Chapter 38 The Truth #3
Wyn turned toward him, his jaw clenching, his tears still streaming down his face. But he didn’t argue, didn’t push back. He just stood there, his breathing uneven, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
“You don’t have to do this now,” Cahya continued, his voice steady. “You don’t have to tear yourself apart like this. Both of you. Take a step back. Get some space.”
Wyn exhaled shakily, his hands trembling at his sides. “I cannot stay here,” he said, His gaze was full of pain, his red-rimmed eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t give. “I can’t look at you right now. I can’t…breathe here. I’m leaving.”
Cahya stepped forward, his hand lightly touching Wyn’s arm. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go for a walk. You need air.”
Wyn didn’t resist. He didn’t argue or push Cahya away. He simply nodded, his shoulders sagging as if all the fight had drained out of him.
He turned to leave, his steps heavy and unsteady. The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house, leaving behind a silence that was louder than anything I’d ever heard.
I sank to the floor, my tears falling freely now, my chest hollow with the weight of what I’d done. Wyn was gone, and I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance to make things right.
When Cahya returned he was alone, his sweater and clothes wet from the rain. “Does he hate me now?” I cried.
“I don’t know,” Cahya responded, his eyes welling with unshed tears as well. “But I haven’t seen him this devastated since—”
“Jiwon,” I finished his sentence.
We have to go back to that very last time we were in Waverly Peak, the last holiday, the one no one has ever been able to forget, the one that swept in like a hurricane and destroyed everything in its wake.
The last holiday, Yesoh 17, Wynter 19, Cahya, 19
CAHYA’s POV
Wyn and Yesoh were by the front door, their backs to me. The atmosphere between them was thick, charged with something I couldn’t put my finger on. I should’ve just turned away, walked back to the living room I came from, but something in the air held me there, watching them, unable to move.
I was no idiot, I’d always known that Yesoh was different around Wynter.
It was almost like she had this side of herself reserved exclusively for him.
Sometimes I thought maybe I was imagining it, but the eyes never lie.
And she looked at him like little kids looked at fairies and unicorns.
Like something about him was otherworldly.
It was the way Yesoh was standing so close to him, her head tilted slightly, that drew my attention first. She was talking, her voice light, teasing, but something in her eyes was too careful, too deliberate.
And Wyn—he was listening. I could see how his expression softened just a little, his lips tugging at the corners as he half-smiled at her.
But it wasn’t a smile I was used to seeing from him.
It wasn’t the easy, carefree expression he wore when he was skating, when he was with the group. This one was…tentative.
But I also knew Wynter didn’t feel anything towards her, not in that respect. He was far too in his own head. He also tended to have a type—older, more mature.
The weight in my chest shifted, something heavier and sharper settling there. I couldn’t explain why it felt so much like I was intruding on something I wasn’t supposed to witness. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I watched as Yesoh’s voice dropped, her words turning more sincere. “So, I heard from your dad that you’re competing in the Olympics this year?”
The question hung in the air for a moment. Wyn’s shoulders stiffened just slightly, his hand moving to adjust the collar of his sweater like he was trying to mask some kind of discomfort.
“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “I am.”
He would never admit it, but he was nervous, I knew he was.
Yesoh nodded, her eyes flicking over him. “Well, congratulations, then. That’s huge.” Her voice was warm, genuine. She wasn’t just being polite—she meant it. She meant every word of it.
I watched Wyn’s expression shift at her words, his posture relaxing ever so slightly, though the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. He met her gaze briefly, and I saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. But then he looked away, and his voice was steady when he spoke next.
“Thanks,” he said, but the words didn’t hold the lightness they should’ve. They felt heavy, almost forced. “I’m trying to think of it as if it’s just another competition so…”
The way he said it made the pit in my stomach deepen. It was the way he tried to downplay everything, like he couldn’t bring himself to let anyone see how much it actually meant to him.
Yesoh didn’t buy it though. She tilted her head slightly, taking a small step closer. “Wyn, no one else is going to say it to you, so I will. Like I always do, offering you only hard truths. This is a huge accomplishment. I’m—well, I’m very proud of you.”
