The Story Of Us

3. Violet

3

VIOLET

I’ve never felt so much dread getting ready for school before, but I know I’ll have no choice but to see Isaac today. With every action I do to get ready, it feels like I’m counting down to a monumental event - brush my teeth, I’m seeing Isaac in 30 minutes , wash my face, I’m seeing Isaac in 28 minutes , change into my uniform, I’m seeing Isaac in 20 minutes , brush my hair and tie it up, I’m seeing Isaac in 15 minutes .

I leave my room and knock on Avery’s door so we can walk to homeroom together, and I steel myself as best as I can, reassuring myself that the world won’t end when I see him. But then we’re walking through the corridor, and I see just the back of his head, and it feels like there’s a physical ache in my chest like my knees are about to give out, and I’ll collapse right where I’m standing. I stumble a bit, my feet trying to plant themselves into the ground, but I force myself to keep walking, and, luckily, Avery doesn’t notice.

She continues talking, and I continue pretending to listen, the same thing I did with Izzy the other day where I just murmur in all the right places because I can’t focus on anything but him as he enters the classroom. I suddenly wish I’d gotten up earlier, dragged Avery out of bed earlier, or just done anything to avoid having to walk past his desk. If just seeing the back of him has me falling apart this much, I don’t know what actually seeing his face will do to me.

I wonder if he’s changed his glasses over the summer like he usually does. Last year, he FaceTimed me while trying on new ones, asking for my opinion on all of them and ultimately going with the round pair that I thought looked best on him. It was a change from the square ones he’d been wearing for the past few years. The rounded frames made his features look sharper, but not in a harsh way—it just felt like I was seeing him in high definition.

I don’t have to wonder if he’s cut his hair, though, because it looks exactly the same as it has every September, slightly longer on the top than the sides so that it covers his forehead without being too messy. I loved it when his hair would get longer, would run my fingers through it, and play with it at any chance I could get. Sometimes, when it was long enough, he would even humour me and let me make tiny braids with it. Every time he got it cut, he would come and find me after, saying that it felt better when I scratched his head while it was shorter. I try not to think about all the times he would play with my hair, too, and how much I miss the comfort of it.

I stop thinking about anything else to do with him and tune back into what Avery is saying. She’s complaining about something, but I haven’t heard enough to figure out what. By the time I do, we’ve entered the classroom and are being greeted by Mr. Victor.

“Violet, Avery.” He always names every student as they walk through the door, his informal way of taking the register so he doesn’t have to waste time calling out everyone once we’ve all settled down.

“Good morning, sir.” We reply in unison, and Avery lets out a huff as we walk towards the same desks we’ve sat at for the past six years. She drops her bag off her shoulder and drags it across the floor, and it lightens my mood a little to see how dramatic she is.

But then I see him in my peripheral, just a glimpse of his side profile, and it’s enough to have my stomach feel like it’s weighed down with lead.

He’s turned in his chair, chin resting on folded hands as he talks to his friends. He hasn’t changed his glasses, the thin round frames, the same ones that I picked out last year, and I don’t want to think too much about why he hasn’t changed them.

I thought he hadn’t noticed me walking past, but as I take my seat in the back row, I can feel his eyes on me. I used to think there was a magnetic pull between us. Even before we started dating, every time I looked at him, he would already be looking at me. I could always tell as if I could physically feel the way his eyes would trace me, and I hate that that instinct still hasn’t gone away.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, opening and closing random apps just so it looks like I’m doing something because I can still feel the weight of his stare, and I refuse to look back because I don’t know what seeing his face clearly will do to me .

The classroom starts filling up, the voices of twenty-five seventeen-year-olds gradually getting louder to the point where Mr. Victor has to clap his hands together to get our attention. I lock my phone and drop it on my desk but instead of facing ahead to look at Mr. Victor, my eyes go to Isaac.

He still hasn’t turned around.

Our eyes finally meet, and it’s like a thousand questions are being asked.

How are you?

How was your summer?

Can you forgive me?

Did you miss me as much as I missed you?

He chews his bottom lip between his teeth, nudges his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and tilts his head to the side. I know him well enough to know that he’s trying to think of something to say.

