The night before the university applications were due, the senior class group chat exploded...

[0:01]The night before the university applications were due, the senior class group chat exploded. "Wait, Terry. Why'd you switch your application to the UK? I thought you and Ava were set on Paris." Terry's reply was casual, almost teasing. I switched. So? Ava has my login anyway. He followed it with a smug little comment I could almost feel through the screen. She'll notice I changed it, and of course, she'll follow me. That shadow of mine can't live without me. I stared at my phone, frozen. My half-packed suitcase lay open on the floor, the gift I'd painstakingly chosen for him sitting right on top. I left the chat, tossed the gift in the trash, and closed the application portal for good. He had no idea. He could throw away everything we'd worked toward for Rachel, but I could choose myself. All those late nights, all the effort. It wasn't just for him. Terry's words hit me like shards of glass. "Paris. Twelve years of grueling work, shared dreams, endless study sessions. It had always been our goal." And now, just like that, he'd abandoned it. Without even telling me. Someone in the chat tried to reason with him. What if Ava doesn't see it? The portal closes at midnight tomorrow. Terry's reply dripped with mockery. She's been checking it nonstop since it opened. There's no way she'll miss it. You guys wouldn't understand. The chat erupted with followers praising him, each message more sycophantic than the last. Then one voice dared to question. But what if she doesn't change it? "Paris is the better fit for her program." A pause. His tone snapped cold. No way. Ava can't handle being away from me. She freaked out for one day last year. This is three years. I'm her priority. Not some school. She'll pick me always. The chat went silent. After a moment, someone cautiously typed, "Terry, isn't that unfair? You saw how hard she worked. You should warn her at least," another added. Terry's reply was dismissive, a single, lazy tisk. Then, after a pause, It's a headache. I don't want to deal with it. If she finds out this is about Rachel, she'll cry and I'll have to deal with it. Easier this way. Less drama for me. The chat burst back to life, with people nodding along. "Yeah, makes sense. Ava's great, but she's no Rachel. Damn, Terry, you've got it made." The casual cruelty of it all felt like a weight pressing down on me. I wanted to call him, scream, demand answers, but my fingers wouldn't move. I collapsed onto my bed, numb, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts unraveled. How could someone change so completely? When we were buried in French lessons, exhausted to tears, giving up never crossed our minds. Whenever we felt like quitting, we'd pull up a picture of the Eiffel Tower and joke our way through it. When acceptance letters finally came, we cried and laughed together, knowing all the sacrifices were worth it. Our perfect ending was within reach, and he'd just let go of my hand and ran toward someone else. I wouldn't even have been angry if he'd been honest about wanting to change plans. But why not tell me? Did he see me as that insignificant? Those promises under the stars, whispers of marriage, were they nothing to him? I curled up under the blankets, letting myself cry in the dark. The truth was, I wasn't the one who couldn't live without him. He had separation anxiety, not me. Since we were kids, even being in different classes would make him moody and distant. Only seeing me could snap him out of it. I'd always followed my own path, and he came along because I made sure he did. Terry wasn't wrong. I had always folded him into my future, but my love had limits. I closed the application portal for good, wiped my tears, and decided. He made his choice. I'd make mine. From now on, we were done. I had barely splashed cold water on my face when Terry's video call popped up. "Little shadow, pick up. I want to see you." I ignored it. He tried again. And again. Then a text came. "We're at the old spot. Get here. Take a cab." I didn't want to go. Tired. Not feeling it. "Are you sick? I'm coming over. No. Don't." Then a notification from Rachel appeared. "I'm so sorry, Ava. I begged Terry to come with us. Didn't know you'd be upset. I'll leave. As long as you come, it doesn't matter about me." My phone seemed to radiate a toxic sweetness. Before I could respond, another chat erupted, tagging me relentlessly. "Ava, what's your problem? Can't stand Terry with someone else? Your jealousy is pathetic. Just because Rachel's prettier doesn't mean you get to throw a fit. Grow up." I froze. Then Terry's message appeared. "Ava, I invited Rachel. Problem? Take it up with me. Stop making it hard for her. You know