12. Chapter 7
Rewind
Evin
E vin’s phone buzzed, the notifications lighting up the screen in quick succession.
She ignored them at first, but then Milka’s name flashed across the screen. A call.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her fingers were already trembling as she unlocked her phone.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“You haven't seen the video?” Milka’s tone was urgent.
Before Evin could respond, another notification popped up.
“Wait!”
A message from the group chat. A video had been shared. Her chest tightened as her shaky hands opened the chat.
The first few seconds of the clip played :
Ben and her.
Kissing.
__________
Sebastian
H e had only watched the video once.
Once was enough.
Ben.
Evin.
Their quiet, burning stares between them.
Their kiss.
His hand touching her skin.
For a second he had forgotten to breathe.
The screen eventually dimmed, fading to black on its own. Just like something inside him.
Quiet and brutal.
Bas had just come back from practice. He sat at the edge of his bed, muscles sore, clothes damp, but the heat in his chest had nothing to do with training.
Training had gone well—just like always.
He’d never let his thoughts mess with his game.
Self-control. Discipline. No excuses. That’s how he’d been taught. By his coaches. And by his father.
The AC was blasting, and still, the air felt thick.
His temples pulsed so hard it felt like something was drilling into his skull. The pressure behind his eyes grew until he had to shut them.
But shutting them just made the images sharper.
Ben and Evin. Evin and Ben.
That look she gave right before she leaned in.
He bent forward, elbows on his knees, forehead nearly resting on his fists. The longer he sat there, the faster his breathing got.
Like each thought was pulling oxygen from his lungs.
Like his chest was caught in a vice of memories, rage, and… disappointment .
He knew it since that night at the club! Didn't make it sting less.
And still— God —he had hoped.
Screw her. Screw him! Fuckers…
"Stupid. Fucking stupid."
He stood up, and paced. Back and forth.
Like an animal in a cage that had only just realized it would never escape. Like a prisoner locked in solitary, no way out.
The worst part was, it hadn’t looked like some random kiss.
It looked like it meant something. Like something that used to be theirs.
And maybe that’s what threw him off.
Because even when things with Evin were messy, he always thought they understood each other in ways no one else could.
They were both fucked up. Both impossible. But still—they got it.
And now?
That kiss had felt like getting slammed with a brick to the chest. Not because she owed him anything. But because he hadn’t expected it to hurt like this.
But why the hell did it feel like this wasn’t just about Ben?
And why did it feel like she had chosen something—someone—over what both of them had?
What did I even think we were?
They’d always danced on that line. Teasing. Fighting. Kissing. Never official and never easy.
Bas knew, they never defined anything. But somehow, in his mind, this had been different from the usual chaos.
Maybe that’s why it hurt. Because part of him had believed it was already more than just a game.
That this thing between us—whatever the hell it was—meant something.
Apparently, not enough for her.
Even when he messed things up. Even when he didn’t say the things she needed to hear.
She’d stayed. She’d seen through all of it.
His eyes landed on the mirror across the room.
And what he saw wasn’t himself. It was the shell of someone who looked like him.
Pale.
Drawn.
He froze mid-step.
Was it about Ben? Or was it about our fight?
Had he gone too far? The words he’d thrown at her.
I'd said she was free. Free like a fucking bird.
And he’d meant it. He had .
He just hadn’t expected her to fly straight into someone else’s arms.
And yet... part of him liked the image of her that way.
Free. Wild. Impossible to hold.
Birdie.
My Birdie.
Fuck! Stop that shit!
His gaze darkened, and then—without thinking—he smacked himself.
Get it together, man. Get it the fuck together!
His skin stung with the echo of his own slap.
You can have any girl. You don’t need her! Who even is she?
Just some girl! Like any other… right?
That’s what he told himself. Over and over again. Until the lie started to sound like truth.
"I don’t care," he whispered, almost laughing. "I don’t—"
But his voice cracked.
He despised her. No, she disgusted him.
Was it really that hard? To just be with me and no one else?
Of course it had been easy before… Easy because he did whatever the hell he wanted—and she just... watched. Accepted it.
And now? Was she done watching?
The n the image of her kissing Ben flashed before his eyes, and just like that, the shame twisted into rage.
No more thinking.
No more aching.
Just rage.
Let it all fucking burn.
The disgust burned in his throat, bitter. And the hatred—it burned beneath his skin.
Yet again, she’d left him with that feeling—like only a shower could wash her off.
_________
His phone hadn’t stopped lighting up since the video dropped. Notifications pouring in all weekend, from teammates, classmates, people he hadn’t spoken to in months.
They just wanted the drama.
But what stunned him more than the flood of messages was the quiet realization of how many people had known.
How many knew about them and how many had seen the video.
She fucking played me… And that thought made his jaw clench so hard it ached.
Even her name had popped up again and again.
Message after message—unopened, unread.
He refused to give her even the satisfaction of knowing she got to him.
As if there was anything left to say.
As if there was still a version of this where her words could matter.
She really thought I’d give her a reaction?
But he knew the hate would only last as long as he didn’t look at her.
So he wouldn’t.
He’d avoid her—every hallway, and every lesson—if that’s what it took to erase her.