But maybe I don’t know him that well at all because instead of opening his mouth, he just closes his eyes, gives a tight shake of his head, and turns in his chair to face the front of the classroom.

My hands curl into fists. The pressure of my nails digging into my palms is the only thing keeping me grounded right now, as I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. I drop my head to look down at my desk instead, and I can hear Mr. Victor droning in the background, but my thoughts are completely focused on Isaac and whatever just happened between us.

Mr. Victor goes through the usual routine on the first day back at school, calling us all up row by row to collect our schedules. I take note of the three English Lit classes I have, three classes that I’ll have no choice but to see Isaac in. If I can’t even get through a twenty-minute homeroom with him, I don’t know how I’ll be able to share a classroom with him for five hours a week.

A few months ago, we were ecstatic at the thought of being in the same class because even though we both did English Lit, we’d been put in different groups. Second-year students are always in the same class, though, so there was no doubt in our minds that we’d be able to sit next to each other for the whole year. My favourite class with my favourite person felt like a dream, but now it just feels like a cruel reminder from the universe that I won’t be able to escape him until school is over and we go our separate ways.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, with introductory sessions for each of the three classes I’ll be taking, with English Lit being the last of the day. The teachers have set their expectations and deadlines for us, stressing the importance of this year if we want to get into our chosen universities. Even though taking three writing-intensive classes will mean I’m stuck on my laptop for most of the year, it’ll help me prepare to study English Lit and Creative Writing at university, which has been my plan for years now.

By the time the bell rings to signal the end of lunch and the start of my last period, I’m exhausted, still getting used to being back at school and honestly, still getting used to seeing Isaac again .

I managed to avoid him for most of the day, but I know there’s no chance of that now as I head to the English block and find my classroom. I peek into the room before I enter and don’t see him anywhere, so I walk in and take a seat in the middle row right next to the window, enjoying the view of the autumn leaves falling before I feel his approach.

He’s worn the same aftershave for years now, a citrusy vanilla scent that always felt so comforting. I used to love seeing him every morning before school started, both of us leaving our bedrooms early enough to steal a moment together.

The smell of his perfume was always so strong because he would spray it before coming to see me, knowing how much I liked it. I would hug him tightly, press myself as close to him as possible, and wish that science could find a way for me to crawl inside his chest and always be part of him. I would hope that his perfume would transfer onto my clothes just enough so that I could feel like he was with me all day.

But now the smell just feels suffocating, like it’s replacing the oxygen in the air with something poisonous, and I can’t catch my breath.

I keep my eyes fixed on the window as I hear him pull out the chair next to mine, and I know he wants to sit there to solidify us staying next to each other for the whole year. I would have loved nothing more than that a few months ago, but now it just feels like I’m being trapped.

“I’m saving that seat for Avery.” My voice comes out quiet as if my body feels betrayed by the fact that I’m speaking to him right now and refuses to cooperate .

“Violet.”

He says my name with the soft tone that I got so used to hearing every morning as soon as I woke up and every night just before I slept, with a gentleness that has me wanting to burst into tears because I’ve missed it so much.

But then I’m reminded of the last time I heard him say my name, and the anger overrules it. It has me turning around so quickly to face him. I don’t think he expected it because he averts his gaze away and stares down at the chair instead. I glance down and notice how white his knuckles have turned from the way he’s tightly gripping the chair.

“What?” I surprise myself with how venomous I make the word sound.

“Can we talk?” He lifts his head to look at me, and I can see the sincerity on his face, the way his bottom lip is red from how much he’s biting it, and how his eyebrows are knitted together as he tries to hide his frown.

“No, we can’t. And I told you Avery is sitting there.”

“I know she’s not in this class.”

I don’t know what else to say to him. I hate how easily he can tell when I’m lying, considering I’ve never done it before. He opens his mouth and closes it again, at a loss for words as much as I am. Then he lifts his hand off the chair before patting it once and walking away with a resigned look on his face. He goes to the other side of the room and sits by himself at an empty desk in the row behind mine.