what? Don't come. We'll have more fun without you." Seconds later, they sent a picture of a table full of food. Someone added, "Food tastes better without all the bitterness." A bunch of psychos. I left the group chat, then deleted and blocked Terry's number. A total clean sweep. He had always been my pin contact, no matter how many arguments we had. Now he belonged in the block list. When Rachel first transferred to our school, she'd actually been my friend. Back then, Terry even warned me about her. He said she seemed shady and I should keep my distance. I'd even try to encourage them to get along. Then came the freshman orientation party. Rachel ditched her nerdy, black framed glasses, and appeared in a stunning red dress. She turned heads that night. After that, Terry never warned me away from her again. He and Rachel grew closer. He introduced her to all our friends and before I knew it, my circle had become her circle. Terry treated her differently. Specially. We had a massive fight about it once and we didn't speak for three months. I had said, "If you like her, I'll step aside." But he'd cried, begged me to believe him. "You're the only one who matters to me." Rachel's got depression, Ava. Her dad left. I just feel bad for her. I'm helping. And I had believed him. But Terry had been playing me. Their friendship was an excuse. A flimsy cover for something more. And now this. He had changed his entire future for her. And I was left behind like a fool. By the time I pull myself together, the sky had turned dark. My mom had come home, smiling, fighting with Terry again. "You blocked his number, huh? He wants you to unblock him," she teased. I muttered a noncommittal reply and headed out. My academic advisor had called a last minute meeting to confirm final applications. When I arrived, the seat next to Terry was taken, normally mine. Rachel sat there now. Terry didn't say anything, just took the bag she handed him. His eyes, however, flicked toward me repeatedly. He was expecting me to cave. He was in for a surprise. I turned and sat with Ethan, the campus heartthrob, as far from them as possible. "Double check your applications. The portal closes tonight. No do-overs," our advisor bellowed. Ethan glanced at my form. "Funny coincidence. I'm going to Paris, too. Before I could respond, a hand tapped my shoulder. "Ava. Don't you want to say something?" I ignored him and returned my attention to Ethan. But Terry grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room. "What's your problem?" he hissed. "A little tantrum is one thing, but blocking me? Really?" "I'm warning you. Unblock me now, or you'll never get another chance," he continued. I stared at him for a beat. "Okay. Wasn't planning to anyway." The color drained from his face. "Fine. Don't come crying later." I started to walk away, but he grabbed my arm again, his expression suddenly serious. The deadlines close. Check your application carefully. Make sure there are no mistakes." He stopped mid-sentence as Rachel appeared at his side. "Terry, I don't get this part. Can you help me?" "Sure," he said immediately, bending over to look at her form. I let out a bitter laugh and walked away. By the time he looked up to protest, I was back in the classroom. "Ava. Remember to check it carefully," he called after me. "Right. As if his instructions were gospel. He probably assumed I'd follow him, see he'd switched applications, and instantly adjust mine to matches. What a joke. He refused to tell me the truth, so I decided to act like I didn't know it. If he thought talking to me was a chore, then explaining myself to him was even worse. At least now, I could finally see things for what they were. Back in class, Ethan noticed the storm brewing inside me and insisted on dragging me to a campus concert to lift my mood. As we were leaving, we ran into Terry in the hallway, his expression dark and unreadable. He glared at Ethan, the muscles in his jaw tightening. I could guess exactly what was running through his head. But I wasn't about to explain myself. I looked straight past him, like he was invisible. We turned the corner, and there he was again, surrounded by his friends. "Man, just tell her," one of them was saying. "The UK isn't exactly around the corner from France. You okay with Ava going off on her own?" Terry gave a sharp laugh. "What do I care what she does?" Then he added, with that smug tone that made my skin crawl, "She's already changed it, I'm sure. This is just another one of her tantrums. She's so clingy, it's impossible to shake her off." We locked eyes. He told his friends to go ahead, then stepped closer, backing me against the wall. "So, going to a concert with him now? Getting bold, aren't you, little shadow? You think pretending not to care will work on me?" He grabbed my hand, his voice dropping low, smooth, almost lazy. "Fine. