MELODY
...

The buzz starts small, just whispers and giggles outside the classroom window. I don’t pay attention at first. People get excited over stupid things all the time—someone bringing a puppy to campus, some couple making a dramatic breakup scene, a TikTok trend nobody cares about until everyone does.

I focus on the notes in front of me, trying to make sense of the history lecture I’ve barely been listening to. But the noise outside keeps growing—more voices, louder laughter, phones clicking like a thousand tiny heartbeats.

Then I hear my name.

And everything in me tenses.

I glance at the teacher, but she keeps talking, oblivious to whatever the hell is happening outside.

Then another voice chimes in—this time, clearer.

“Is that for Mel?”

My stomach drops because there only two Melody's at Hilton High, me and the other girl in class D.

I don’t think. I just move.

I shove my notebook into my bag, ignore my classmates’ murmurs, and head straight for the door. My teacher barely notices as I slip out, but I don’t care.

I step into the hallway and immediately regret it.

The entire quad is filled with students. Some are standing on benches to get a better view, others have their phones up, recording whatever spectacle is happening outside. The energy is buzzing—loud, and chaotic.

And then I see her.

Stephanie.

Standing right in the middle of the quad, her blonde waves catching the sunlight, her face unreadable, her hands gripping a massive, ridiculous sign.

A sign that says:

I MISS YOU MELODY!

The world tilts.

My brain short-circuits.

I feel my face heat up so fast I might actually catch fire.

“Oh my God,” I mutter under my breath.

Laughter ripples through the crowd. People start whispering things like oh my God, is this real?  She actually did that? Is this a rom-com?

I hear someone whistle. Someone else starts clapping.

This cannot be happening.

My legs move before I can think. I march straight up to Stephanie, grab the damn sign, and pull it out of her hands.

The crowd erupts into cheers.

Phones flash.

Someone yells, “Kiss her!”

I spin around, glare at the guy who said that, and then look back at Stephanie, who is—of course—smiling.

Smiling.

Like she isn’t completely humiliating me in front of everyone.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, voice low enough that only she can hear me.

She shoves her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “Trying to get your attention.”

I groan. “You could’ve just called me.”

“You weren’t answering.”

Fair point.

I look at her—really look at her. She’s nervous, her fingers twitching inside her hoodie pocket, her weight shifting from foot to foot. Her face is slightly flushed, like she’s been holding her breath since she got here.

I should be mad.

I should tell her to leave.

But I don’t.

I grip the sign tighter, then tilt my head toward the school park. “Come on.”

She blinks. “Where?”

I nod toward the trees. “Away from everyone filming this.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, and she follows.

We weave through the crowd, past the people still whispering about us, past the phones still recording, past the stupid claps and cheers that make my skin burn.

Once we reach the school park, the noise fades.

We walk to an old wooden log under a tree, one that barely anyone uses anymore because the wood is splintered and uneven.

I sit. She does too.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

I stare at the grass, the leaves shifting in the breeze. She picks at the hem of her hoodie.

I inhale deeply. “What are you doing here, Steph?”

She exhales, long and slow. “I told you.”

I finally turn to look at her. “And you thought a sign was the way to do this?”

Her lips twitch. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “You’re crazy.”

Silence stretches between us.

And then—

“I missed you, Mel.”

Her voice is so soft, I almost think I imagined it.

But when I look up, her face is open, raw, no walls, no hesitation. Just honesty.

I swallow hard.

“Why now?” I ask. “It’s been weeks.”

She exhales. “Because I was trying to be strong. Trying to act like I didn’t care. But I do. I care too much.”

Something twists in my chest.

I shake my head. My voice is quiet, but the weight of it is loud. “You made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like all of this—we—didn’t matter.”

Stephanie’s shoulders drop.

“I know,” she whispers. “And I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.”

My hands clench on my lap.

I don’t want to let this be easy. I don’t want to just melt at her words.

But God, I missed her too.

She looks at me, her blue eyes filled with something desperate. “Tell me what to do, Mel. Tell me how to fix this.”

I don’t know what to say.

Because I don’t know if this can be fixed.

We sit in silence again.

The wind rustles the leaves. Birds chirp in the distance.

Then she speaks.

“I got on a cab this morning,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t even know if you’d want to see me. But I had to try.”

I let out a slow breath. “And what if I said I don’t?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Then I’d leave.”

My chest tightens.

She would, wouldn’t she? She would get up and walk away if I told her to.

And I should.

I should tell her that she doesn’t get to just show up after three weeks and expect everything to be okay.

But I don’t.

Because I don’t want her to leave.

I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “You hurt me.”

Her voice breaks. “I know.”

I exhale. “And I don’t know if I can let that happen again.”

“I get it,” she whispers.

Silence again.

A car honks in the distance. The wind shifts, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass.

Then—

“Can we start over?” she asks.

I finally look at her.

She’s hopeful. Scared. Vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before.

And I realize—

She’s not asking me to pretend the past didn’t happen.

She’s asking me if we can try again.

I don’t answer right away.

Because I don’t know if I’m ready to.

But for the first time since I got here, I feel like I can breathe.

I exhale and extend my hand. "Hi, I'm Mel, I broke my leg and stupidly fell for my physiotherapist."

She smiles, taking my hand to her lips. My heart's flutters.

"Hi, I'm Steph. I broke my code of conduct by falling head over heels for my patient."

I chuckle, so does she.