By the next week, it is no longer just rumours. It is stories.
Full blown, cinematic lies.
In one version, I am sleeping with Ms. Clarke to get the role. In another, Lena and I are secretly back together; Clarke found out, and now I am juggling both.
Someone even joked that Romeo has more drama offstage than on.
It is funny, right?
Except it is not.
Even Clarke starts acting different.
She does not look me in the eye much now. Her feedback, once warm and patient, turns clipped and professional.
No more staying back to rehearse scenes after hours. No more appreciating smiles when I nail a line.
When rehearsal ends, she packs her things quickly, offering polite goodbyes, like she is afraid someone might see.
And Lena...
She is still kind. Still polite. But her laughter does not come as easily anymore.
When I ask if she wants to run lines together, she hesitates, then says, "Maybe tomorrow. Samuel is helping me tonight."
Samuel.
Always there.
Always close enough to poison the air between us.
At night, I scroll through the college forum. My name is everywhere.
In comment threads, half-joking posts, blurry photos.
"Romeo is rehearsing all night, huh?"
"Bet Ms. Clarke gives private lessons."
"Poor Juliet. Sharing her spotlight."
I try to ignore, but my throat feels tight.
I type a reply: Grow up, idiots.
Then delete it.
They will just twist it more.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The hallways feel colder now.
Even the lights seem harsher, like the whole college is watching, judging.
When I walk past the drama board, I see our photo. Me and Lena mid-scene, faces inches apart.
Someone has scribbled across it in red marker:
STAR STRUCK SLUTS.
I tear it down before anyone can see, but it is too late.
My hands are shaking.
I never thought the fragile hope of getting accepted in this new world will crash so soon.
No matter what, we kept going with the preparations for the play.
The rehearsal room is almost empty, golden light pooling across the stage as the sun dips behind the windows.
Everyone is gone, their laughter and chatter fading down the corridor.
Only Lena and I remain, surrounded by the ghost of applause and half-dried paint.
I am rolling up the script when she says my name, quietly, like she is afraid it will break something.
"Ash."
I glance up. She is standing by the stage curtain, still in Juliet's dress, her expression unreadable.
"Can we talk?"
"Sure," I say, though a knot tightens in my chest.
She walks closer, the wooden floor creaking under her shoes.
"Just tell me the truth, okay?"
"About what?"
Her throat moves as she swallows. "You and Ms. Clarke."
For a second, the air just stops.
"Me and what?" I half laugh, because that is the only thing that makes sense right now. "Where did that even come from?"
She shakes her head. "People are talking. They said she has been giving you extra rehearsals. That she favors you. I did not believe it, I just…"
"Did not believe it?" My voice cracks. "Lena, you asked." I never knew how little faith she had in me. No wonder we didn't last.
She winces. "I just needed to hear you say no."
"I am saying no." My hands curl into fists, not out of anger but panic. "There is nothing going on. She is my teacher. I worked for that part. You of all people should know that."
Before she can answer, the door creaks open.
Samuel steps in, carrying that lazy smile like a cigarette he never puts out.
"Whoa," he says, pretending to notice the tension. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Yeah," I mutter. "Everything."
He chuckles like I complemented him and walks closer, folding his arms. "Relax. Everyone is just a little curious, that is all. You get the lead role, spend all this time alone with Clarke, people start to talk."
"People like you," I shoot back.
He smirks. "Come on, I am just saying what everyone is thinking. It is not the first time, right? You are already sleeping with with that girl to save on rent."
My heart stops. This bastard!
"What?" Lena's voice cracks on the word.
Samuel gives a mock apologetic shrug.
"Oops. He did not tell you?"
Lena looks at me like the world just shifted under her feet. "You are living with a girl?"
I shake my head fast. "It is not like that."
"Then what is it?" she demands, her voice trembling. "You have been lying to me? You said you were staying with a friend from college."
"I am. Alice is my friend. She offered her couch when I could not pay rent, that is all."
Samuel clicks his tongue. "Sure. Just the couch."
"Shut your mouth," I snap. I never wanted to kill someone so bad before.
Lena steps back, eyes glistening. "You should have told me, Ash."
"Told you?" I laugh bitterly. "And why is that? You are the one who walked away, remember? You chose him."
She flinches like I slapped her. "That does not mean I stopped caring."
"No," I say quietly. "But it means you stopped trusting me."
Silence fills the room. Heavy. Ugly.
Samuel's smirk widens as he watches us unravel. "I will leave you two to it," he says, and strolls out, satisfied and poisonous.
Lena is still staring at me, her voice barely a whisper now. "I did not want to believe them."
"Then why do you?" I ask.
She does not answer. She just turns and walks out, her dress brushing the floor like a ghost passing by.
The sound of the door closing feels like the final curtain drop. Quiet. Cruel. Absolute.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The world outside feels blurred, like someone smeared wet paint across the night.
Streetlights bleed into puddles, neon signs flicker against the slick pavement. I do not even remember leaving campus. Just the door slamming, my feet moving, my lungs burning with something that is not just air.
Rain falls in a slow, mocking drizzle. The kind that does not drench you right away, just hangs around long enough to seep into your skin and your thoughts.
I keep walking.
The bar I end up in is not loud. It never is. The bartender does not ask questions. He just pours.
The glass sweats against my palm, the smell of cheap whiskey biting the back of my throat.
I don't wanna think or feel anything anymore, so I just drink.
Each swallow feels like it is scrubbing something raw inside me. Like I am trying to wash her voice out of my chest.
Her face keeps replaying anyway.
The way she looked at me, like she did not know who I was anymore.
The hesitation. The hurt. The disbelief.
That is the worst part. Not anger. Not shouting. Just the quiet kind of disappointment that sounds like goodbye.
I take out my phone. My hands are trembling, but I type a message to Alice anyway.
"Thanks."
That is all. No explanation. No follow up.
Just thanks.
Alice does not reply that night.
Maybe she is asleep. Maybe she is tired of my ghosts.
Maybe she has finally learned not to open the door every time I come crashing down.
The bar empties around me, stools scraping, laughter fading to static.
Outside, the rain has turned heavier. A gray curtain between me and everything else.
I start walking again, no umbrella, no plan. Just noise and water.
When I pass the theatre building, I stop.
Through the fogged glass, the stage lights are still on.
Someone must have forgotten to switch them off after rehearsal.
The place looks haunted. Empty chairs. Scattered scripts. A faint echo of applause that is not real anymore.
I step closer to the window. My reflection stares back. Half lit, hollow eyed, dripping.
For a second, it almost looks like someone else entirely.
Someone older. Someone already ruined.
A laugh slips out, quiet and humorless.
The drink in my hand… it did not taste like freedom this time, just rot.
And for a moment, I swear the stage lights flicker, like the world is applauding the wrong tragedy.