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have snapped before. Can we drop this?" Then, more hesitantly, "Did you check your application? And, maybe mine too?" I didn't answer. The silence stretched until it felt like the air itself was cracking. Then Rachel's voice cut through it. "Terry, they're teasing me again. You have to save me," she called dramatically. Then, as if just noticing me, she widened her eyes in fake surprise. "Oh, Ava, you're here too. You didn't see my story and follow us here, did you?" She didn't give me time to reply before continuing. "Don't misunderstand. I just love this band. So, I asked Terry to come with me. I've been a fan forever." There it was again, that syrupy sweetness that coded everything she said, disguising the poison underneath. I'd had enough of her games. I tried to slip past, but she deliberately stepped into my path. "I'm sorry, Ava. Am I making you uncomfortable? I'll leave if it helps. I just hate seeing you and Terry fight. He's been so upset lately because of you. It breaks my heart." Her eyes shimmered with tears as she bowed dramatically, like she was the saint in this story. "Rachel, what are you doing? Get up." Terry barked, pushing me aside and wrapping his arms around her protectively. "Ava, can you stop overreacting every time you see Rachel? We'll be together for the next three years. Try not to be so petty." I stared at him, stunned for a moment, then laughed bitterly. "You think this is how normal friends behave?" He flinched, but quickly sneered. "So, that's it then? No more pretending. You're the one who said she was fragile and needed help." I shot back. "Now you're calling me jealous?" I looked at his face, when I'd known most of my life, and realized it felt foreign now. "If you want to take care of her so badly, why don't you just marry her?" I turned and walked away, ignoring the sound of his voice rising behind me. "If you leave now, don't bother coming back." I didn't even glance over my shoulder. When I finally made it home, I saw a new story from Rachel. They were playing truth or dare. She'd been dared to kiss someone in the group. Her eyes had scanned the circle and landed on Terry, who sat motionless. "Terry, you're the one I know best," she said softly. "Wow, what are we, strangers?" One of the guys joked. Laughter and teasing filled the room. Rachel's face turned crimson as she stammered. "If Terry doesn't want to, I'll just drink instead." She reached for a glass. Terry's hand shot out, stopping her. "You're allergic to alcohol. You trying to hurt yourself?" "What else can I do? I have to finish the dare," she said, her eyes brimming with tears. He sighed, lifted her chin gently. "You couldn't have picked someone else?" "No," she whispered. And then, trembling, she tugged on his shirt collar, rose onto her toes, and pressed her lips to his. This time, Terry didn't pull away. He slid an arm around her waist and deepened the kiss. Cheers erupted. "Terry, you legend!" The laughter around them blurred into a single, cruel echo. Even though I'd told myself I was done, my chest burned like someone had poured acid straight into my heart. You can't erase a decade of feelings overnight. It always hurts to rip something out that deep. At 11:50 p.m., a faint clink against my window pulled me from my thoughts. A pebble. Our old signal. I hesitated before pulling the curtain back. There he was, swaying slightly, looking up at me with glassy eyes. The same Terry who'd been kissing Rachel hours earlier. His voice slurred as he spoke. "Ava, please don't be mad, okay?" "Just change your application." The UK's amazing. I'll take you to Seabag Ben. "When I went downstairs, the smell of booze hit me first. He was slurring, sticky, and pathetic. Nothing like the arrogant, untouchable guy he usually pretended to be. If only he'd been like this earlier, soft and pleading, maybe I would have fallen for it then. But thank God he hadn't. "Little shadow. The UK is great too," he mumbled. "If you want to see the Eiffel Tower, we can go anytime. It's just a five-hour flight. You've never been away from me. You cry if you don't see me for a day. I don't want you to cry, so I'm letting you follow me." In my head, I'd rehearsed a scene where I slapped him, turned away, and left like a queen. Instead my feet felt rooted to the floor. I shoved him, breath held. "Stop pretending to be drunk." For a second, Panic flickered across his face. Then he put on a vacant, drunken look. "Terry, you coward," I thought. "Why are you still hiding?" "There's no time, little shadow. We need to get this done." He tried to use my thumb to unlock my phone, fumbling with a childish, urgent