god, i should’ve stayed asleep.” she muttered.
you huffed a laugh. “if you did, then we wouldn’t be able to clear things up between us.”
sophia smiled faintly. “it’s not all cleared up.”
your brows furrowed. “what isn’t?”
she didn’t answer immediately. instead, she lifted the glass again and finished what remained. you watched her shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath.
then—
“because you still don’t know the reason why i was upset.” she seemed different now, as if the alcohol was now talking.
“what?”
sophia laughed softly, not amused. you felt her nervousness.
“back then.” she kept her eyes on the pool.
“when you pushed me.“
“sophia—” your stomach tightened immediately.
“—i know.” she shook her head. “i know you didn’t mean to, but that’s not the part where i felt hurt.”
you stared at her. “then what did?”
another long silence. she rubbed her thumb against the side of the glass then shrugged.
“i waited for you to come back since you had left your umbrella after you ran out.”
she laughed quietly which felt too painful for you to listen.
“i finished cleaning the room and then i went home.”
“i kind of hoped you returned that day, since i wanted to fix things.”
you couldn’t look at her as the words landed heavily between you.
“don’t be sorry.” as if she could read your thoughts. “if i hated you, i wouldn’t be here.”
your pulse suddenly felt too loud.
“if i wanted nothing to do with you, i would’ve left the moment i saw you again.” she laughed awkwardly.
“god.” her hand moved to cover part of her face. “i’m saying this so badly.” sophia went quiet.
the beer had made her honest. honest enough that the walls she’d spent years building were beginning to crack.
“i could still remember being stupidly happy whenever you moved your notebook toward me.”
“sophia—”
“because i liked you.”
the words slipped out naturally.
and the moment she realized what she’d said, she froze completely.
you stared at her. she stared at the pool, then she squeezed her eyes shut.
middle school began with rain, and ended with a regret that lingered long until graduation. after years apart, two former classmates unexpectedly find themselves sharing the same university. as fate brings them together once more, they’re forced to confront the memories they left behind and the words neither of them ever got to say.
pairings: student! sophia laforteza x student! female reader
genre: squint if you angst ND slowburn!
part 2
listen to!!
middle school began in the middle of rain season.
the concrete paths were still damp when you walked through the school gates for the first time. your shoes squeaked against wet pavement and the scent of rain clung stubbornly to the air, tangled with chalk dust and old books.
everything felt unfamiliar, different school, different buildings, different teachers, and different faces
you sat at an empty seat and watched people reunite with old friends. your friend shota was assigned in a different section so you had no one to talk to.
and then you saw her. you weren’t aware of who she was back then. just heard her name from your classmate who had shouted.
“sophia! sit here!”
she sat in the back for a while, then she moved as someone called her over, she laughed and then sat there instead.
five minutes later, she was standing again, leaning against another desk.
by lunch, she’d somehow spoken to almost everyone in class, including you.
it wasn’t loudness that made her known inside the classroom. it wasn’t popularity in the way television showed it either. she simply belonged wherever she stood, fitting in with every person possible.
throughout the whole school year, you only remembered watching her hand someone a pencil they’d dropped, you rememberer her wait for another student to finish speaking before answering. you remember her laughing loudly at something her friend had said.
you remembered things about her, just not enough to fully know her.
at that age, everyone wanted to be her friend. you somehow did too, because who wouldn’t? she was kind.
she was the kind of person that made space for others, the kind of person teachers trusted immediately, and the kind of person who remembered names after hearing them once.
you already had your own circle. friends you’d known for years. friends who occupied your lunch breaks, shared homework answers, and walked with you to dismissal every afternoon.
you weren’t lonely, so you had no reason to approach her since you never needed to.
then the year continued.
—
eighth and ninth grade passed by without much happening.
you’d exchange glances with your past classmates every now and then, the ones who got into a different section. some would ask for a pen. you’d pass worksheets to one another. nothing important that could linger. nothing much that changed your life.
meanwhile, some of your friends began talking about crushes at that year too. every day. every lunch break. every walk home.
“who do you like?”
the question circled around endlessly. you’d stare down at your food and think. then think some more. nobody came to mind.
it wasn’t because there weren’t any attractive people around. there were, but everyone just felt distant. like strangers.
and thinking of your own friends as a candidate? no. that was worse somehow. you couldn’t imagine yourself crossing that line.
you were content with people staying exactly where they were. friends remained as friends and classmates remained as classmates.
life stayed simple like that and you liked it that way.
—
the first few weeks of tenth grade passed quietly and also not.
at first, you assumed it was temporary and that sophia would eventually move seats. that one day she’d wake up and decide she’d rather sit with her friends.
yet every morning, she would arrive and place her bag beside yours. every morning without fail.
it happened so fast that it almost felt natural.
you only began noticing differences with everyone after a month.
sophia would stand from her seat, look around, then walk somewhere else, not toward the people she used to sit with, not toward the girls she always laughed with in the past years.
somewhere else and sometimes nowhere at all.
you never asked her about it, you weren’t close to begin with.
you couldn’t ask people the way they glanced at her when she walked by, the way their conversations would lower for a moment, and you never bothered to ask why she pretends not to notice.
eventually, an answer reached you without needing to ask as the walls of your classroom had a way of carrying stories from one mouth to another.
apparently, one of the boys from her circle had confessed to her and she said no.
that should’ve been the end of it. but it wasn’t. suddenly, things became awkward, then uncomfortable, then distant, then she wasn’t part of their circle anymore.
you never knew whose decision it was, was it hers or theirs. it wasn’t any of your business so you never bothered to know.
you never brought it up when she sits beside you, not once. she never did tried talking about it to anyone. if she wanted to tell someone, she would. if she didn’t, then she didn’t.
—
one morning, she arrived a little out of breath. she dropped her bag beside her chair.
you looked up then she sat.
you watched her take out her notebook. she squinted toward the board for a moment then blinked twice.
she sighed quietly. you remembered then that she wore prescription glasses, not strong enough to stop her from seeing entirely, but enough to make sitting near the back difficult.
she’d lean forward, sometimes she’d pause in the middle of writing because she couldn’t quite hear what the teacher said.
the classroom had always been loud. someone was always whispering. someone was always moving a chair. the ceiling fan added noise, humming relentlessly overhead.
eventually, without thinking much about it, you began helping her.
you’d slide your notebook slightly toward the middle just enough for her to see. she’d glance over, copy a formula or a sentence.
you’d answer the questions she never said but had lingered through her face.
“page forty-three.”
or
“deadline’s by friday.”
or
“we’re doing it by individual.”
just like that.
then one day, before she could even peek, you were already moving your notebook toward her, your notebook sat halfway between the two of you.
the teacher began speaking and class continued.
you never bothered to ask her why she chose that seat, because there probably wasn’t any reason. maybe she just simply needed somewhere to sit. you never thought much about it.
all you knew was that every morning, she’d come through the door, set her bag down beside yours, and sit there.
—
one morning, sophia wasn’t at her seat yet.
the day started as small. you were writing the date at the top of your notebook when someone approached your desk.
two girls. ones you recognized, they used to be close to sophia. they glanced toward the door first, probably making sure sophia wasn’t there, then they looked at you.
“you still sit with her?”
you searched their faces for something then responded, “what?”
they exchanged a look, then one gave a dirty look over sophia’s desk as the other leaned closer to you.
“you should stop.” she said while you just stared.
“what?” you asked again, not oblivious to the fact that they were the main reason why sophia was being casted out.
she lowered her voice, making the next words that was gonna come out of her mouth seem bad. “haven’t you heard? she’s a lesbian.”
her words hung there, you didn’t said anything so they took your silence as permission to continue.
“seriously, you should be careful.” said the girl who leaned.
“what if it catches onto you?” the other said.
you sat still, not knowing what response they wanted to get.
“piece of advice, you should really stay away from her, what if it caught onto you?” your lip twitched slightly. you glanced down at your notebook then back at them, they waited for a reaction.
you remained still and then sighed.
because what were you supposed to say?
you and sophia weren’t close. not really.
she just sat beside you, you just helped her with notes, that was all.
you didn’t know anything and didn’t want any trouble so you just said, “okay.” which pleased them and they walked away.
you thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t, because somehow, the story spread. it reached your own friends.
—
you found out during lunch. every one of your friends sat beneath the covered walkway. the smell of fried food and juice boxes filling the humid air.
shota leaned in just a little closer to you. “they talked to us.” you looked up at him.
“who?” you asked with a mouth full.
“sophia’s friends.” he replied.
you paused. “oh…?”
he hesitated before speaking and then sighed. “they said she’s a lesbian.”
daniela snorted at that while martin slumped his shoulders.
“that’s such a weird thing to say, like do we look like we care?” daniela said.
you stared at your lunch, your fingers absentmindedly peeled at the plastic wrapper around your spoon.
“they said we should tell you to stay away from her.” you stopped moving.
“apparently it’ll catch onto you.” he added.
you huffed quietly, not saying anything. it was not because you didn’t care. you simply did not know what to say.
“i don’t— we’re not friends. i just sit beside her.”
the conversation moved on after that.
someone began talking about homework. someone complained about a quiz. someone asked what everyone wanted to eat after school.
everything resumed.
but for some reason, your appetite was gone, you didn’t know why.
maybe because the entire thing felt unfair, maybe because she wasn’t there to defend herself, or maybe because nobody had ever asked her if it was true. people simply decided it for her, then punished her for it.
you gazed toward your classroom, through the open windows, and at sophia. her head hanged low while writing something in her notebook.
she looked unaware, but maybe she was aware. you couldn’t tell.
you watched her movements for a second, trying to catch a quick falter in her expression, then looked away. staring felt wrong, and truthfully, you didn’t know what to do.
you weren’t close.
that thought returned often.
you weren’t friends, you were not close enough to interfere, not close enough to ask, so you did the only thing you knew how to do.
you let everything be.
—
the next morning, she sat beside you. like always.
she adjusted her glasses, opened her notebook, and when the teacher began speaking over the noise of the classroom, she leaned slightly toward you, trying to look at what you were writing.
“we’re submitting the activity tomorrow.” you said quietky, careful to not interrupt the teacher speaking.
“oh, thank you.” she nodded and wrote it down.
class continued, and she also continued, as if nothing had happened at all. as if the people around hadn’t spent the last week trying to convince everyone there was something wrong with her.
maybe that was the strange part.
because despite all the noise around her, all the whispers, all the rumors, all the ugly words people kept throwing into the air.
nothing changed about sophia. every morning, she’d still sit inside that room.
—
a few weeks later that day, the teacher announced a group activity, immediately, the classroom erupted.
chairs scraping, people calling each other’s names, and friends gathering together before instructions were even finished.
you looked at the other end of the room where a classmate was calling for you, then toward sophia. she was writing the instructions down.
you walked towards the classmate who called you and sat there.
the teacher sighed seeing sophia.
