Chapter 3

After hearing Kayla's answer, Darren let out a quiet breath of relief. He stood to leave, but before walking out, he turned back to remind her one more time. "Don't worry. I'll take care of the debt collectors. No one's going to bother you or your mom ever again." His footsteps faded into the hallway. Kayla held back her tears for as long as she could—until they finally spilled down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands as memory after memory surged through her mind. She remembered her mother after the divorce, dragging them from town to town while juggling jobs just to pay off the debts. Her father had disappeared after gambling everything away, leaving them to face the threats, the pounding fists on the door, and endless sleepless nights alone. And then there were the whispers, the insults, the relentless judgment from everyone around them. If giving up one chance to make a name for herself meant her mother could finally live in peace, then maybe she could leave this place without guilt. With that thought, Kayla's emotions finally began to settle. She reached out to the design competition committee and officially withdrew from the finals. Right after, she planned to lie down and rest. But just then, her phone buzzed. It was a message from Winona, attached with a screenshot of the official notice confirming she had been bumped into the finals. "Hey! I heard you dropped out of the competition. Honestly, I didn't even care that much about winning. I just mentioned it to Darren in passing, but he took it to heart. I know how much this meant to you, but he cares so much about me… I guess you got caught in the middle. Sorry about that! "Oh, and how was the clam chowder? I had a craving this morning and asked Darren to go wait in line for it. But when he brought it back, I wasn't feeling it anymore, so I told him to give it to you instead. Hope you liked it." Winona's smugness nearly seeped out of the screen. Kayla read through every word, each line making her chest tighter. She had spent three nights in the hospital, taking care of herself. Every day, Kayla would scroll through Instagram and see Darren flooding his feed with love-drunk updates. There were photos of him and Winona at trendy restaurants, screenshots of her gushing over a puppy, and a full grid of her selfies filling up his profile. The comments underneath were dripping with envy. "You didn't post a single thing for over a decade, and now you're flooding everyone's feed just because you're in love? Seriously, are you that happy?" "Are you even the same Darren I used to know. Ugh, so lovey-dovey." This version of Darren was the first time she had ever seen him like this. Kayla let out a bitter laugh, her eyes stinging with tears. It seemed he really did love Winona. The first thing Kayla did after being discharged was return home and pull out the old box from under her bed. Inside were all the things tied to Darren—the first fountain pen he ever gave her, every birthday gift he had picked out, and the movie ticket stubs from all the films they had watched together. She struck a match. The flame flickered at her fingertips. "Kayla, what are you doing?" Kayla's mother, Beatrice Robson, had just returned from the market when she saw the flames and dropped the grocery bags in shock. She rushed forward to stop it. Kayla stopped her with a firm grip. "Mom, I did this. I wanted to burn them." "Why? Aren't those your most treasured things?" Beatrice asked, bewildered. Kayla was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked up and said calmly, "I just got my student exchange placement. I'll be heading overseas soon." Beatrice's expression lit up, but it quickly darkened with concern. "Does Mr. Tate know? I thought you... You've always liked him. Once you're gone, there's no going back." Kayla knew exactly what her mother meant. Once she left, with an entire ocean between them, any chance of being with Darren would disappear completely. But the truth was, even without the distance, there had never really been a chance at all. Her eyes lingered on the last photo curling in the flames. It was from the junior year of track and field. She had snapped it in secret. Darren was in a white school jacket, standing tall on the podium as sunlight cast a golden outline around him. She said softly, "Mom, I don't like him anymore. I never will again." The fire consumed his soft smile and gentle eyes, devouring the secret Kayla had kept hidden throughout her youth. Then came the loud bang of the front door swinging open. Darren stood at the entrance, jacket draped over his arm. His gaze landed on the fire flickering in the metal bin. "What was that about not liking someone anymore?" Kayla froze. She quickly moved the bin behind her. "It's nothing." Thankfully, Darren didn't press her. He turned toward Beatrice, a faint, effortless smile on his face. Even the way he stood carried the quiet nobility of someone born into privilege. "Beatrice, I remember you used to make that stew that's good for the stomach, right? Could you teach me how?" Beatrice wiped her hands on her apron. "Mr. Tate, if you want it, I can just make it for you." "No need," Darren said with a soft smile, warmth flickering in his eyes. "It's for my girlfriend. I want to make it myself." "Your girlfriend?" Beatrice blinked in surprise. "You… have a girlfriend now?" Darren nodded as he rolled up his sleeves. "Yeah. I'll bring her by next time to meet you." His voice softened unconsciously at the mention of her. Kayla stood in the shadow of the hallway, watching the man she had loved for ten years. Now, every bit of his attention belonged to someone else. Beatrice shot a worried glance at Kayla, her face tightening with sympathy. But after a moment, she nodded and said, "Alright… I'll teach you." Soon, the sound of running water filled the kitchen. Kayla lingered at the doorway, watching Darren's long fingers wrap around the handle of a kitchen knife. A moment later, he hissed under his breath. Blood welled up from a shallow cut on his finger, but he didn't seem to care. He rinsed it under water and went right back to slicing ginger. Through the rising steam, Kayla felt dazed. She used to imagine that one day—if they ever ended up together—that cool, composed man would roll up his sleeves and cook for her in a quiet kitchen. She would slip her arms around his lean waist from behind, rest her cheek against the warmth of his back. And he would set the spatula down, turn around, and pull her into his arms. Now, she was finally seeing him in the kitchen, but it was for someone else. Turns out, everyone had been right. A one-sided crush was exactly what they said it was—a solo act. From start to finish, she had been the only one on stage.