air. "Come on, be good. The UK is nice. Once this is over, you can mess with me all you want. I'll do anything." I stood there, frozen. "So, even now, you won't just say the truth?" "Does it matter? You already know," he slurred. "I must have been insane to be wasting my night on this." I shoved him hard enough that he stumbled and hit the ground. This time I walked away, letting his desperate shouts fade behind me. "Ava, you'll regret this," he yelled, still trying to threaten me. I turned back, holding up my phone so he could see the time. "It's 12:01 a.m." The look on his face was everything. I went back to my room and let the darkness take me. One last time, I told myself I would grieve him. At dawn, my mother pushed my door open. "What's going on with you two? Terry's been here since early. She left for groceries after telling me to talk it out, so it was just me and him in the living room." He walked in calm, carrying a bag of breakfast, eyes red and clothes rumpled, otherwise normal enough. "This is from that bakery you love, the crab pastries. I stood in line this morning. Eat up. Then we'll go to the school." I blinked. "Why would I go to school?" "To withdraw your Paris application," he said, like it was nothing. "There's another uni in the UK still accepting students close to me. You'll apply there." He slid a form across the table, rewriting my future like it was casual paperwork. It was a downgrade, a second-rate option compared to the Paris school I'd fought for. "Terry, are you serious?" I snapped. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I know you're mad, but if you hadn't thrown a tantrum, none of this would have happened." His words blurred into a ringing in my ears. My dream, the one I'd blood for. Did it mean nothing to him? Had he always been this rotten, or had he decayed slowly, right before my eyes? "Terry, who do you think you are, deciding my future? What gives you that right?" I swept the table, clutter crashing to the floor, and pointed a shaking finger at him, screaming. "Have your parents been pushing us together all these years? You've clung to me, hoping to marry me, right? So, why the act now? Was I just a prize to impress? Proof you could be good enough?" Then I hit him, a clean, hard slap. When I came back to myself, my hand trembled. "Get out. Get the hell out of my house." "Fine," he spat. "But don't come crawling back. You're stupid, and your temper is awful. Let's see you survive in Paris without me crying and begging to come find you." Rage shook me. His face was a storm cloud. We stood there, frozen, when the front door swung open. "Terry, you left your clothes at my place." A corner of the bag was visible, and anyone could see what peeked out—a pair of Terry's boxers. Rachel didn't bother pretending anymore. She punched his arm playfully, smirking. "Ugh. You were so rough last night. I'm still sore." My jaw tightened. Out. I had zero appetite for their sick little performance. I thought he'd spend the night under my window, waiting. Turns out he'd been in her bed. Thank God my resolve had held. If I'd been foolish enough to change my application, those two would have turned me into some tragic cliché, weeping across the English Channel. Rachel moved toward me again, her face a porcelain mask of wounded innocence. Before she could speak, I shoved both of them out the door. If they wanted a show, they could take it somewhere else. They were not allowed to poison my living room. I collapsed on the sofa, a weight pressing on my ribs. Then Ethan texted, asking if I wanted to get out of town. I rang my best friend. She was in immediately. We made a snap decision, booked a road trip to the California coast. Mountains, water, clear views, good medicine. That afternoon, I ate grilled artichokes, cipino and fresh sourdough, and the food and scenery kept Terry at the edges of my mind. That night, when a small melancholy started to creep in, Ethan found a beach bonfire. My best friend and I danced around the flames until we felt weightless. We didn't get back until three in the morning. My friend checked her phone, eyes widening. "Whoa, a hundred missed calls. My mom's going to kill me." She shoved her phone into my hands. "It's Terry. A hundred missed calls, all from him." My thumb hovered over the block button, but I answered. "What? Ava, where are you? We haven't seen each other in a day." "I'm in California," I said, running a hand through my hair. "Don't joke. Get over here. We made plans. Who made plans?" Everyone in his circle grated on my nerves now. He kept pushing, frantic, until my mom's voice came on in the background. "Terry, Ava's in California with her friend. Didn't you know?" There was a brief silence. Then through clenched teeth, he said, "You're really