“if you don’t have a group yet, i’ll assign you.” the question had rubbed you the wrong way and so did her tone.
it wasn’t cruel, not exactly, but it wasn’t warm either. just the kind where adults used when they already expected something to happen.
the room remained loud, too loud. people continued talking, continued gathering, continued laughing, while nobody looked at her, except for you.
sophia just sat there as if she hadn’t heard him.
you took your eyes off of her as something unpleasant settled in your stomach. you placed your look at your notebook instead, trying to read the instructions.
then unknowingly looked at her, sophia was still sitting there.
your fingers tightened around your pen. your heart had suddenly beat a little too fast.
you weren’t scared, you told yourself that.
you weren’t.
you didn’t know what to do. everyone knew now, about what people were saying about her, the rumors about her.
everyone knew she was being avoided, and still nobody had mentioned it out loud, because they were all participating in it. you were participating on it too.
so instead, everyone pretended not to notice, pretended it wasn’t happening.
she adjusted her glasses, then looked around the room.
everything that was happening right in front of you felt like a strange discomfort, like your body was urging you to suddenly puke.
then your classmate—rachel spoke again, “hey.” you looked up.
“hm?” you hummed in response.
“are you okay?” she asked.
“yeah.” she nodded, then continued talking something about the shop she was gonna go to later.
your attention drifted elsewhere again. now towards your chair. because now that you’ve seen the empty chair beside her, you couldn’t take your eyes off of it.
the teacher sighed once more, louder this time.
“does anyone have room for one more?”
the classroom suddenly felt too quiet.
nobody answered.
as you were about to raise your hand, you saw the dirty look someone gave you. as if her eyes could talk, saying ‘what are you doing?’
you looked down immediately. somehow you were weirded out. you couldn’t explain it, you just felt weird about this, of becoming part of the conversation. about becoming the target.
your fingers pressed harder against your pen scratching a small, uneven line across your notebook.
sophia looked as if she was used to what to expect from people, maybe that was the thing that bothered you the most.
the teacher tapped her shoes impatiently then grabbed the class list.
“alright.” she looked around the room.
“i’ll assign pairs instead.” immediately, groans erupted. people complained.
“aw man.”
“seriously?”
“we already made ours.”
“it’s harder to work by pair, not fair.”
“why can’t she just work by herself…”
you barely heard any of it.
sophia quietly closed her notebook then sat up straighter. things just felt worse. worse because she didn’t seem surprised anymore.
the teacher began calling out names to partner. then,
“y/n.”
you looked up.
“you’re working with sophia.
you blinked.
“okay.” your voice sounded smaller than usual.
you stood up, grabbed your notebook then walked back to your seat, the one beside hers.
“sucks to be her right now.” someone laughed quietly, but enough to be heard lightly.
“wouldn’t be surprised if she turns out to be you know.” someone whispered.
“nah, i’ve known y/n since elementary school, she’s straight. didn’t even had any crushes.”
whispers.
the teacher began speaking and the room settled down once more. the both of you placed your attention over the front. she squinted her eyes at your notebook, then got quiet
you pointed at the second paragraph written on your notebook..
“this one.”
she copied it down.
then class continued.
—
the rest of the afternoon passed by normally. outside, sunlight slowly shifted across the windows until the entire room almost turned golden.
the final bell rang.
chairs screeched against the floor. students immediately rushed toward the doorway. bags slung over shoulders. laughter echoing down the hallway.
within minutes, the room emptied.
it wasn’t entirely empty since you remained and so did sophia. your row was assigned to clean the classroom for the day but everyone else had already left.
their chairs still out of place. trash still beneath the desks. they bailed because they didn’t want to help her.
sophia picked up a broom.
“i’ll do this side.” you said as you grabbed another broom.
“okay.” she replied.
the rest of the cleaning was quiet.
and then,
“you can go home if you want.” you heard her say. you looked up at her and she wasn’t looking at you, she was just sitting, sweeping beneath the desks.
“it’s okay.”
“i don’t want you get avoided too.”
you had completely stop moving now, but she continued sweeping like she’d said something completely normal.
your grip tightened around the broom. “…what?” you exhaled.
she shrugs, still not looking at you.
“it’s okay.”
“you don’t have to stay.”
“you don’t have to feel sorry for me.” she said. your jaw clenched as she kept on talking.
“and i’m sorry you’re paired with me.”
something heavy settled inside your ribs hearing those, because it wasn’t her previous friends talking, it wasn’t the rumors talking, it wasn’t the classmates talking.
it was just her saying those things to herself now.
you dropped the broom, the sound echoing in the room. you walked over her, pushing the table beside her.
she looked up abruptly.
you shook your head hard. “stop saying that.”
she blinked. “…saying what?” she had also stopped cleaning.
“what you just said. stop saying that.”
she glanced down and laughed awkwardly.
“i’m just—” she blurts out, trying to lie. you cut her off without thinking, “—it’s not funny.”
she blinked again.
“…okay.” there it was, like a reflex. like she had learned it was safer to agree. you exhaled sharply, your frustration rising too fast and too suddenly.
“why are you saying that?” you shot out. her brows drifted together, confused.
“…because it’s true.” she said, almost like a question.
your hand gripped the edge of the table.
“no, it isn’t.” what?
you swallowed another response.
sophia stood up and wiped the corners of her uniform. “i know some are worried about you.” she admitted.
you looked at her in disbelief. “…what?”
she shrugged, still avoiding your eyes.
“they keep telling people to stay away from me and i can’t blame them for that.” you stared at her as your expression hardened.
then she said it.
“but don’t worry, i won’t turn you like this.”
something snapped inside you when she said that. the helplessness and frustration collided inside your chest. it was too big to handle.
“i told you stop saying that!” you shouted now.
she looked up.
“…what?”
“stop saying that.”
sophia held the top of the broom as she doesn’t know what else to do. she was getting cornered by you. what elsecould she possibly do?
so instead of moving. she just spoke.
“it’s okay.” she said lightly
“no, it’s not okay.” you argued.
“…it is.”
“what’s wrong with being like that?” she froze at your words for a moment, then she looked down, her voice barely above a whisper, then she shook her head.
“you really don’t have to be nice.” she tried to chuckle and it came out super awkward.
“seriously, i know what people think.” she continued. she looked at you now.
you didn’t know why but your stomach burned as she smiled while she said, “it’s true.”
“i think there’s something wrong with me anyway.” your face tensed. your vision blurred for a second as you snapped your eyes shut.
by the time you realized you had lashed out, sophia was sprawled on the floor.
your palm had collided with her shoulder that made her body stumble backward. her foot got caught on a chair leg.
she inhaled sharply and then winced. your eyes widened immediately.
she grabbed the side of the desk and her face twisted for only a second yet enough for you to know it hurt.
but sophia just sat there, staring at you, almost about to cry, but still, she didn’t even look surprised.
your chest dropped and all the anger disappeared at once, now replaced by something much worse.
your hands shook as your feet took a step back, and then another step back. your breathing suddenly felt wrong, like too fast and too shallow.
you couldn’t look at her properly.
she stood up and then walked near the blackboard. she picked up the fallen broom that you dropped earlier
her movements were slower this time, since her side hurt. you could tell.
she then whispered something enough for you to hear, “i’ll finish cleaning.”
your throat tightened at her words so much that it hurt to breathe. you tried to argue more to refuse but no words came out.
your body moved before your mind did. you grabbed your bag and then ran out of the classroom, hitting some of the desk she had wiped on your way out.
the sound of the rain pouring echoed through the classroom and sophia turned her gaze at your seat.
—
the next morning, your mom stopped you from going to school. your forehead was burning and your mom was mad as hell. she exhaled sharply as she pressed the back of her hand against your skin.
“you have a fever, where even is your umbrella?” you blinked up at the ceiling. your body ached—was her body aching too?—your throat just felt completely dry.
“…it seems.” she frowned at your reply, which earned you a smack on your forehead with the hand she used to press on you.
“don’t get sassy with me.” you only nodded. then she left the room to prepare food and medicine.
you rolled onto your side. the room was quiet. your eyes landed on your school bag leaning against the wall.
rainwater had dried along its edges.
—
meanwhile, at school. sophia arrived at the classroom. she placed her bag beside her chair then stopped. your seat was empty.
the seat beside her had stayed empty all day.
—
sophia couldn’t think carefully anymore.
you had been absent yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that, then then today. four days.
four empty mornings. four days of arriving at the classroom and seeing your chair untouched.
four days of her placing her bag down beside nothing.
the first day, she thought maybe you were sick.
the second day, she thought maybe it was a family matter.
the third day, she stopped trying to guess. because every day in every thought, something was already there. a reason as why you had stop coming.
every time she thought of a reason, her mind would wander back to your expression that afternoon.
she couldn’t help but blame herself
she closed her notebook and stood up then she walked out of the room. down the hallway. past a group of students. past the bulletin board. then toward the faculty room.
she stepped inside.
teachers sat behind desks piled with papers while printers hummed in the background.
the adviser looked up to her
“yes?”
sophia adjusted her glasses.
“…good morning.” she greetedz
“morning.”
she hesitated for a second then spoke. “…can i switch classes?” his eyebrows furrowed at that.
“switch classes? why?” he leaned back slightly
sophia nodded her head. “if it’s possible because i think it would be better.”
he studied her response for a moment.
“better for who?”
she paused then answered. “just better”
he frowned. “what happened? did you got into a fight with one of your classmates?” she shook her head immediately.
“nothing happened.”
“then why do you want to transfer?”
she swallowed then looked down at the floor. “i just think i’m giving my classmate a hard time.”
he stared at her
“a hard time?” she nodded once.
“yes.” her reply was subtle.
his expression softened. “who told you that?”
“no one.”
his brows furrowed even more. “sophia.”
“hm?”
“who told you that?”
she shook her head again. “nobody.”
“i think some just get uncomfortable and i understand why.” her fingers tightened around the hem of her uniform. the teacher stared at her.
“what do you mean?” sophia shrugged at his question.
“i just think i’ve made enough people uncomfortable already.” she looked at his desk trying not to make eye contact.
“so if i switch classes, it’ll probably be easier.” she continued
he sighed, not the mean kind. he kind of knew why this conversation was happening, he just didn’t want to accept that it had happened right under his nose.
“for who exactly will it be easier?”
she opened her mouth. then closed it. then opened it again to speak. “for everyone.” his face fell a little at her response.
“and you?”
“what about me?”
“will it be easier for you?” she stared at him for a moment.
“that doesn’t really matter.” the teacher sat quietly while sophia had adjusted her glasses.
the silence stretched.
“uhm… sorry for asking.” then she bowed her head slightly. “i’ll go back now.”
she turned around but then paused. looking back, she quietly said, “can you not tell anybody i asked?”
the teacher nodded and then she walked away. back into the hallway. back toward the classroom.
