The misunderstanding began that afternoon.
Jackson and Travis were walking behind the Science building after practice when they saw something—something they weren't supposed to.
Marco.
And Claire.
Kissing.
Hard.
Against the wall.
Travis froze. "Bro… is that—?"
Jackson covered his mouth. "F***. We need to tell Andrew."
But Claire saw them.
Her eyes widened.
She shoved Marco away.
Then stormed toward them, fire in her gaze.
"Don't you dare say anything," she hissed.
"You're cheating," Jackson spat. "On our friend."
"It's not what it looks like."
"Oh really?" Travis snapped. "Then what is it? An allergy attack? A CPR lesson?"
Claire snarled. "You don't understand. If Andrew finds out, he'll break up with me and—"
"And what?" Jackson glared. "Your reputation will crumble?"
Claire tilted her chin.
"No. Jasmine will take advantage of it."
The two boys fell silent.
"You think we're stupid?" Travis growled. "Jasmine wouldn't—"
"Oh please." Claire scoffed. "I see the way she looks at him. Like a pathetic little stray cat hoping for scraps."
Jackson's fists clenched.
Claire crossed her arms. "If you tell him, I'll tell him Jasmine knew all along and kept it from him."
Travis blinked. "What?"
"She saw us two days ago," Claire lied smoothly. "She heard us talking. I know she did. She's been watching me. I could feel it."
Jackson shook his head. "Jasmine wouldn't hide something like that."
Claire smirked.
"She loves him."
Both boys froze.
Claire used their silence as victory.
"So," she said, her voice dripping venom, "either you keep your mouths shut, or Jasmine becomes the villain in Andrew's eyes."
Jackson cursed under his breath.
Travis looked sick.
Claire flipped her hair and walked away, leaving them in turmoil.
The next day, Jackson and Travis pulled Jasmine aside near the library.
Both looked tense and serious.
"Hey," Jasmine greeted, confused. "Is something wrong?"
Jackson scratched the back of his neck. "We need to ask you something."
"About Claire," Travis added.
Jasmine's heart stopped.
"Did you… know something?" Jackson asked carefully. "About her… relationship with Marco?"
"What?" Jasmine whispered, stunned.
"She said you saw them," Travis said. "And that you kept it from Andrew."
Jasmine's face paled.
"No," she whispered. "That's not—I didn't—!"
Travis exchanged a look with Jackson. "Jasmine… be honest."
"I am being honest!" Jasmine's voice cracked. "I didn't tell Andrew because I wasn't sure how. Because it's not my place. Because I didn't want to hurt him—"
"So you did see something," Jackson said quietly.
Jasmine froze.
Their faces shifted. They weren't angry. Just… disappointed.
"You should've told him," Jackson whispered. "He trusts you."
The words sliced through her chest like knives.
"I… I didn't want to cause trouble," Jasmine murmured, voice trembling. "I didn't want him to think I was trying to ruin their relationship."
Travis softened. "Jasmine… we know you care about him. But hiding it makes things messy."
She bit her lip until it hurt. Her vision blurred.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Jackson sighed. "Just… be careful. Claire's using this against you."
Her heart dropped to her stomach. "What?" Jasmine choked.
"She's telling people you're trying to steal Andrew," Travis said. "That you're obsessed."
Jasmine's chest tightened painfully. Her throat burned.
Tears pricked her eyes—but she refused to let them fall.
"I haven't done anything," she whispered.
"We know," Jackson said gently. "But Andrew might hear things soon."
That… hurt more than anything else.
"But we won't say anything," Travis added. "We're just warning you."
Jasmine nodded slowly, every breath sharp.
"Thanks for telling me," she whispered but inside, she was breaking.
That afternoon, Andrew found her sitting alone under the acacia tree, hugging her knees. She quickly wiped her eyes, pretending she wasn't crying.
He approached slowly.
"Jasmine."
She tensed.
Of all the people to find her—
"Are you… okay?" Andrew asked softly.
She nodded too quickly. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired."
He crouched to her eye level.
"You're lying."
Her breath stuttered.
"Did something happen?" he asked. "Did someone say something?"
His concern nearly undid her completely.
"No," she whispered. "It's nothing."
He frowned. "Jasmine—"
"Really." She forced a smile. "I'm okay."
Andrew didn't look convinced. But he didn't push.
"Tomorrow," he said softly, "sit with us at lunch."
Jasmine blinked. "What? Why?"
"Because I want you to," he answered simply.
Her heart nearly stopped. Before she could respond, Claire appeared.
"Baby!" she called sweetly.
Andrew's face shifted—closing off.
Claire linked arms with him, giving Jasmine a sugary-sweet smile full of poison.
"Sorry, Jas," Claire said. "We're having a date."
Andrew didn't correct her. Didn't deny it. Didn't even look at her again.
He let Claire pull him away.
And Jasmine realized—This was only the beginning of the pain.
Campus gossip traveled fast—faster than truth, faster than reason, faster than the people involved and lately, all that gossip swirled around one couple: Andrew Smith and Claire Dela Peña.
To everyone else, they were still the golden pair—handsome heir and flawless beauty, walking hand-in-hand like the university's unofficial royalty.
To Jasmine Alvarez, however, things felt… off.
She noticed it in the small things.
Claire's laugh didn't reach her eyes anymore.
Andrew's shoulders looked heavier each week.
And their conversations—those she happened to overhear by accident or through murmurs in the hallway—no longer sounded like two people in sync.
But Jasmine said nothing. She wasn't supposed to notice anything at all. She wasn't supposed to look at Andrew. Not when he belonged to someone else.
Not when she wasn't even standing on the same level.
Her world revolved around deadlines, shifts, and scholarships, not luxury cars, expensive perfume, and pre-planned vacations.
And still… she noticed.