something else, Ava." "Damn right I am. Smart, kind, pretty from a good family, a total catch." I looked in the mirror and decided I was practically glowing. Ethan had planned the trip, and the three of us had the best time. Sun, sand, seagulls, and Ethan, a surprisingly good photographer, snapped gorgeous shots of me and my friend. Meanwhile, Rachel overloaded social media, posting eight times a day. Each post a nine-photo collage, Terry posed like a designer handbag in every frame. I stared at the pictures, my feelings a messy knot. It wasn't strictly sadness, more a sense of loss for a future that never happened. During the hell of exam prep, I'd imagine seeing these places with him. Now, the exams were over, and he was here, with someone else. But it was fine. I told myself I was thriving alone. I repeated it until it felt true. My best friend shifted into full matchmaker mode, determined to set me up with Ethan. "Wear it. No one could pull off this red dress like you. Your majesty, on top of your brilliant mind, you also possess devastating beauty." She fussed and finally wrestled me into the dress. When I looked in the mirror, I was stunned. "Wow." "Damn right, wow. My best friend is a goddess." She snapped a dozen mirror selfies and posted them immediately, no filter needed. Likes and comments poured in. "Girl, I'm looking respectfully. Are you my long lost wife? Your vision post more." I laughed. I'd always been too busy to really dress up. When Ethan saw me, his jaw dropped. "You look beautiful." "Your nose is bleeding." I teased, handing him a tissue. He turned red as a tomato. My friend hooted like a proud monkey from the doorway. "Ooh la la," she sang. "Watch out. I'm about to destroy this bitch," she warned, dead serious. Rachel had commented on the picture. "Wow. Ava, your makeup skills are unreal. You look like a completely different person. I wish I could do mine like that, but I'm hopeless," Rachel commented under my post. I frowned, ready to fire off something sharp, but Ethan beat me to it. "Makeup enhances beauty. It doesn't work miracles on livestock," he wrote. My jaw dropped. I turned toward the campus golden boy, the one who rarely said more than a few words to anyone. He avoided my eyes, cheeks faintly pink. "Nice one," I said quietly. "Thanks." He cleared his throat. "Don't mention it." That little scene wrapped up fast and before long. So did our trip. We came home sun-kissed and happy, our bags full of souvenirs. But standing at my doorstep was a group I hadn't expected, Terry and his friends. When he saw me, his eyes widened. For a second, that familiar adoration flickered through his expression. "You look incredible." He looked awful, though, thinner, pale, with dark circles etched under his eyes. "Unblock me," he said. I frowned, confused, as he stepped closer. His fingers brushed my arm and he exhaled like he'd just found oxygen. "Ava, come on, stop this. I've brought you something. Look, it's your favorite." Before he could finish, Ethan stepped between us and shoved him back. "She doesn't want you touching her. Learn to take a hint." Terry froze, then grabbed Ethan by the collar. "He's right," I said, voice flat. "I don't want you to touch me." His face twisted in disbelief. "You're taking his side?" "Yes." His tone cracked. "Ava, what about me?" But I didn't answer. I'd just turned away. He used to be the lead in the story of my future, but now, he was nothing but a background character. I had deleted him from the script entirely. Even my mom could sense something had changed between us. When I told her everything, she was furious on my behalf. But Terry's mother was another matter. One afternoon, she cornered me. "Ava, sweetheart. What's been going on? Did Terry do something wrong? Don't worry, I'll talk to him." Then her voice softened into that manipulative, motherly tone. A little fight between lovers isn't the end of the world, you know. But if you stay stubborn, it hurts both sides. Terry's been miserable since the two of you fell out. He can't eat, can't sleep. You'll make up soon anyway, so what does it matter who says sorry first? I had planned to stay polite, out of respect for her age. But that plan evaporated. "Ma'am, Terry and I are over," I said, sharp and steady. "Please stop trying to guilt trip me." Her smile vanished like someone had cut a string. From behind her, Terry appeared, fists clenched. "Ava, that's enough. How dare you talk to my mother like that?" "We're done, Terry," I said coldly. "Don't think I'll ever come back. I won't care next time you try crying about it." He dragged his mother away, yelling, "When you get bullied in France, don't call me for help." He talked a big game, but late at night, I'd sometimes wake up to see him standing across