—
when you returned to school the following monday, the sky was clear for the first time in nearly a week.
everything felt exactly the same.
your body still carried remnants of the fever. your limbs felt heavier than usual. not enough to make walking difficult, but enough for you to notice it every few steps.
you weren’t thinking about anything in particular. or maybe you were trying not to.
the classroom door was already open. you stepped inside, someone greeted you, you greeted them back. someone asked what had happened to you and you explained.
then your eyes moved towards the seat beside yours. there was another bag there.
a blue bag, one that you couldn’t recognize, its not the one that’s supposed to be in there.
a pencil case sat neatly on the desk and a folded handkerchief rested.
you stared for a second then looked away. that was all. you pulled your own chair back and sat down.
placed your notebook on your desk. the chair beside you scraped softly as its new owner adjusted the position.
the sound was enough to make your body tense before your mind could catch up.
“hi.” she says. you raised your head to see her clearly.
“hi. i’m y/n.”
“i figured.” she chuckled then pointed at the nameplate pinned at your chest. you mouthed an ‘oh’ then laughed awkwardly. “danielle, danielle marsh.”
during the entire class, your hand moved automatically for a brief moment, your notebook shifted toward the center of the desk, halfway between two people.
slowly, you pulled the notebook back toward yourself.
from time to time, your eyes would flick towards the doorway, definitely not because you expected to see anyone.
definitely not because you were looking for someone.
—
at lunch, you walked toward the covered walkway. your friends sat around the usual table, bags piled beside their feet.
martin was talking about a movie, daniela was complaining about an assignment, while shota was laughing at something on his phone.
you sat down as they greeted you, daniela pushed a packet of crackers toward you, shota asked if your fever was gone, in which you nodded.
then everyone continued talking.
you stared for only a second, wanting to ask, then you stopped yourself.
you didn’t ask. it wasn’t because you didn’t wonder, you did. but then immediately, another thought would swallow it whole.
that afternoon.
where you had run away, where you had left her.
you felt embarrassed.
before the thought grew into something more, you notice someone waved at you from a distance.
danielle.
she was eating alone, understandable since she had just transferred a week ago.
you waved back and your friends looked at where you were waving at. they urged you to call her to join your table and so you did.
danielle hesitated for a second then stood up, carrying her lunch tray toward your table.
“you sure?” she asked. martin scooted over immediately
“yeah.”
“we have room.” daniela grinned.
“y/n wouldn’t have called you otherwise.” danielle smiled awkwardly at words.
“…okay.” she sat down. for a moment, she looked unsure of where to place her hands. then she set her spoon beside her tray.
the conversation slowly resumed.
martin continued talking about his movie, shota showed something on his phone, daniela complained about the assignment again.
eventually, danielle began talking too.
small things at first, where she transferred from, which subjects she liked, which teachers she thought were scary.
ordinary things. you listened quietly.
every now and then, she’d pause before speaking, as if checking whether it was okay for her to join the conversation.
then someone would answer.
a thought surfaced.
if only someone had shown this kindness to sophia.
your grip tightened around the juice box.
if only someone had called her over too.
your throat felt dry as you sipped from your juice box.
if only i had.
—
three years had passed and she had somehow left your thoughts.
one semester plus another. uniforms became smaller. notebooks became thicker. teachers changed. classroom buildings changed. and eventually, even the faces around you changed.
life kept introducing new people and somehow, without realizing it, danielle became one of them. she became someone who sat with your group every day, eventually becoming a part of it.
the ceremony as middle school ended arrived beneath a sky that threatened rain, something that felt familiar but never followed through. students stood in rows while teachers called names one after another. cameras flashed. parents waved from the back. everyone looked different somehow.
you shook hands. accepted a certificate. took pictures. celebrated with your family. then went home.
life continued so fast.
then senior year came. two years passed in ways that felt impossible to measure. there were projects, examinations, last minute review sessions, canteen lunches, group chats that never stopped vibrating.
there were moments that felt important then disappeared before you could fully recognize them.
there were days you felt overwhelmed, days you were noticeably exhausted, days that felt endless, and then suddenly they weren’t.
graduation came again. another stage, another set of photographs, another room full of people pretending they weren’t afraid of the future, and then,
college came into view.
—
college was larger than you expected.
not in a way that intimidated you anymore. that feeling had disappeared after the first few weeks.
you had started to like the library, mostly because it was quiet and made memorizing formulas easier.
the air-conditioning hummed softly overhead and the smell of paper lingered in every corner in which we all like btw.
you set your things down near the back, the seat by the window. it was your usual spot by now.
you dropped your bag beside your chair and sat.
something was already there. a pencil. you looked around and then coming into the conclusion that it was probably forgotten by someone earlier.
you picked it up, turned it over once, then placed it near the middle right side of the table in case whoever owned it came back.
you opened your notebook, the pages rustled beneath your fingertips, then class notes slowly replaced everything else.
time passed.
many students entered then left. chairs made noises against the floor once in a while.
then your phone vibrated, receiving a message from danielle.
where are you?
@ d library.
again?
yes
she sent an eye roll emoji. you chuckled then placed the phone down.
you closed your notebook, gathered your things, stood up, then walked out of the library.
—
just ten minutes earlier,
someone else had been sitting there, she had chosen the window seat too, because sunlight made reading easier, because she still wore her glasses.
—
midterms arrived faster than anyone ever expected, the campus changed when examinations were near. the hallways became quieter while the library became packed.
every table that used to be empty was suddenly occupied. every charging outlet had three people waiting beside it. every study room had a reservation attached to its door.
you stared at your phone.
study room 3. 1:00 pm - 3:00 pm.
you sighed, then headed upstairs. the engineering building was colder than the others. footsteps echoed farther here because people spoke less.
you walked down the hallway. then door three. you pushed it open. inside sat a rectangular table, four chairs, a whiteboard by the wall, and markers resting neatly on the tray beneath it.
you stepped inside, taking notice of the writings on the board. someone had erased it, but not completely as faint equations lingered half visible.
you dropped your bag onto a chair, opened your notebook, then sat down.
you wrote. paused. crossed something out. wrote again.
your time had passed like that.
your phone buzzed. the group chat. (danielle, martin, shota, daniela, you)
saw this omw home. let’s try diz sumtime
ur treat?
kys shota
lets do that
AFTER MIDTERMS
LETS GOOOOOOO
you smiled then replied an,
ok!!!!!!!
you placed your phone away, then continued writing.
your eyes drifted toward the whiteboard again. just now noticing something written in tiny letters near the bottom corner.
remember to drink water.
you blinked, then smiled to yourself. you grabbed your bottle and took a sip and another sip.
you returned to your notes.
outside, clouds moved over the windows. the afternoon sun dimmed. you stayed there until your reservation ended.
then gathered your things.
and left.
—
forty minutes earlier before your reservation. someone else had been sitting there. her notebook occupied the exact same spot yours did now. her calculator sat beside her water bottle.
she adjusted her glasses.
then looked towards the clock.
12:20.
she still had class.
she sighed quietly, closed her notebook, then stood. before leaving, she uncapped a marker, then wrote at the bottom corner of the board.
remember to drink water.
trying to remind the next person occupying the room, since she herself had forgotten to drink her water during her session there.
it was also just something she always told herself during exam season.
she placed the marker back, adjusted her bag, then walked out.
—
the engineering lecture hall was colder than the usual that morning as rain tapped softly against the windows. the projector casted a pale blue light across the room while students opened laptops and notebooks one after another.
you sat somewhere in the middle. your bag placed beneath your chair.
opened your tablet as class started.
the professor adjusted his glasses, walked toward the projector, then signaled.
“alright.” he clicked to the next slide. “does anyone in this room know why this calculation works?”
silence.
some looked down immediately, someone coughed, someone pretended to read, someone clicked their pen over and over again.
you stared at the slide, you knew the answer, you just simply didn’t feel like speaking.
then, a voice cut through the silence.
“because if you isolate the variable first…” her voice was soft and not hesitant. the room stayed quiet while she spoke.
“…the remaining values become easier to simplify before substitution.” the professor nodded at that. “good.”
the voice continued.
“otherwise you might end up carrying unnecessary values through every step.” then she stopped.
the professor smiled. “exactly.”
he wrote on the board, students copied the notes down. but your hand had stopped writing. just for a second, you didn’t know why. then resumed.
the lecture continued, the professor thanked her, then moved on.
by the end of class, students immediately stood, chairs shifted. sounds of bags zipping close.
people flowed toward the door, you packed your things too, then left.
you walked into the hallway, your shoes echoing softly against polished floors, then disappeared into the crowd.
—
just earlier, two rows behind you, someone was still packing her things. her notebook was full, every page written neatly from top to bottom even though things written in there were just scratches.
she closed it, wiped her glasses clean, then stood.
she waited for everyone else in front of her to leave first. she adjusted the strap of her bag, then walked toward the door.
less than just seven feet from where you had just been standing. close enough to see you if she looked. close enough to call your name if she even remember that.
students had disappeared beneath umbrellas.
and once again, the two of you walked through the same campus. under the same weather, breathing the same cold air without knowing.
again and again.
—
the semester settled into a rhythm after a while. by now, you had memorized which staircases were always crowded and which hallways stayed empty.
at lunch, you sat beneath the food court outside the university. where you, danielle, and martin was talking about. daniela couldn’t join since she studies at a different uni, and as for shota, he couldn’t join because his lecture would end after lunch ends.
danielle sat across from you while martin sat beside you. she was talking about something while opening her lunchbox.
you were only listening halfway.
“…then she said she’d send me her notes.”
“ooh, lifesaver.” martin replied, you chuckled at his response.
“she seems nice.” you said, munching your food.
“she is! we have almost every class together so we sometimes study at the library.” you nodded again.
“she wears glasses too.” danielle beamed.
“and she explains things really well.”
you peeled at the corner of your juice box and said, “that’s nice, i wish someone would explain my lessons to me too.” which made danielle laugh.
“hey, i explain things to you.” martin threw a crumb of his sandwich at your way.
“what’s her name?” you asked, completely curious to whoever is patient enough to explain things to danielle who had the attention span of a first grader.
“her name’s sophia.” your mouth stopped munching. just for a second, then resumed.
danielle continued eating then added, “she takes calculus too.” your mouth formed an o shape.
“she’s all around.” martin says while danielle pointed her spoon at you. “have you heard of a sophia in your class, y/n?”
you blinked, then shook your head. “i don’t think so.”
danielle hummed. “really?”
“yeah.” you shrugged. “there’s like fifty plus students in the lecture and i only know the names of seven people there.”
“true.” she laughed at martin’s response, then she kept talking, and the conversation moved on.
the lunch period slowly ended. students stood. the three of you stood and bid goodbyes. “see you later.”
you adjusted your bag, then walked toward your next class.
your mind already somewhere else.
not lingering to the conversation earlier because sophia wasn’t an uncommon name. because college had thousands of students. and because coincidences happened.
—
twenty minutes later. inside the calculus lecture hall, someone was already sitting two rows from your usual spot.
a notebook open, a calculator beside her water bottle, she adjusted her glasses, then wrote the date at the top of the page.
students slowly entered, their voices blending together.
then she looked up toward the doorway for only a moment. students continued filing inside. one, two, then you.
you walked in. then sat near the middle. your usual spot.
she looked down immediately after she saw you, then continued writing.
the professor entered.
and class began.
every now and then her eyes drifted toward the middle rows, toward you. never long enough to stare but just enough to know you were there. you looked exactly how she had remembered, except older. your hair was different now, your shoulders broader, your face sharper than before.
but some things hadn’t changed.
you still leaned your head slightly whenever you focused, you still tapped your pen twice before writing again, and you still pushed your scratches a little toward the empty left side of your desk.
a habit, one she recognized immediately.
her eyes stayed there for a second longer, then she looked away.
