Viona's POV
His gaze dropped as he shifted an old cellphone on the stack of papers on his desk. The movement of his hand made me inhale sharply in anticipation.
The back case was open, the battery was out, but the secret stayed shut.
So he'd been busy dismantling that phone all this time? Was what he said true? That meant all of my resentment toward him all this time was just a series of misunderstandings. A cruel convenience.
His face was somber; he didn't speak. Neither did I.
In this heavy, silent moment, I wondered if we could go back in time, and if my phone hadn't been lost, would I have forgiven Rafael immediately?
He was right—what he said back then was just a fact. His mistake was unintentionally letting the school radio microphone be on, allowing the whole school to hear our conversation.
My chest tightened in realization: when I was bullied, I blamed him because it was easier than facing my own powerlessness. His absence gave me a target to project my failure onto.