The words were kind, but they landed in the air like more than just a compliment. They felt like an invitation. Like she was trying to crack open the walls he’d built around himself.
I could see his hesitation. He was looking at her now, his expression caught between a flicker of surprise and something else—something I couldn’t quite place.
Then, without warning, his arms moved, and in a second, he was pulling her into an embrace.
The hug wasn’t quick. It wasn’t casual. It was longer than it should’ve been—too long.
Their bodies pressed close together, and I saw the tension in his back melt, just for a moment, like he was letting go of something that had been weighing him down.
Her arms wrapped around him instinctively, and the connection between them became more than just a gesture.
I knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t about celebrating the Olympics. It wasn’t about competition or achievement. It was about something else—acknowledging her for something deeper.
I felt like an outsider watching them, standing there in the silence of the hallway. I wanted to look away, to give them their privacy, but I couldn’t. I was caught, tethered by something I couldn’t name. The hug, their closeness, felt like it was saying everything without saying anything at all.
Then, without a word, Yesoh pulled back just a fraction, but their hands stayed linked, lingering in that space as if neither of them was ready to let go. Her eyes searched his face.
But I could see it. I saw the hesitation in her eyes, too. She was waiting. Waiting for something that wasn’t said, something that hovered between them like an unsolved mystery. Something that was awake in her but would remain dormant in him for longer.
Wyn’s hand shifted, tightening on hers just slightly, and for a heartbeat, it felt like everything was suspended. Like the world had paused just for them, frozen in time, right here in the hallway, in this house that had suddenly felt too small.
“Okay,” Wyn said, pulling his hand away slowly. The moment was broken, and the cold reality of the air around us crept back in. “I should go make sure the girls are ready.” His words came out softer than usual, and his voice had an edge to it, like something had shifted.
Yesoh nodded, her lips pressed together, but she didn’t say anything more.
She didn’t need to. The words had already been spoken between them, and in the space between us, I could feel the weight of it.
Whatever was hanging there, whatever had passed between them in that moment, I didn’t know. But I knew I’d never forget it.
Wyn grabbed his jacket, moving toward the door, and I stayed still, watching them, trying to make sense of the knot in my chest. I had never seen Wyn so vulnerable, so lost. The way he held on to Yesoh for just a little too long—it felt like a question left unanswered.
He glanced back once, giving a small, almost unreadable smile. “Thanks,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking briefly to Yesoh before he stepped out into the cold night, leaving the door to swing gently behind him.
And then it was just me and her.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to even begin to ask what I’d just witnessed.
Instead, I simply stepped into the room, my boots scraping lightly against the floor.
The weight of what had happened, of what I had just seen, hung in the air like smoke, and it felt too heavy to carry alone.
Yesoh didn’t look at me at first, her eyes fixed on the door as if she was still feeling the warmth of the hug, still lost in that strange, quiet space they’d shared. When she did turn, it was slow, almost hesitant.
“Cahya,” she began, her voice soft but not without a quiet edge. “Do you think he’s ready for what’s to come?”
“For what exactly?”
“For the whole wide world to love him.” She glanced down. “He may not know it now but I do, he’s a phenomenal skater, he will win, and when he does he won’t just be our Wynter anymore. He was, well, he was born to be a star.”
“He was, wasn’t he?” I realized too.
“I hope he’s ready.”
I shook my head, the answer clearer than any words I could’ve said. “I don’t think anyone is ever truly ready.”
It was supposed to be simple.
The plan had been clear from the start; sneak out, skate on the lake, and be back before the cold really set in.
The parents warned us again, like they always did.
Don’t go near the lake, don’t skate at night.
But those warnings were of no consequence to us because they were the parents, they were always worried about one thing or the other.
We’d heard it so many times that it became white noise in the back of our minds.
The thrill of sneaking around, doing something we weren’t supposed to, was too intoxicating. We were teenagers—carefree, invincible, or so we thought. The world had no grip on us. Not then. Not yet.