Maybe because she'd been noticing Andrew since the day she first saw him. Maybe because it had become second nature—her gaze always, always finding him in crowds, in classrooms, in hallways.
Maybe because loving someone in silence sharpens your vision more than speaking ever does.
That morning started like any other for Jasmine: an early class, a rushed breakfast of lukewarm coffee, and a sprint across campus because she muttered the foolish lie every morning—
"I have enough time."
She did not.
Trisha was already waiting for her outside their classroom, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in full motherly judgment.
"You're late," Trisha declared.
"I'm—"
"Don't even say it," Trisha cut in. "I already know you'll blame the alarm clock, fate, the universe, the weather—"
"The jeepney traffic," Jasmine completed.
"So you admit it!"
They laughed, fall easily into the rhythm that only best friends could have.
Class passed in a blur of lectures and note-taking. An hour after dismissal, Jasmine rushed across campus to reach her part-time shift at the library where she worked three days a week.
She was shelving newly returned books when she heard voices—two men, casually familiar.
She didn't even have to look to know the voice that made her heartbeat stumble.
"Dude, you can't keep pretending everything's fine."
Jackson. Which meant—
"I'm not pretending," Andrew answered, though his tone said the opposite.
Jasmine froze mid-movement, clutching a book to her chest.
She shouldn't listen.
She should walk away.
She should focus on her work.
But her body didn't move.
"It's just been… a rough few weeks," Andrew added.
"Because of Claire?" Travis asked gently.
A long, heavy silence.
Then Andrew exhaled—a tired sound, not angry, not sad, but resigned.
"She's always somewhere else lately. Always busy. Always on her phone."
"Oh." Travis paused. "That kind of busy?"
"I don't want to think that," Andrew muttered. "But I can't… I can't shake the feeling something's wrong."
Jasmine's chest tightened.
Hearing him like this—uncertain, vulnerable, hurting—felt like breathing through a cracked rib.
She pressed her lips together, swallowing down the sound that wanted to escape her throat.
"And you talked to her?" Jackson asked.
"I tried. She says she's just stressed. That she needs space." Andrew let out another breath. "I want to believe her. I really do."
Another silence.
"But," Jackson continued carefully, "you feel like she's lying."
Andrew didn't answer immediately.
When he spoke, it was soft, quiet, like a truth he didn't want to admit.
"Yes."
Jasmine closed her eyes.
Her heart clenched—partly in sympathy, partly in pain, partly in guilt for listening.
She carefully placed the book back, stepping away before they turned a corner and saw her. She didn't want Andrew to think she was eavesdropping. She didn't want him to think she cared too much.
Because she did.
And she couldn't afford to.
Her shift ended in the late afternoon. She walked toward the campus gates, the sky turning orange as the sun lowered. Trisha met her halfway, holding two cups of milk tea.
"Here. For my hardworking friend who hasn't eaten lunch."
"You're my superhero," Jasmine said immediately, grabbing the cup like a lifeline.
"Always." Trisha winked. "Now, tell me what's wrong."
Jasmine tripped mid-sip.
"W-What? Who said something's wrong?"
"You took one look at the sky and sighed like the world disappointed you. Spill."
Jasmine hesitated.
Should she tell her?
Should she admit she overheard Andrew?
But before she could form an excuse, someone stepped directly into their path.
Claire Dela Peña.
Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect clothes—she looked like she stepped out of a magazine cover. Students passing by cast admiring glances her way, and she basked in it effortlessly.
But her expression, as she looked at Jasmine, wasn't friendly.
"Well," Claire said, crossing her arms. "If it isn't the campus scholar and her sidekick."
Trisha straightened immediately. "Excuse me?"
Jasmine nudged Trisha's arm gently, shaking her head. It wasn't worth it.
Claire eyed Jasmine from head to toe. "I hear you work at the library now. Cute."
Jasmine forced a polite smile. "Was there something you needed, Claire?"
Claire stepped closer, voice low, dripping with warning.
"Stay away from Andrew."
Jasmine blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." Claire's eyes narrowed. "I see the way you look at him. Don't even try to deny it."
Trisha moved forward like she was ready to swing. "First of all, you don't own the air he breathes—"
"Trisha," Jasmine whispered, tugging her back.
Claire smirked, victorious. "Good girl. Just remember your place."
Then she walked off, heels clicking like sharp punctuation marks behind her.
Jasmine inhaled slowly, fighting the sting in her chest.
She'd never done anything to Claire.
She'd never even spoken to Andrew more than a polite greeting.
She kept her feelings buried so deep she sometimes convinced herself they didn't exist.
And yet, Claire acted as if Jasmine were a threat.
"Ugh!" Trisha groaned loudly. "That girl is insufferable. Why didn't you let me slap the lip gloss off her face?"
Jasmine smiled weakly. "Because you'll get suspended."
"Worth it."
"Trish…"
Her friend sighed heavily. "Fine. But are you okay?"
Jasmine nodded slowly.
But she wasn't.
Claire's accusation cut deeper because part of it—just a tiny part—was true. Jasmine did look at Andrew. She couldn't help it. And she hated herself for it sometimes, for wanting something she wasn't supposed to want.
"You're not doing anything wrong," Trisha said firmly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Having feelings doesn't make you guilty."
Jasmine lowered her gaze.
Maybe not.
But it made her vulnerable.
And vulnerabilities were luxuries she didn't have.
That night, Jasmine returned to her dorm room, exhausted. She changed into comfortable clothes, sat at her small study desk, and tried to finish an essay.
But her mind kept drifting.
To Andrew's tired voice.
To Claire's sharp words.
To the unspoken truth hanging between them all.
She closed her laptop and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"Get it together, Jasmine," she whispered to herself. But as she said it, there was a soft knock on her door.