The rest of our classmates filter in and once everyone has taken their seat, the one next to mine remains empty. I don’t pay much attention to what Mrs. Harper says, focusing all my attention on making sure I don’t look at Isaac because I know his eyes are on me .

Once the bell rings, I start packing my stuff away, and he approaches me again.

“Violet, I want to fix this.” The softness in his voice is still there even after the way I spoke to him, and I don’t know how he manages it. I don’t know if I can ever speak to him the same way I used to. Sometimes, it even feels like all the kindness I had for him has escaped me.

“There’s nothing to fix.” I stand, shrugging my bag onto my shoulder and tucking my chair under the desk. He’s standing right next to me and doesn’t move at all, even when I try to leave.

“Please don’t say that.” He whispers, a pained look on his face, with his forehead creased, and his lips pressed together tightly. I think of all the times I would smooth the crease between his eyebrows to get rid of it because I hated seeing him like that. He tilts his head to the side, and I hate that I’m still so affected by his mannerisms that I still know them all intimately enough to know what he’s saying without words.

“Just leave me alone. We’re done.”

It’s harsh, and I know I’ve hurt him by the sharp inhale of breath he takes, his eyes closing for a few seconds before he opens them again. His gaze flits across my face, and I regret saying it. I want to take the words back because I know by the way he’s looking at me that he’s going to do exactly what I ask of him because that’s what he’s always done.

He takes a deep breath before nodding his head and doesn’t say a single word to me before he turns and walks out of the classroom, taking another little piece of my heart with him.

The sound of my phone ringing forces me to get up from where I’m lying on my bed and stumble over to my desk to answer it while it’s charging. Who knew pretending to do stuff on your phone just to avoid looking at your ex-boyfriend could drain the battery so much?

I answer it, and as soon as my mum says my name, it’s like the strength I’ve been forcing all day just completely collapses, and I sink back onto my bed, throwing my arm across my eyes as I will myself not to start crying.

“How was your first day?”

“It was fine.” I’m afraid that if I say anything more, if she asks about Isaac, I won’t be able to hold back the tears that are building in my eyes.

“Just fine? Did you see him?”

I can’t help the shaky breath that escapes me. I hope she hasn’t heard it, but then she lets out a sigh of her own. I’m torn between telling her what happened with him, how he said he wanted to fix it, and how, for a split second, I almost agreed. But then I decide it’ll just make her worry more than she already seems to be doing, so I don’t say anything at all.

“You’re allowed to be sad, meri jaan, and you don’t have to bottle it all up. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Mum knows that I never told anyone else, and so she really is the only person I can talk about him with, but I don’t want to. It still feels like I did something wrong by telling her in the first place because I just know he’s still kept our secret. I always thought he would tell Luke because of how close they are, but my gut instinct tells me that he still hasn’t. I’m the only one who’s broken that promise, but he’s broken so many others.

“I’m okay, really. It was just weird seeing him. But I can’t avoid him for the entire year, so I’ll just have to deal with it.”

“You can come home whenever you want.”

That brings me back to my senses, and I roll my eyes because I knew she would say that. She doesn’t understand that even though I love her more than anything else in the entire world, I want to leave her, move away even further for university, and not have to rely on her so much for everything. I sit up, frustration building within me because I know she’s only trying to help me, but going home won’t fix anything.

“I’m not coming home, Mum. The year just started. It’s way too soon.”

“I didn’t say you had to come home now, just whenever you want.” Her voice is still soft, but there’s a hint of annoyance coming through. I decide to just keep going since this conversation has started already and there’s no point pretending I have any other plans for the rest of the year.

“Honestly, I probably won’t come home as often. It’s my last year, and I need to focus on studying, which is easier to do when I’m here.”

She lets out a sigh, and I can picture her so clearly that I can tell that she’s probably pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes closed as she tries to remain calm.

“Okay, whatever you think is best for you. I love you, meri jaan. Call me whenever.”

“Love you, too.”

I hang up and throw my phone back onto my desk. I’ve regretted so many things I’ve said today, not just to her but to Isaac, too, but I’m too cowardly to do anything about it. I spend the rest of the night trying to figure out how I can stop letting this hurt fester inside me, but I don’t find a solution.