—
you, shota, and martin were already halfway through lunch when danielle had arrived.
martin was talking about something loud and unimportant—some movie he swore was “its actually deep if you paid attention,” while shota argued with him without looking up from his phone and also while munching on his food.
you were listening just enough to respond, just enough to know the context of what martin was babbling about.
your spoon moved slowly through your food, then the noise at the edge of the table shifted.
the chair beside shota moved, the one in-front of you too. two sets of footsteps.
you didn’t look up immediately because it was just danielle arriving late. she said something like “sorry i’m late” and sat down like normal.
martin greeted her without thinking then tried to get her side on the arguement. shota barely reacted. and you finally looked up.
someone sat beside her, bag placed neatly on the ground first, then chair pulled in.
you didn’t recognize her. not at first.
but your body did something strange. it paused. your chewing had paused.
you blinked twice, because your brain was trying to do something very simple. match the face to a memory. but the memory was too far back. the girl adjusted her glasses, just once, then looked up. meeting your gaze.
and that was when the air change.
danielle smiled not noticing it.
“sorry, i didn’t tell you—sophia came with me.” she says, sitting beside the girl.
martin nodded casually. “oh, cool.”
shota waved slightly. “yo.”
sophia bowed her head a little and waved.
then— she looked at you again. it stayed there. she didn’t even look surprised, not even startled. like she had already knew you existed within the same space as her.
danielle leaned forward, then looked at where sophia was focused on.
“oh, that’s y/n.” she says, glancing between you both.
you opened your mouth to greet her, but nothing came out. because something was happening in your chest that didn’t have any language yet.
martin cut in immediately like he realized something.
“oh!” he pointed slightly with his spoon, mouth half full. “are you sophia from middle school? in *toot* academy?”
sophia.
the name landed and your body reacted before your mind agreed, like your mind had been waiting for that name to be said for your memories to return.
your grip tightened slightly on your spoon.
danielle turned to her and pointed at martin. “you know him?” sophia didn’t answer right away. she was still looking at you.
“i can’t remember much from middle school, but his face is quite familiar.” sophia says.
“yeah, cause martin broke that one vase during the eight grader’s trip to the museum.” shota chuckled as he said that.
“that’s not my proudest memory of middle school.” martin grinned.
martin was still talking, waving his spoon like the story had happened yesterday instead of years ago.
“—and the teacher just stood there like he didn’t see anything happen. like bro, we were literally getting yelled at and he just stared at the broken glass—”
shota laughed. “you’re lucky it was just a vase.”
“it was expensive!” martin insisted.
danielle shook her head, smiling. “you guys were really chaotic back then huh.” she said.
“we were fine,” martin said immediately, offended. “it was just that one trip.”
“and like five other incidents caused by both him and y/n” shota added without looking up.
danielle laughed, then turned slightly toward sophia like she was trying to place her into the same picture.
“i transferred in tenth grade, how come i’ve never seen you around?” the table went quiet for half a second.
martin slowed his chewing. shota glanced up briefly from his phone. you didn’t move. sophia, however, didn’t look surprised by the question.
she just blinked once, then looked down at her cup for a moment, as if organizing the answer in her head.
“you transferred in tenth grade?” she asked first, lightly.
danielle nodded. “yeah, third quarter i think.” sophia gave a small nod, like that explained part of it, then she looked up again, not at danielle but at you. just briefly, then away.
“we were in the same school,” she said. “just different classes.” danielle tilted her head.
“ohhh.” she accepted that easily enough, but she still looked curious.
“still though, it’s weird. i feel like i would’ve at least seen you in the hallways or something.” she added.
martin shrugged. “that just depends. that school was huge-ish. i couldn’t even remember who taught our class math in seventh grade.” shota nodded at his response.
“and people stick to their own groups anyway.”
danielle hummed, then leaned back. “well true.”
a short pause followed, the conversation almost moved on, but sophia’s fingers shifted slightly against the table.
then she spoke again, not really to the group anymore, more like correcting a detail that didn’t sit right.
“we were in the same class once,” she said.
danielle blinked repeatedly, as if not convinced. “huh?”
sophia hesitated. then added,
“during tenth grade.” and then, she lifted her hand slightly, first pointing at herself, then toward you.
i js want new jeans back,,, crying my heart out. kicking everything in my line of sight. bawling my eyes out. crying again. GODDDD IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK
what was supposed to be a simple visit quickly becomes something else as old memories begin resurfacing in words you thought had long forgotten your name.
there are promises you never fulfilled. conversations you never finished. stories that no matter how many years pass, seem determined to find their way back to you. after all this time, life has once brought you home again.
a sequel to the age you were
.– …. . .-. . .– . -… . –. .. -. .- –. .- .. -.
pairings: older!sophia laforteza x younger! female reader
listen to
you’ve only realised this now but ever since the breakup, you have never went back to your parent’s house. not once. instead of you visiting them, they were always the ones making the trip to see you. your mother would come during holidays,
your sister would stop by whenever she happened to be in the city, and every year you would tell yourself that next time you’d be the one to visit because six hours wasn’t even that bad if you really thought about it. plenty of people travelled longer.
yet somehow there was always something else that needed your attention first and before you knew it, six years had already passed.
you felt awful about it when you realized, not because your mother ever complained. If anything, she made it easier for you to avoid feeling guilty.
every time you apologized over the phone she would brush it off and tell you that you were busy and that she understood. which only made you feel worse because she really did understand.
fair enough.
though,
you had promised her something years ago.
you promised that one day you would get her out of that old house.
the house itself wasn’t bad. it was actually huge compared to most houses in the area. but it looked old. the paint wasn’t as bright anymore, some parts of the roof looked like they had survived several typhoons purely out of stubbornness, and every time you visited as a teenager you would tell yourself that when you finally made it, when you finally had enough money, you’d buy your mother somewhere nicer.
the funny thing was that, now, you actually could.
you had the money.
you had the means.
but every time you brought it up your mother always said no.
no renovations.
no rebuilding.
no moving.
just nothing.
she said the house was fine.
but you somehow knew the reason why didn’t want to change it.
because it was the house your father built.
it was the house where they raised their children.
it was the house that still had traces of him in every room.
and if she changed too much, she was scared she would lose those traces too.
so after filing for a two-week leave that had been sitting in your drafts for almost three months because you kept postponing it, you packed a bag, got in your car, and drove six hours back to the place you used to call home.
the roads looked smaller now.
or maybe you just got older.
or maybe you were just too used to the city(?)
you passed by the stores that somehow still existed despite looking like they should’ve closed years ago. you passed by streets you used to walk through every day after school and suddenly found yourself remembering things you hadn’t thought about in years. teacher’s names. old classmates. the bakery your father used to stop by every sunday morning.
before you realized it, it was already three in the afternoon by the time you pulled up in front of the house.
and for a moment, you just sat there.
looking.
because the house looked exactly the same.
it became older, sure.
a little more worn down. but still the same.
then the front door opened. and there stood your mother. standing exactly where she always was whenever one of her children came home.
.– …. . .-. . .– . -… . –. .. -. .- –. .- .. -.
somehow, arriving at the house felt more nostalgic than actually walking around the neighborhood, maybe because the house still looked like it had been paused in time, like nothing about it had changed since the last moment you really lived inside it, but everything outside it had, everything around it felt slightly smaller
your mother was walking beside you the entire time, close enough that you could hear her breathing between small comments she made about the houses you passed, who moved away, who got married, whose children were already in college now. the kind of updates only mothers seemed to collect without effort or intention.
then out of nowhere, three dogs ran toward her, tails wagging so hard their bodies followed the movement, and your mother immediately bent down like this was something that happened all the time.
she hummed at them.
that was the moment something in your chest shifted without warning, because watching her like that, surrounded by dogs that trusted her easily has reminded you of something you hadn’t thought about in a long time.
the afternoons when it wasn’t dogs running toward her but you and your sister instead, racing each other without even thinking about it, just habit that had nowhere else to go except forward, toward her presence at the gate every time she came home.
your sister always got there first, you always insisted she cheated somehow even though you never really had proof, and your mother always laughed like it didn’t matter who won because she was already holding both of you anyway, and the memory came back so suddenly that it didn’t feel like remembering, it felt like briefly being placed back inside it without warning.
you kept walking after that, but slower now. your feet just kept moving.
then you found yourself there.
the mailbox.
no, not just one.
mailboxes.
four of them, still standing in the exact same place you remembered. you stopped. your mother stopped beside you too.
the paint had long faded.
you remember your father building these years ago after coming home from working overseas. he insisted on placing them there even when nobody really used mailboxes anymore, even when everyone already knew messages came through phones and calls and things that didn’t require waiting.
you remembered asking him why he still built them anyway, and he had just said something about how people didn’t have enough things to look forward to anymore, how everything arrived too quickly now, how he wanted you and your sister to still know what it felt like to check something every day even if nothing was there most of the time, just the possibility of something.
and for a while, when you were younger, you did.
you checked them constantly when you were younger because there was almost always something waiting inside.
your father loved leaving little letters for you and your sister, sometimes clues leading to surprises he had hidden around the house, sometimes small secrets that only the two of you were supposed to know, and sometimes just random notes because he thought life needed more things to look forward to.
the mailboxes eventually became their own way of communicating. when you and your sister got into arguments and were both too stubborn to apologize face to face, one of you would leave a folded “sorry” inside the other’s mailbox.
back then, there was something about writing things down that made everything softer. things that felt difficult to say out loud somehow became easier once they were folded into an envelope and left waiting for someone you loved to find.
for years, checking those mailboxes became part of your routine. then eventually life filled itself with other things. school. schedules. growing up.
and without ever really deciding to, it just stopped.
you stared at the mailbox with your name still on it, slightly faded but still there, and it felt strange seeing it like that, like looking at a version of yourself that had been waiting in one place while you kept moving forward without realizing you were leaving something behind.
“can i?” you asked without really thinking.
your mother only smiled.
“you still need permission?”
and you rolled your eyes a little, then smiled before reaching for the latch and pulling it open.
and that was when everything stopped, because inside wasn’t empty like you expected it to be, inside were letters, dozens of them stacked messily. your hand stayed still for a second longer than it should have before you even touched anything.
your fingers moved before your thoughts caught up, pulling one out, then another, then another, and all of them had your name written on them, not your mother’s handwriting, not your sister’s, something immediately familiar in a way your body recognized before your mind was willing to accept it.
you swallowed without meaning to.
