Chapter Nine: Cracks Beneath the Calm
The following week unfolded with an unusual heaviness I couldn't quite explain. The training sessions became more intense, deadlines drew closer, and pressure settled over our group like a quiet storm. Everyone felt it. Even Lucas, who usually carried his confidence like armor, seemed more focused than usual.
I arrived early that morning, as always. The training hall was quiet, only the hum of the projector filling the air. I arranged my books carefully, trying to calm the uneasy feeling in my chest. Lately, my thoughts drifted too often to things I didn't want to name—glances that lingered too long, words that carried double meanings, silences that felt loud.
Lucas walked in a few minutes later, his gaze finding mine instantly. For a second, the noise of the world faded into the background. Then he looked away, as if nothing had happened.
"Morning, planner girl," he said lightly.
"Morning, troublemaker," I replied without thinking.
He grinned. "You make me sound dangerous."
"You are," I said simply, then looked back at my notes.
For once, he didn't tease me about it.
The session began with our supervisor going over the next phase of the project. As always, Victor sat across the room, quiet but watching everything. His eyes lingered on Lucas more than once, and something about it unsettled me. There was a sharpness in his attention that felt deliberate.
Halfway into the discussion, disagreement sparked between Lucas and Victor over how one section of the project should be handled.
"This approach is risky," Victor said calmly. "It could push our results off track."
"And your approach is slow," Lucas replied, unbothered. "We don't have that kind of time."
Voices grew tighter, the room heavier. Everyone fell silent, waiting.
Before the tension could fully ignite, I spoke. "Both methods can work," I said, surprising even myself. "If we merge speed with structure, we'll still meet the deadline without compromising results."
They both looked at me.
For a moment, I thought Victor might argue. Instead, he smiled thinly. "Interesting suggestion."
Lucas turned to me, his gaze unreadable, then nodded. "See? That's why she's on our team."
Something warmed in my chest at his words, though I quickly pushed the feeling aside.
After the session, as the others filtered out, Victor lingered behind. He looked at me thoughtfully. "You're very quick with solutions," he said. "Impressive."
"Thank you," I replied cautiously.
"You should be careful, though," he added smoothly. "People don't always appreciate being outshined."
Before I could ask what he meant, he walked away.
The words stayed with me longer than they should have.
Later that evening, I found Lucas alone in the courtyard, sitting on the low wall beneath the old mango tree. The sunset painted the sky in soft gold and orange. He didn't notice me at first.
"You look deep in thought," I said as I approached.
He glanced up, surprised, then relaxed. "Do I?"
"Yes," I said. "That's rare for you."
He chuckled softly. "Maybe you're just finally paying attention."
I hesitated before sitting beside him. For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence was strangely comfortable.
"Victor doesn't like me," he said suddenly.
I looked at him. "You noticed?"
"I always notice," he replied calmly. "He wants control. And he doesn't like that I don't play by his rules."
I remembered Victor's earlier words and felt a quiet chill. "Be careful with him."
Lucas turned to me, eyes steady. "Are you worried about me, Rose?"
I swallowed. "I'm worried about the project."
A small smile curved his lips. "Liar."
I looked away, my heart beating too fast.
For the first time, I saw something different in his expression—not teasing, not playful—but thoughtful. Almost… vulnerable.
"You don't trust people easily," he said.
"I've had reasons," I replied softly.
He nodded slowly. "So have I."
That was the most honest conversation we'd ever had.
As I walked back to my hostel that night, I realized something had shifted—not between Lucas and me, but within me. For the first time, I understood that everyone carried hidden battles, even those who masked them with laughter and confidence.
And perhaps forgiveness—of others, and of myself—wasn't as simple as I'd always believed.