Joshua sat where she left him.
The cafeteria noise returned slowly, like sound creeping back after shock. Plates scraped tables. Someone laughed too loudly. Life continued, completely uninterested in his confusion.
Tiana schools here.
The sentence replayed in his head, over and over, refusing to settle.
He hadn't imagined her confidence. The way she stood. The way she spoke without apology. That wasn't the girl who waited endlessly in the barracks. That wasn't the voice that begged for reassurance.
That girl was gone.
Joshua pulled out his phone and opened their chat.
Unread messages stared back at him like accusations.
Why didn't you tell me?
Since when?
Why are you ignoring me?
He typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Nothing sounded right.
Across campus, Tiana walked beside Stephen, her steps steady. She felt lighter than she expected—not triumphant, not angry. Just… free. Seeing Joshua had stirred something, but it hadn't broken her. That alone felt like victory.
"You okay?" Stephen asked gently.
"Yes," she said after a pause. "I really am."
And she meant it.
That night, Joshua called.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
She watched the phone light up, then turned it face down. Not out of fear—but because she finally understood something she hadn't before.
Silence was an answer.
Joshua, meanwhile, felt something unfamiliar crawling under his skin. Not love. Not regret.
Loss of control.
He hadn't planned for this version of her. He hadn't imagined she would show up in his world, unannounced, untouched by his permission. He especially hadn't expected to see her with another man—even if that man was "just a friend."
Possession does not like surprises.
The next day, he tried again.
We need to talk.
This is not how things end.
At least explain.
Tiana read the messages in between lectures, her expression calm. She didn't rush. Didn't feel pulled. The urgency that once ruled her was gone.
She typed one reply.
I'm fine. I hope school is going well.
Nothing more.
Joshua stared at the message, unsettled. It wasn't cold. It wasn't emotional.
It was distant.
And distance frightened him more than anger ever could.
In his room that night, he thought about the girl who loved him loudly. The girl who gave without keeping score. The girl he assumed would always be there.
He wondered when she had slipped through his fingers.
Tiana, in her own room, unfolded her admission letter once more—not because she needed reassurance, but because it reminded her who she was becoming.
She pinned it quietly inside her cupboard.
This was her life now.
And for the first time, it did not revolve around him.