“…what?” you let out, but it came out quieter than you intended, like your voice had to pass through something before reaching air. your brows were furrowed deeply, because you could clearly remember that there were no letters left there.
your mother leaned slightly closer, not asking, just watching, because she already knew what was happening and was letting you get there on your own anyway.
you turned one of the envelopes over in your hands, noticing the date, realizing it was from years ago, a day you vaguely remembered.
you opened it without planning to, just because your hands were already moving.
the handwriting immediately pulled something in your chest tighter because you knew it without needing to be told.
sophia.
and suddenly everything around you felt slightly blurry, like the present had stepped back just to let the past surface fully. you opened a letter, then another.
they weren’t all the same, some were birthdays, some were holidays, some were just random days that probably didn’t feel important when they were written but somehow mattered enough for her to remember you in them anyway.
it wasn’t dramatic.
but it was overwhelming in a loud way, because it felt like she had been speaking to you across time without expecting an answer. it was as if she had been placing pieces of herself into your life even when you weren’t there to receive them.
your mother then interrupted your thoughts before you could open another envelope.
“dear.”
you looked at her.
“hmm?”
she glanced at the stack of letters still sitting in your hands then toward the house.
“let’s head inside first.”
your eyes dropped back down to the envelopes.
“you can read those later.”
a pause.
“let’s prep that stomach first.”
a small laugh escaped you despite everything.
you were grateful for the interruption because if she hadn’t said anything, you weren’t entirely sure what would’ve happened. and somehow, you knew that she had ideas from the look she had given you.
there were just too many. too many letters. too many versions of sophia sitting inside those envelopes
and for once over the years, you weren’t ready. and you felt your stomach twist and drop.
so you carefully gathered the letters together and followed your mother back home.
.– …. . .-. . .– . -… . –. .. -. .- –. .- .. -.
the house smelled exactly the same. somehow. you didn’t know how but it smelled the way you remembered as a high schooler coming home from school.
your mother immediately shooed you toward the dining table then turned the television on to listen to the news.
“sit.” she hrged you
“ma—”
“you sit.” and so you sat.
because some things never changed.
dinner was simple. rice and curry. it was the kind of food you never realized you missed until it was sitting in front of you again.
you were about to start through your meal when the front door opened.
“ma, i’m home.” your sister.
as footsteps got closer, after that, immediately a thud was heard. your sister had dropped her belongings.
you looked at your mother, like getting her permission to stand and leave the table.
she gave you the look and so you stood.
you just turned around and was quickly met with a deep hug.
you felt how your shoulders got wet as the hug tightened.
she was crying.
you laughed.
“finally remember where you came from?” she spoke between sobs.
your mother laughed. and for a moment everything felt strangely normal. like you hadn’t spent years away. like life hadn’t happened. as if you were in high school again.
like all of you had simply continued a conversation that had only paused yesterday.
the letters remained beside your chair the entire evening.
you tried not to look at them.
but failed.
by the time night arrived, your curiosity had become impossible to ignore. so after saying goodnight, you gathered the stack and made your way upstairs.
.– …. . .-. . .– . -… . –. .. -. .- –. .- .. -.
your old room was exactly how you remembered it, in which somehow felt worse than if it had changed. you opened the balcony doors. the cool night air greeted you immediately and for the first time all day, you were alone.
you laid the letters on the table there.
your fingers found the oldest one and that familiar knot inside your stomach went back.
it was barely three weeks after the breakup.
you opened it and began reading.
—
10/21/20
mahal, i don’t know if you’ll ever read this. honestly, i’m not even sure if this will reach you. your mother might find it first, she might not, or maybe she might call me crazy for putting letters inside a mailbox i don’t even know if you still check. but i’m hoping. i keep replaying our last conversation in my head every single day. and every time i get to the end, i convince myself that maybe if i had said one thing differently, we’d still be together. maybe if i listened more. maybe if i could have understood better, and maybe if i didn’t walked out of your apartment that day.
i know you made your decision. i know i said that i would respect it. and i do, i really do. but i’m still hoping you’ll change your mind because i don’t want us to end like this. i don’t want us to end in the middle. if there’s anything left to fix, i want to fix it. if there’s anything left worth saving, i want to save it.
i still love you. i know that’s probably not helpful but it’s true. and if by some miracle you read this, please call me.
love,
sophia
__
you stared at her last words in the letter for a long time then took a big inhale. the paper meanwhile remained unfolded in your hands. the words stayed exactly where they had always been but somehow they felt heavier now.
because at twenty-five, you never got to read them.
at thirty-one, you finally could.
and that felt cruel somehow.
you carefully folded it back along the original creases before reaching for the next envelope.
the date was only a few weeks later.
—
mahal, this is such a stupid thing to write but i spent almost twenty minutes deciding whether i should tell you about my month, but then i remembered that i used to tell you everything. so i’m telling you anyway.
work has been exhausting. one of my coworkers somehow managed to send the wrong file to an entire client team and we’ve all been dealing with the consequences ever since. i thought about calling you when it happened because i already knew exactly what you would’ve said. you would’ve laughed first, then you would tell me to stop stressing because nobody died, and then i’d pretend i wasn’t smiling.
i honestly miss that. i miss talking to you about absolutely nothing. i miss sending you pictures of random things throughout the day. i miss hearing about your day. i miss knowing what you’re thinking.
it’s really strange. i spent so much time imagining what life would be like with you that now i keep accidentally imagining you’re still here. the other day i bought your favorite snack, didn’t realize it until i got home. it’s still sitting in my pantry and i don’t know what to do with it. sometimes i wish i had chosen my words more carefully that night.
sometimes i wonder if i pushed too hard. sometimes i wonder if i should’ve just held you that night instead. i don’t know. i don’t know anything anymore. i just know that i miss you. and i’m sorry. i’m sorry if everything made you feel like you weren’t enough.
i’m sorry if i ever made you feel small. i’m sorry if the things i did for you felt like a debt to pay. that was never supposed to happen. i miss you so much.
love,
sophia
—
the last few lines were slightly blurred but not enough to make the words unreadable, it was just enough for you to notice. just enough for you to realize she had cried while writing them.
your fingers lingered over the ink for a moment before moving onto the next letter.
—
mahal, i was working near your hometown a few days ago. the site was only about an hour away which is apparently close enough for memories to become a problem. i ended up driving through your neighborhood. i don’t think it was on purpose, at least.
i told myself i was taking a shortcut and we both know that’s a lie.
your street looked pretty much the same. your mother’s plants are still alive somehow. i genuinely think they’re immortal. i sat in my car for a while, just looking like a creep.
it reminded me of the christmas i spent there. do you remember? your mom kept insisting i eat more. your sister kept making fun of me. your dad spent thirty minutes explaining something to me and i’m embarrassed to admit i barely remember what it was.
it was my favorite christmas, i don’t think i ever told you that. i really should have.
i’ve been thinking about dropping this letter off myself. actually, if you’re reading this, then i probably did. which means i finally worked up the courage to drive there a second time. congratulations to me, i guess.
my birthday is next week. it feels weird and i don’t know why. i keep catching myself wondering if you’ll remember. which isn’t fair. i know that. but to wonder is free so :D. and if you do remember, i hope you’re smiling when you think of me. and i really hope you miss me too.
love,
sophia
—
you sat there longer than you meant to after the third letter.
the balcony had gone quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful anymore, just suspended, like the world had decided to stop interrupting you for a while and left you alone with everything you were holding.
you didn’t open the next envelope immediately because you knew. you already knew it wouldn’t get easier. it never did.
yet you just kept going anyway.
—
mahal, happy new year. i don’t really know how else to start this one.
i went to see fireworks tonight. i was alone which sounds sad when i write it like that but it wasn’t really. it was just quiet? not my usual new year where its loud.
a part of me thinks that it was probably quiet because i was thinking. i kept thinking about how i used to talk about spending new year somewhere far away, somewhere we could pretend the year behind us didn’t matter anymore. for the new year, i didn’t go anywhere far. i stayed here.
also, i took a photo of your favorite flower. i finally managed to grow it properly in the balcony. i don’t even know if you’ll see this but i’m putting it here anyway, just in case.
love,
sophia
—
the photo was printed and slightly creased, like it had been carried around more than once before being placed inside the envelope.
you held it carefully without turning it over yet. the flower was simple and familiar. too familiar.
you moved on to the next letter.
—
mahal, i watched a movie today. it reminded me of you so much it was actually annoying. i kept waiting for you to say something beside me since you always talked during movies.
i liked hearing you react to things. i liked how you saw perspective in movies differently from me.
there was a scene where the main character leaves and i just sat there thinking about how many times i’ve replayed our last conversation in my head. it doesn’t change. no matter how many times i try not to, it always ends the same. the thoughts of changing my words that night just keeps on adding up, one sentence to another.
i miss you so much, it’s starting to hurt physically.
love,
sophia
—
the next envelope was thinner.
your fingers hesitated before opening it.
—
mahal, work has been too much lately. i didn’t sleep properly for three days straight. my friends told me to rest but i don’t know how to. pero it’s real funny since i used to tell you everything when things got like this. you used to sit with me even when i was just complaining about things that didn’t really matter.
i hope you’re okay. i hope you’re taking care of yourself. and i just really wish you were here, that’s all. i miss you.
love,
sophia
—
the pattern started to feel familiar now and not in a comforting way, it was in a way that made your chest tighten more each time you recognized it.
and still you kept going.
—
mahal, happy valentine’s day. i don’t have a date. obviously. that sounds like a joke but it isn’t really. i really thought i would be okay by now. i thought it would get easier, but it doesn’t get closer to better.
i saw couples earlier holding hands and i had to leave the place because it felt too loud and mostly because i started missing you the longer i looked and watched them.
i keep telling myself i should move on properly, but i don’t know what that even means anymore.
i don’t want anyone else. that’s the problem. i don’t think i could ever will.
love,
sophia
—
the ink on this one looked slightly smudged, like it had been touched too many times before drying.
you swallowed before moving on.
—
mahal, i drank tonight. i don’t usually drink, you know that. i didn’t liked the taste, not even for a bit. but my friends kept insisting and i thought maybe it would help forget about you. it didn’t!!!!!!!
it just made me think about you louder. i kept waiting for the feeling to change into something lighter and it didn’t. The alcohol helped me remember your face much more clearly, and by surprise! orr not? i liked seeing your face in my mind. i really missed that. and so! the whole time i drank was just me thinking of you. i thought of our dates, kiss, talks, arguments, and most importantly! i thought of you. i miss you so much. i don’t want to say i love you to you in this letter because that would feel so intimate for me. part of the reason i don’t want to is because we’re not together anymore. but who can stop me?
i’m really sorry if this disappoints you. i just needed to say your name somewhere.
loving you still,
sophia
—
you stopped for a second after that one, your fingers tightened around the paper.
because it was the first time you noticed something subtle in all of this. sophia didn’t sound like someone falling apart terribly. she sounded like someone trying very hard not to, and failing anyway.
and for some reason her words felt ironic, she said she didn’t want to tell you she loves you because it would feel intimate, yet she has been calling you “mahal” in all her letters.