the street, staring at my house. I didn't bother trying to figure him out anymore. I'd just called the police and reported a stalker. Moving abroad alone was tough, but it was also exhilarating. Once I settled my apartment and classes, I felt free for the first time in years. Ethan was a huge help. No problem too small, no task too much. We grew close fast, helping each other through the challenges of university life. For the first time, I felt truly happy. Until the day Rachel called, "Ava, how can you be so heartless? Is tormenting Terry fun for you? He's sick with worry." I blinked, dumbfounded. "Wait, is France now considered the shadows of the UK? Were they really still living in that delusion? That I was going to drop everything and chase after him? Please." Terry's ego was indestructible. I was about to hang up when his voice came through the line. "Ava, come back. We've been apart too long. You can't handle it without me. Your separation anxiety." "Terry," I interrupted, calm but cutting. "You're the one who can't handle it. You're the one who can't live without me." The line went dead quiet. It took him a long time to finally speak again. "No," he said softly, his voice shaking. "That's not true. Then why are you the one losing sleep, dropping weight, and falling apart while I'm thriving?" I asked, voice steady. He repeated stubbornly, "I'm fine. You're the one who needs me. Ava, I was wrong. Just come back to me. Rachel doesn't have the same support I do. She has to manage on her own. It doesn't matter which school you pick. Your future is secure. You don't need to punish yourself just to spite her. Come to the UK, Ava. Please." By the time he finished, his voice was raw with desperation. I ended the call. Luckily, Ethan's voice cut through. "Ava, group discussion. Let's go." That night, Terry appeared outside my apartment. He was a wreck, unshaven, exhausted, bloodshot eyes, fingers nervously fidgeting. "Ava," he said, pulling me into a desperate hug, letting out a sigh of relief. I felt an echo of another time, another city, when he'd held me like this, whining. "Let's marry after graduation. Then I can keep you by my side every day," he murmured. I pushed him back, but he clung to my hand. "Why are you being so stubborn? This school doesn't matter. You always compromised for me," he muttered, eyes wild. "Is this about Ethan?" I asked. "Terry, I love design," I said sharply. "Since I was three, I've wanted to be a designer. All my effort wasn't to become a trophy wife. I have a passion. Do you understand?" His eyes darted away. "I—you never told me." I couldn't believe it. I might as well have had future designer tattooed on my forehead. He had never cared. I was just a familiar, convenient presence. "Terry, I owe you nothing. Stop harassing me," I said. "I was happy when we met. Happy when I loved you. So, let me be happy now that I'm letting you go." He froze. His fingers barely grazed my sleeve as I walked away. "You're right, Ava. I'm the one with separation anxiety. I can't live without you," he shouted after me. "Please give me one more chance." I'd already given him enough chances. He'd thrown them all away. Terry dropped out of university and followed me to France, silently trailing my steps across campus. One day, I stopped him. "I'm sorry, but my boyfriend has a problem with this." "Ethan," he asked. "Yes." Ethan stepped forward, arm around my waist, confident and protective. Terry's head fell. "Then, what about my separation anxiety?" His eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You already found the cure," I said flatly. When he turned, his color drained. Rachel was there. She had been trailing him all along. Just like before, huh? Crawling into my bed was a temporary fix, wasn't it? She offered her hand. He flinched, recoiling as if burned. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He had thought using her would numb the pain of losing me, but the more he tried, the clearer my face appeared in his mind. Eventually, it replaced hers entirely. "Don't spew lies to excuse yourself," I said. It was lust, pure and simple. Stop acting like the victim. Maybe the first time, but what about the kiss at the bar? Color drained from his face. Excuse is exposed. Rachel clutched his arm, faded to him now. I wanted nothing to do with either of them. Terry became a ghost in my past. Years later, after finishing my degree and returning home, I heard about him again. A fight with Rachel left him permanently injured. His family disowned her, and she went to jail. I shook my head, turning back to my sketches. Ethan, polishing his wedding band, glanced at me. Serves him right. I smiled. Terry was a chapter closed. Now, all that mattered was the pen in my hand and the life I was creating.