—
mahal, i just want to be honest. i think i’m starting to understand something i didn’t want to accept before.
loving you and waiting for you aren’t the same thing. i treated them like they were. i don’t think that was fair to either of us, because i still love you. and honestly, i think i always will in some way.
but i can’t keep building my life around a door that might never open. i think i’m going to try and stop waiting. i don’t know how yet. but i’m going to try.
love,
sophia
—
you sat still for a long time after this one, longer than the others.
you didn’t move for a while after that letter.
the paper stayed in your hands but you weren’t really holding it anymore the way you had been earlier.
now it just sat there loosely, like your grip had forgotten what it was supposed to do.
your chest felt strange in a way you couldn’t immediately name. not pain exactly. not sadness in the way you expected sadness to feel.
it was something slower and heavier. like your body was only now realizing it had been breathing through something for a very long time without noticing.
you looked down at the letters again.
all of them.
stacked like they had been waiting patiently for years for you to finally become the version of yourself who could read them without breaking in real time.
you weren’t sure if you were that person.
—
i think i’m starting to understand what i did wrong. not in a blaming way. but like, you know? in a clearer way. i think i kept loving you in ways i only understood and i thought like love alone was enough to hold us in place. like if i loved you harder, longer, or even more consistently, then nothing would go wrong.
but that’s not how it works. you needed time and i think i kept standing in it, waiting. that’s on me i know you didn’t ask me to wait, you actually told me not to, in your own way.
i keep thinking about that last conversation. how you looked at me like you were already somewhere far away even though you were still sitting right next to me. and it hurts to think this, but i think i’ve lost you even before you left.
when i realized you were already gone while still being there, i didn’t know how to explain that feeling to anyone else without sounding like i’m being dramatic. but you would understand. you always understood things i couldn’t say properly. that’s what makes this harder, because now i have to understand them alone.
—
you had to stop reading for a second, your hand pressed flat against your own stomach without you realizing it. there was a dull ache there, not sharp enough to name as pain, but constant enough that it made sitting still feel uncomfortable.
you swallowed.
your throat felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with tears yet.
you just kept going anyway.
the next envelope felt slightly different.
thicker again.
you already knew what that meant now. more days, more versions of her you hadn’t met.
—
august has been… difficult. i don’t know how else to put it. i tried to stop writing to you for a while, i really did. i thought maybe if i stopped putting you into words, i would slowly stop putting you into everything else too. it didn’t work.
i still think of you when i wake up.
i still think of you when i come home.
i still think of you when something good happens and my first instinct is to tell you before i remember i can’t.
i’m trying to move forward, i am. but some days it feels like i’m just learning how to live without something that used to be part of how i breathe.
i think i need to stop hoping you’ll come back, because it’s starting to hurt me physically.
—
your fingers paused on the paper. because that sentence didn’t feel like something written. it felt like something admitted. something someone only says when they’re already tired of holding it inside themselves.
you didn’t realize your eyes were stinging until you blinked and the blur didn’t go away.
you kept reading through it anyway.
—
i still love you, but i think i need to learn how to love you without waiting for you. and i don’t know if i can do that yet. but i’m going to try.
—
the paper slipped slightly in your hands. you adjusted it without thinking.
your fingers felt colder now than they had before.
you weren’t crying yet.
but your body was starting to prepare for it, like it understood something your mind was still resisting.
you opened the next letter.
and this time, before even reading the first line, you already felt the distance growing inside it.
not between words.
between versions of her.
—
mahal, i met someone. i didn’t expect to, because i wasn’t looking. i promise you that. it just happened. she’s kind. she listens. she doesn’t interrupt when i talk too much, like you. she makes me laugh in a way i haven’t in a long time. but she does make me laugh too the way you do.
but i hate how guilty that makes me feel. because part of me feels like i’m doing something wrong just by moving forward. like i’m betraying a version of myself that was still waiting for you.
but i’m really tired.
—
your stomach tightened slightly at that.
—
i don’t know what this means yet, i don’t know what i’m allowed to feel. but i know i can’t keep standing in the same place forever. they tell me those words too.
—
you stopped reading again.
your eyes drifted toward the remaining stack of letters beside you. they were smaller now, much smaller than before.
and somehow you hated that. you hated that your first reaction wasn’t relief.
it should’ve been relief.
my god, it should’ve been.
because every letter felt like reopening a wound you spent six years convincing yourself had already scarred over, every page making you relive moments that didn’t belong to you anymore, moments sophia had already survived years ago while you were only experiencing them now.
yet all you could think was
that’s it?
and the realization made you feel sick.
because what kind of person gets disappointed that there aren’t more letters from the woman who spent years teaching herself how to live without them?
for the first time since opening that mailbox, you finally understood what was happening to you.
the life you built after sophia wasn’t some grand act of moving on.
it wasn’t healing.
it wasn’t closure.
it was adaptation.
somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-one, you had built something around the absence of her without even realizing you were doing it. slowly and quietly. the way people rearrange furniture after someone moves out.
at first you noticed every empty space, every missing thing and every silence.
then one day you just stopped noticing. and then one day after that, the silence became normal. the absence became routine. the routine became a life. and somehow that life became stable enough that you stopped questioning it.
you had gotten yourself used to it.
so why now? why this? why did six years of carefully maintained distance collapse because of a mailbox?
because of a letter? because of words written by someone who had already moved on? you couldn’t process it.
not the way you usually processed things.
because this wasn’t something you ever allowed yourself to prepare for. you prepared for everything. that was how you survived. every possibility carefully organized before it happened. every conversation rehearsed. every disappointment anticipated. every version of what if dissected before life could ever spring it on you unexpectedly.
if you could predict the pain, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much when it arrived.
that was always the plan.
but this? this wasn’t part of the plan.
this wasn’t supposed to exist.
these letters weren’t supposed to be waiting for you six years later. they weren’t supposed to arrive after you’ve learned forcing yourself how to breathe without her.
and the problem wasn’t the letters.
it was what they were undoing.
because every page felt like someone carefully digging beneath a foundation you spent years building.
loosening the ground. lifting things you deliberately buried.
why was sophia so unfair?
the thought came suddenly. sharp enough to surprise you.
why would she do this?
why would she write all of this?
why would she leave them behind?
you wanted to be angry. you really did. because anger would’ve been easier. easier than grief. easier than guilt. easier than whatever this was.
she could’ve kept them.
could’ve hidden them somewhere.
could’ve thrown them away.
could’ve burned them.
could’ve done anything except leave them somewhere you might someday find them.
because now all the things you’d spent six years suppressing were rising back up. waiting exactly where you left them. and then, somewhere between one breath and the next, you finally understood why you’d been silent all these years.
it wasn’t because you had nothing to say.
it was because you knew exactly what would happen if you started.
you knew how much it would hurt.
you knew how quickly it would come back.
you knew once you opened that door, you wouldn’t know how to close it again.
and now here you were, reading everything
somehow that hurt more than the breakup itself. because this time you weren’t living through it. you were watching it happen. paper by paper. month by month. year by year. in reverse.
—
hey, so, i met someone. i said that already in one of the last letters but this feels different now. it doesn’t feel like an accident anymore. it feels like something i stopped resisting. her name is victoria. i didn’t plan for this. i really didn’t. i thought if i just kept everything in place long enough, i would eventually find my way back to you or you would find your way back to me. but nothing moved and i think i finally understand that waiting for something that isn’t coming is still a choice. and i choose not to wait anymore.
—
you forced yourself to keep reading.
—
she doesn’t ask me to explain myself all the time and i didn’t realize how exhausting it was to constantly be half in one place and half in another until i stopped doing it. i feel somehow lighter. because i think part of me believed that if i ever felt okay again, it would mean i stopped loving you properly. but i don’t think i have yet? i just don’t know where to put that love anymore.
—
your throat tightened slightly, just enough that swallowing felt like effort again.
you turned to another paper too quickly.
—
i think i’m happy. i don’t even know if you’ll ever read this.
—
you pressed your fingers against the edge of the envelope without realizing it was shaking slightly.
you hadn’t noticed that before.
the next letters were became different.
it wasn’t written like a normal letter anymore. it was a collection. dates. short entries.
—
she made me laugh so hard i forgot what i was thinking about earlier. i think that’s new for me.
—
—
i don’t talk about you out loud. not because i’m hiding it. i just don’t know how to explain it anymore without sounding like i’m still stuck there.
—
you read faster now.
—
we went to a small trip. i caught myself enjoying it without feeling guilty. the guilty feeling doesn’t show up now. that’s great.
—
—
i think i’m okay. i think i’ve been okay for longer than i admitted to myself. and i think that means i have to stop treating myself like i’m still waiting for you.
—
your chest didn’t fully rise the way it should have.
—
i met her family again. they asked me if i see a future with her. i said yes because i really do.
and somehow, i think i’m only writing to you now because we were friends before we got into the relationship. i think, i somehow want to preserve that friendship?
—
and then, nothing. no more entries. no more holidays spent writing your name. no more letters folded carefully into envelopes.
you looked inside the envelope but there was nothing.
and strangely enough, you were grateful for that.
because for the first time that night, you didn’t think about yourself. you were thinking about the other girl. about the woman who came after you. the woman who loved sophia after all the waiting was over.
the woman who stayed.
and suddenly you realized how painful it would’ve been if the letters had continued. if sophia had kept writing to you while building a life with someone else. if she had kept setting pieces of herself aside for you while asking another person to hold the rest.
that would’ve been cruel.
.– …. . .-. . .– . -… . –. .. -. .- –. .- .. -.
you didn't mean to fall asleep on the balcony. one moment you were sitting upright, letters scattered around you like evidence of a crime scene you hadn't known you’ve been a part of.
the next thing you knew, the sky had shifted into something darker and your cheek were pressed against the cold metal of the table. you hadn't slept so much as passed out from exhaustion. your body finally making a decision your mind couldn't.
when you woke, your eyes were swollen and your throat felt likesandpaper. you didn't remember crying but your face was wet and the pillow beneath her head had a damp patch the size of your fist.
you sat up slowly.
the letters were still there.
of course they were.
you gathered them without thinking, your hands moving on their own, stacking them back into the order you’d somehow memorized without trying.
and then she just sat there, looking at them, watching the morning light catch the edges of the paper.
you should throw them away.
that’s what you should do.
but instead, you slipped them back into their envelopes and stood up, your joints stiff from sleeping on a chair.
you walked downstairs, your feet familiar with every step even after all these years. tge house was quiet. your mother was in the kitchen, her back turned, stirring something
"i’m going to put these back," you said.
your mother didn't turn around. “mhm."
you walked out the front door, your bare feet remembering the path even if your mind had forgotten. the mailboxes stood where they'd always stood, unchanged except for the paint that had aged alongside everything else.
you opened the one with your name on it and placed the envelopes back inside.
every single one.
you closed the latch and stood there for a moment, like you were closing something that couldn't be reopened. then you went back inside.
your mother was waiting at the dining table when you returned. There was food in front of her, egg, bacon, and some kind of fried rice that smelled like home in a way that made your chest ache.
"sit," your mother said.
you sat.
your mother watched you . It wasn't the kind of watching that demanded anything. It was the kind that simply waited.
"you look tired."
"im fine."
"you look like you've been crying."
"i wasn’t —"
"your eyes are swollen."
your mother reached across the table and placed her hand over yours. it was warm and rough and everything she remembered from childhood except now the roughness felt different. like time had written itself into her mother's skin.
"are you okay?" you swallowed.
"yes." your mother didn't move.
"are you really okay?”
the "yeah" caught in your throat that time. you could feel it rising, that thing you'd been holding down since yesterday since before yesterday since six years ago, and you pushed it back down the way you’d always pushed it back down.
"yes, ma. i’m okay."
your mother studied you for a long moment.
Then she released her hand and stood up.
“come with me."
.– …. . .-. . .– . -… . –. .. -. .- –. .- .. -.
your mother's room hadn't changed.
It was the same bed, the same curtains, the same wooden rosary hanging from the lamp. but there was something different now. something in the way her mother moved toward her dresser, the way her hands hesitated before opening the bottom drawer.
"mom, what—"
your mother pulled out an envelope.
not a letter envelope. a different one. larger. heavier. there was something inside it that made the paper bend in a way that felt deliberate.
“this was left here for you.”
your mother’s voice was gentle and careful.
the kind people used when they already knew something was going to hurt. you looked down.
an envelope rested in her hands. your name was printed neatly across the front, not handwritten.
you didn’t reach for it.
you didn’t want to.
your mother seemed to understand. she simply walked over to the dresser and placed it there before quietly leaving the room.
the door clicked shut behind her.
and suddenly it was just you.
you and the envelope. you stared at it for a long time. long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable.
you could leave it there.
you could walk away.
you had done it before.
you had spent six years walking away from things that hurt. six years convincing yourself that some doors were better left unopened.
this could be one of them.
but your feet never moved and eventually your hands did what your heart had been afraid of doing all night.
you picked it up. the paper felt heavier than it should have.
inside was a card. simple and white.
the kind of invitation people kept in memory boxes for decades. your stomach dropped before you even started reading.
and somehow, deep down, you already knew. you really knew. you just didn’t know how much it would hurt to be right.
you opened it.
—
you are cordially invited to the wedding of
sophia laforteza
and
victoria chase
—
you read it once. then again. then a third time.
all you could do was stare. because it wasn’t the wedding. not really. it wasn’t even about victoria. it was what the invitation meant.
not the version you’d been reading through the letters. not the woman who spent years writing your name on paper because she didn’t know where else to put it.
that version of sophia was gone.
she had been gone for long.
you were not aware of it until just now.
something tightened painfully inside your chest and then suddenly breathing felt harder than it should have.
because for a long time you told yourself that this would’ve made you happy. you told yourself that if sophia found someone, you’d be relieved. you told yourself that if she got married one day, you’d smile and genuinely wish her well.
and maybe you would’ve.
if this had been the first thing you’d found.
if nothing had arrived by itself.
but it didn’t.
instead, you spent an entire night reading six years worth of loving.
the years worth of hoping.
the years worth of missing.
you watched her wait.
you watched her grieve.
you watched her slowly teach herself how to live without you.
and somewhere along the way, against your better judgment, your hopes started growing too. you didn’t want them to.
god, you didn’t.
but they did anyway.
with every letter.
with every “i miss you”’s.
with every birthday greeting.
with every holiday she spent writing to someone who wasn’t there.
some small, selfish part of you kept looking for a different ending. one where neither of you moved on. one where timing finally became kind.
one where the years somehow brought you back to each other. and now that hope was sitting in your hands, printed on expensive cardstock, being quietly put to rest.
the first tear fell before you noticed it.
then another.
then another again.
until suddenly it wasn’t tears anymore. it became grief. raw and ugly and years overdue.
your knees gave out before you could stop them. you sank onto the floor beside the bed, the invitation clenched tightly in your hands. and for the first time in six years,
you let yourself cry.
not the quiet crying you’ve been doing. not the kind you hid inside showers. or behind locked doors. or beneath the busy schedules and unfinished work.
this was different. this was everything.
all at once.
every excuse. every distraction. every lie you told yourself. it all came rushing back at once.
because the truth was,
you missed her.
you never stopped missing her.
you just became better at carrying it.
and now the weight was finally breaking.
the sob that left your chest barely sounded human. it hurt. actually hurt.
your chest felt tight. your stomach twisted. your throat burned and no amount of breathing seemed enough.
you didn’t know how long you sat there. you weren’t keeping track anymore. all you knew was that at some point the bedroom door opened.
and suddenly your mother was there. she didn’t ask questions. she didn’t tell you to calm down. she didn’t tell you everything would be okay. she simply sat beside you and pulled you into her arms.
and somehow that made everything worse.
because she wasn’t trying to stop your grief. she was letting you have it.
“why?” you choked out between sobs.
your hands trembling against the invitation.
“i endured it for six years.”
your voice cracked.
“i really did.”
another sob tore through you.
“s-so why can’t i endure it now?”
your mother didn’t answer. she just held you tighter. and for some reason that hurt more than any words could have.
because she knew.
she knew there was no answer. only grief.
“i missed her.”
the confession came out broken. small, pathetic, and honest.
“i missed her so much.”
your face disappeared into your mother’s shoulder.
“and i kept telling myself i didn’t.”
your breathing shook.
“i told myself i was fine.”
another sob.
“i told myself i made the right choice.”
you couldn’t continue, because every ugly truth you’d buried for six years was finally clawing its way back up.
the unsent messages.
the nights spent overworking yourself just for exhaustion to win.
the moments you almost called.
the moments you almost went back.
the moments you secretly wished she’d somehow still be there.
none of it had disappeared.
you had simply buried it well.
“i wanted her to wait.”
the words left before you could stop them and immediately you hated yourself for saying them.
because they were selfish. so unbearably selfish.
you really did wanted to be selfish.
“i wanted her to wait for me.”
your shoulders shook.
“but that wasn’t fair.”
you cried harder.
“it wasn’t fair to her.” because sophia deserved a life.
she deserved happiness and you wanted that for her. she deserved a future that wasn’t constantly postponed for someone who was still climbing.
you knew that. you had always known that.
which somehow made this hurt even more.
because sophia had done everything right.
she had loved you. she had let you go.
and eventually, she had let herself be happy. there was nobody to blame and that was the cruelest part.
because grief is easier when someone is at fault.
but this? this was just timing.
it’s just two people who wanted the same future at different moments in their lives.
and no matter how much you cried,
that was never going to change.
because she had moved on.
she found someone else.
she built a life without you in it.
and somehow that wasn’t the part that hurt the most because you always knew this day would come.
you weren’t naive enough to think sophia would spend the rest of her life waiting for someone who had asked her not to.
if anything, you had hoped she found someone. you had hoped she found the life she always talked about.
you wanted those things for her long before she stopped wanting them with you.
so why did it hurt so much?
and suddenly you understood.
it wasn’t because she moved on. it was because you had just watched her do it.
in the span of a few hours, you had witnessed the years spent of loving, grieving, hoping, waiting, healing, and eventually choosing someone else.
you watched her miss you.
you watched her cry over you.
you watched her write your name over and over again like saying it enough times might somehow bring you back.
you watched her slowly stop building a future around you.
and somehow, that felt cruel.
not because she did it.
because you had to see it happen.
all at once.
your younger self never got those letters. never saw the nights she spent writing them. never knew about the birthdays, the holidays, the random afternoons when she missed you so much that she needed to put it somewhere.
but you knew now.
and that knowledge sat heavily inside your chest.
you wanted to be angry at her.
for leaving them here.
for not taking them back.
for not throwing them away once she no longer needed them.
because what was the point?
what was the point of leaving almost six years of her life behind for you to find?
you respected her peace.
you never called. never reached out. never tried to reopen a door that had already closed.
so why couldn’t she have done the same?
did she know how hard this was?
did she know what it felt like to read someone love you for years after you were already gone?
to watch them slowly stop?
to reach the end of the letters and realize the version of sophia that loved you most had disappeared long before you ever got the chance to meet her again?
the thought made your chest tighten.
because deep down, beneath all the frustration and confusion and hurt, there was something even harder to admit.
your hopes had grown.
you didn’t want them to.
you really didn’t.
but they had.
with every letter, some small part of you kept expecting a different ending. something impossible. something unreasonable.
a part of you had started looking for signs that she never truly let go.
that maybe there was still a version of this story where neither of you ended up alone.
and now you felt stupid for it.
because sophia had already reached the final page, you were the only one who had just started reading.
and now, there was a wedding that happened just a week before you got here.
—
the cruel irony was life had brought the both of you back to the same place.
sophia was yet again standing at the next chapter of her life, ready to move forward.
and just like six years ago, you found yourself looking up from where you stood, watching her arrive somewhere you couldn’t be.
——
at thirty-one, sophia was grieving the life she was so used to with you.
now, at thirty-one, you were grieving the life you would never have with her.
hi !! the age you were was everything. one of my favorite fics ive read in a while. would you ever consider a second piece? it’s perfect on its own and everythings been resolved. but the curiousity is eating at me!! just wondering no pressure :) looking forward to your future works. whatever that may be :)
HI!! IM SUPER GLAD U LIKED IT, ANON!!! this genuinely made my day 😁😁😁😁😁😁😁 and yes! i do have plans for a second part!! its already sitting in my notes and im currently writing it (im somewhere in not near between right now lol💔). ITS COMING ND I HOPE U R PREPARED. i just want to make sure it feels right and does the first part justice. ANDDDDDD thank you again for reading it and for taking the time to message me 😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎
pairing݁: older sophia laforteza x younger f!reader
genre: slight angst(?) fluff if u squint
— this was inspired by an au i saw on tiktok ^^
spring came and went. then summer. then another year.
for a while, you kept expecting your life to pause somewhere in between. not forever. just long enough for you to catch your breath and understand what had happened.
life had a way of continuing regardless of whether you were ready for it. bills still arrived. birthdays still came around. friends moved cities, changed jobs, got married. people you hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly appeared on your social media feed holding babies or standing beside houses they had spent years saving for. time moved quietly like that. not in dramatic leaps, but through ordinary days stacked on top of each other until one morning you looked up and realized another season had passed.
you were twenty-five when you let sophia go.
she was thirty-one.
at the time, six years felt enormous.
not because of the number itself, but because of where the two of you stood in life.
sophia already knew what she wanted.
she had spent years building a life she was proud of. she liked her work. she had routines. she knew which grocery store she preferred, which coffee she ordered on stressful mornings, which neighborhood she wanted to live in five years from now. she talked about the future casually, as if it were something she expected to arrive.
and every time she spoke about it, you were there.
never in a way that felt forced.
you simply appeared in her plans naturally.
a vacation next year.
a larger apartment someday.
a dog she insisted would sleep in the bed no matter how much you complained.
a kitchen with enough space for two people to cook without bumping into each other.
you used to listen to her talk and smile.
then later, when she wasn’t looking, you would wonder what it felt like to be that certain.
because while sophia was building a future, you were still trying to survive the present.
you were working long hours. saving whatever money you could. helping where you were needed. worrying about things people with stability rarely thought about. sometimes it felt like your entire life revolved around making sure next month would be slightly easier than this one.
you loved sophia.
that part had never been difficult.
the difficult part was believing you belonged beside someone like her.
sophia paid for dinners.
movie tickets.
weekend trips.
little things she picked up because they reminded her of you.
she never made a big deal out of it. most of the time she acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
you would thank her.
she would shrug.
then she would kiss your cheek and ask what you wanted for dessert.
for sophia, those moments ended there.
for you, they didn’t.
you carried them home.
you thought about them while brushing your teeth before bed.
while checking your bank account.
while trying to calculate how many extra shifts it would take to buy her something equally meaningful.
it wasn’t that sophia expected repayment.
she never did.
the problem was that somewhere deep inside you, love and debt had become tangled together long before you met her.
growing up poor changed the way you understood generosity.
when money was scarce, nothing ever felt free.
every favor came with sacrifice.
every kindness had a cost someone else absorbed.
you learned early to notice those costs.
and once you learned, it became impossible to stop noticing them.
so when sophia spent money on you, your mind automatically began calculating.
how much was it?
how could you return it?
when could you return it?
what did you owe now?
it exhausted you.
eventually, it exhausted her too.
the conversation happened on an ordinary evening.
years later, you wouldn’t remember what movie had been playing in the background or what the two of you had eaten for dinner.
you only remembered sophia sitting beside you on the couch with her legs tucked underneath her, absentmindedly scrolling through apartment listings on her phone.
she did that sometimes.
not because she was planning to move immediately.
she just liked imagining the future.
“look at this one.”
you glanced at the screen.
a house designed to let natural air and light dance inside.
a kitchen bigger than both of your current apartments combined.
you laughed.
“that’s one big house, who can even fill that up?”
“we can.”
“we?”
sophia looked up.
then smiled.
the kind of smile that should’ve made you feel warm.
instead, something in your chest tightened.
“we.”
she set her phone down.
there was no nervousness.
no grand speech. no rehearsed confession.
just certainty. as though the answer had always been obvious.
“will you marry me?”
for a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard her.
the room was quiet.
the television continued playing somewhere in the background.
sophia waited.
patiently.
because she wasn’t asking out of impulse.
she had already made her decision long ago.
the only thing left was yours.
you looked at her.
at the woman you loved more than anyone.
and instead of happiness, fear arrived first.
not because you didn’t want to marry her.
god, you did.
that was the problem.
you wanted it so badly that all you could think about was everything that would happen after.
your parents and the siblings you had that were still studying.
the responsibilities.
the future.
the fact that sophia was already standing where you were still trying to reach.
you looked down at your hands that wasbeing held by hers.
and sophia’s smile slowly faded.
“you have your life built already,” you said quietly.
you remember the confusion on her face more clearly than anything else.
“what?”
“you’re ready to settle.”
you swallowed.
“but i’m not, soph.”
from there, the entire conversation flows naturally.
because now the heartbreak isn’t that y/n doesn’t love sophia.
it’s that the one thing they’ve both wanted is finally being offered, and y/n still can’t say yes.
for a moment she said nothing.
then she asked why.
and because you had been carrying the answer for so long, it came out all at once.
you told her she already had her life together while you were still trying to figure yours out. you told her you wanted to finish everything—problems that has been going inside your life before settling down. that you were scared of becoming someone who skipped entire chapters of their own life because they were trying too hard to catch up to someone else’s.
sophia listened.
really listened.
but as the conversation continued, something changed in her expression.
not anger but something quieter. something tired.
“you don’t let me do anything for you,” you said.
she blinked.
“what are you talking about?”
“you pay for everything.”
“because i want to.”
“you buy me things.”
“because i love you.”
the answer came so quickly that it almost made you angry. because to her it was simple. but to you it never had been.
“sophia… my current situation at this point in my life isn’t something you deserve. you deserve to receive what you offer.”
the discussion went in circles after that. the same points repeated in different forms. until finally sophia leaned back against the couch and rubbed her face.
you had never seen her look so exhausted.
“let go of your pride,” she said softly. you remember flinching at the word. pride.
because pride wasn’t what it felt like. pride sounded arrogant. this felt closer to fear.
“no, it’s not pride that’s saying all these. it’s all me. because every act of love feels like something i have to pay back,” you admitted while that made sophia stare at you.
“then stop treating my love like a debt.”
you wanted to.
god, you wanted to.
but wanting and knowing how were two different things. so you told her the truth. that growing up poor had taught you to keep score even when nobody else was counting. that you didn’t know how to accept help without feeling guilty. that every kindness sat heavily on your shoulders. that sometimes you loved her so much it terrified you because you couldn’t understand why someone like her would choose someone like you.
when you finished speaking, the room was quiet.
sophia looked at you for a long time.
then she said the one thing you still remembered years later.
“i don’t know how to convince you anymore.”
at twenty-five, you thought the relationship ended because you weren’t enough.
at thirty-one, you understood it differently.
you weren’t failing her.
and she wasn’t failing you.
the two of you were simply standing in different places, looking toward different horizons.
sophia was ready for permanence.
you were still trying to discover who you were.
neither of those things were wrong. they were just incompatible.
for a while after the breakup, you spent years replaying every conversation in your head.
wondering if there had been another choice. wondering whether a different version of yourself would’ve stayed.
eventually those questions stopped appearing. not because you found answers. but because life slowly gave you new things to think about.
new jobs.
new friendships.
new responsibilities.
new versions of yourself.
and then one day you woke up thirty-one.
the same age sophia had been.
it happened quietly.
there was no sudden revelation.
just an ordinary birthday surrounded by people who cared about you.
yet sometime during that year, you found yourself thinking about her more often.
not because you missed her. at least not in the way you used to.
you thought about her because for the first time, you understood her.
you understood what it felt like to look years ahead. to imagine a future and instinctively leave space for another person inside it. you understood why she had sounded so tired during that final conversation. why she had wanted so badly for you to believe her.
because now there were people in your life you would gladly inconvenience yourself for. people you would spend money on without expecting anything back. people whose happiness mattered simply because it was theirs. and for the first time, you understood that maybe sophia had felt the same way about you.
sometimes, late at night, she crossed your mind.
usually during small moments.
while washing dishes.
while sitting in your car during traffic.
while walking through furniture stores and noticing a dining table she would’ve liked.
the thoughts never stayed long.
they simply appeared and disappeared like old songs remembered for a few seconds before fading again.
you wondered what her life looked like now.
not enough to search for her.
not enough to interrupt whatever peace the two of you had found separately.
just enough to think that maybe she was married.
maybe she finally got the dog she wanted to watch sit like a human on the sofa.
maybe she had children she wanted to greet and make breakfast for every morning.
maybe she still drank the same coffee every morning that she wanted to be made just for her.
maybe she lived in the house she used to describe whenever she talked about the future and wanted to grow a family in.
you didn’t know. and surprisingly, you didn’t need to. because somewhere along the way, your curiosity stopped coming from longing.
it came from affection.
the kind that remains after love has finished asking for anything.
you hoped she was happy. not in a grand, cinematic way. just happy in the way she wanted to be.
comfortable.
safe.
content.
surrounded by people who appreciated how much she gave. the same way you hoped she would’ve wanted for you.
sitting alone on your balcony one evening, watching lights flicker across neighboring buildings, you found yourself smiling.
when you were twenty-five, you thought letting sophia go meant losing her forever.
what actually happened was stranger than that.
you carried pieces of her forward.
the patience she tried to teach you.
the generosity you spent years learning to accept.
the understanding that being loved did not automatically place you in someone’s debt.
you eventually built a life.
not the one sophia imagined.
not the one your younger self imagined either.
just your own.
and maybe that was enough.
maybe that was always the point.
you looked out at the city and thought about how different the two of you must be now. how many versions of yourselves had existed in the years since you last spoke.
then you laughed quietly. not because anything was funny. just because life had a way of making sense years after you stopped demanding explanations from it.
wherever sophia was, you hoped she was content.
you hoped life had been kind.
you hoped she had found everything she had been looking for.
and if she ever thought of you at all, you hoped the memory felt gentle.
because loving sophia had never become one of your regrets.
it simply became one of the chapters that helped you understand the person you eventually grew into.
My name is Mosab, and I’m writing this with honesty and humility.
I live in Gaza, where war has taken nearly everything from me — my home, my safety, and 25 members of my family, including my beloved mother, siblings, and their children. I’ve been displaced multiple times. Every day here is a struggle to survive.
In the face of this, I turned to the internet — not because I wanted to beg, but because I truly had no other way.
🧭 What Happened
A few months ago, a friend helped me create a GoFundMe campaign:
🔗 https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-me-saving-whos-left-of-my-family
Unfortunately, I could not continue working with the person who set it up. As a result, it was closed — and I had to start over again, this time on Chuffed, where I could manage everything myself.
I am the same person behind both campaigns — same story, same face, same truth. I only changed platforms to regain control and transparency.
💔 Why I Created Multiple Campaigns
I didn’t just make one campaign. I also helped create campaigns for my loved ones:
My wife Nadin, who’s caring for our 11-month-old daughter in these terrible conditions
My brother Abedmajed, and his wife Saja
My nephew Naser lost his mother (my sister) and his sister in a missile strike that hit our family home. That same strike also killed:
My mother
My other sister
My older brother, his wife and their daughters - all gone
My uncle, his wife, their sons, and grandchildren — all erased as well
That home was the heart of our family. And in one moment, it was gone — along with so many people I loved.
Naser, still a teenager, now takes care of his three younger brothers alone. His life — like mine — was shattered in an instant.
We are all in Gaza. We are all real. And we are all trying to rise, together.
⚠️ My Mistake
At the beginning, I made a big mistake.
I was so desperate to get our stories seen that I created multiple Tumblr accounts to send messages and reach more people. I didn’t understand that this would upset users or lead to the campaigns being flagged as spam.
I see now how that felt for others. And I am deeply sorry.
I never meant to deceive or annoy anyone. I was simply trying to survive — and to help my family survive. But I know now that good intentions don’t excuse bad methods.
🔁 What I’m Doing Now
I’ve spoken directly with Chuffed.
I’ve closed all old campaigns.
I’m keeping this account — @mosabsdr — moving forward.
I will be creating new, respectful, honest campaigns for myself and my loved ones.
I will reach out to GazaVetters again to explain and hopefully clear any misunderstandings.
🌱 Moving Forward
From this point on, everything I share will come from the heart — no pressure, no spamming, no noise. Just our truth, told with honesty and dignity.
If you’ve followed me, donated, or shared anything in the past: thank you from the bottom of my heart.
If you were hurt or bothered by how I reached out before — I truly understand. I hope you can see that I’m learning, and trying to do better.
This war has destroyed so much — but we are still here, and we are still rising.
My name is Mosab Elderawi.I live in Gaza. And I’m trying to start again after losing more than I ever thought possible.
If you wish to stay with us on this journey, I welcome you with deep gratitude.
If not, I still thank you for reading and giving me your time.
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