Manuel

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw Enzo, casually strolling out of the school gate with his shirt slung over his shoulder. He glistened with sweat, as if he had just finished a workout or something.

Earlier, Pedro had called me, saying the principal had been in touch about Enzo getting into trouble again. I swear, that kid couldn't seem to stay out of hot water for more than a day.

As Enzo approached, I couldn't help but confront him. "Why do you have to be like this?" I asked, my frustration evident in my tone.

He just shrugged, looking at me like I was making a big deal out of nothing. "They made us clean up the garden, so I got all sweaty. I had to take my shirt off. I can't keep wearing it when it's soaked through."

I sighed, trying to make him see reason. "Sometimes you just have to deal with a little discomfort, Enzo. It's not the end of the world."

But he wasn't having it. "Well, I don't want to. Do I have a spare shirt in the car?" he asked, already moving on to his next concern.

Shaking my head, I opened the car door and rummaged around until I found a clean white t-shirt. I tossed it to him, watching as he caught it easily.

"Awesome! You've got extra clothes in the car!" Enzo said, sounding super excited.

"Well, I thought I should have some backup stuff since I'm pretty much looking after a big baby," I joked. But he didn't seem to care what I said and just put on the t-shirt.

"Got any pants in there too?" he asked.

"Nah, just the t-shirt," I told him. "So, what kind of trouble did you get into today?" I asked, getting serious.

Enzo's smile faded a bit, and he started looking at the ground, avoiding my eyes. "Oh, you know. Nothing major. Same old, same old."

I let out a sigh, knowing that what he thought was no big deal could range from a silly prank to a total catastrophe. But I also knew that if I pushed him too much, he'd just shut down and refuse to talk at all.

"Okay, son. But you know how this goes. If it's something really bad, we're gonna have to talk about it sooner or later."

"I'm way too beat to talk about that stuff right now. Plus, I really wanna get home and take a shower," Enzo said as he hopped into the car.

I didn't bother asking him what exactly he did. Usually, Pedro fills me in if Enzo has gotten into some serious trouble, and the principal lets him know. But this time, he hadn't said anything. My guess was that he was just exhausted from dealing with Enzo's constant misbehavior. Honestly, I wasn't really in the mood to hear about whatever dumb thing Enzo did today either. I was so tired of his crazy stunts—beyond tired.

Mia

It had been a few days, and Enzo hadn't said a word to me. I didn't know how he managed to keep this silent treatment going for so long. He got busted for smoking and drinking with his buddies, and he had even gotten into fights with some other guys more than once in the past few days. It was pretty clear that the principal wasn't going to suspend them, not even for a single day. The thing was, he treated the richest kids at school differently. To be honest, I had no clue just how rich Enzo really was. I always figured he was well-off, but apparently, he was on a whole other level.

I had been feeling down these past few days because Enzo was totally ghosting me. He hadn't even tried to reach out or anything. It was like I was losing my mind. I couldn't function without talking to him. I felt like I was going crazy, and I had been crying my eyes out non-stop. I couldn't even focus on studying, which was really messing me up. Enzo was always on my mind, no matter what I did. Sometimes I started freaking out, thinking maybe he had found himself a new girlfriend since we weren't talking anymore. But he was supposed to be mine, you know? I barely slept or ate these days; I was such a mess. This was not me. I had never behaved like this before. I had never felt this much pain before. I didn't know what to do. I never knew love could hurt this much. It felt like a really bad wound.

The thing was, Enzo had become such a huge part of my life that I didn't know how to cope without him. Every time my phone buzzed, I jumped to check if it was a message from him, but it never was. Each time, it felt like a punch to the gut.

After days of agonizing silence, I finally lost it and sent him a message.

Mia: Enzo

Enzo: Hi

Mia: What are you doing?

Enzo: Watching a movie

Mia: Hmm

Enzo: What are you doing?

Mia: Nothing.

Enzo: Why?

Mia: Just sad.

Enzo: Hmm

And that was it. That was the grand total of our conversation after days of silence. I stared at my phone screen, hoping against hope that those three little dots would appear, that he'd say something else—anything else. But they never did.

Feeling more defeated than ever, I forced myself to put my phone down and try to focus on my homework. I managed to lose myself in my assignments for a few hours, pouring all my pent-up emotions into my work. It was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in my chest.

But as the night wore on and my eyelids grew heavy, I couldn't resist checking my phone one last time before bed. Of course, there were no new messages or missed calls. I don't know what I was really expecting.

Still, the disappointment hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt so small, so insignificant, like I was just an afterthought in his life. And maybe that's all I ever was. Maybe I had just been fooling myself this whole time, thinking we had something real.

As I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes again. I was so tired of crying, so tired of feeling like my heart was being ripped out of my chest over and over again. But I couldn't seem to make it stop.

I hugged my pillow tight, wishing it was Enzo's arms around me instead. Wishing he was here to tell me everything was going to be okay, that he still cared, that he still wanted me.

I knew I should have more self-respect, more dignity. But when it came to Enzo, my heart just took over, and all that went out the window. I couldn't help it. I was so desperate to keep him, to hold on to what we had, that I'd do anything, say anything, just to get a response from him.

So, even though I knew I shouldn't, I sent him another message.

Mia: Good night!

I held my breath, waiting to see if he would reply. Seconds felt like hours as I stared at my phone screen, willing those three little dots to appear.

Enzo: Are you going to sleep?

Relief flooded through me as I read his message. He was actually talking to me, actually engaging in conversation. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Mia: Yeah.

Enzo: Good night!

And just like that, the conversation was over. But for a brief moment, I felt connected to him again. Like maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for us. I knew it was pathetic how much I was clinging to these tiny scraps of attention from him, but I couldn't seem to help myself. Enzo had this hold on me, this power over my heart that I couldn't shake.

As I crawled into bed, my heart felt like it was made of lead, heavy and sinking. Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I couldn't help but wonder if Enzo ever really loved me at all. That thought twisted like a knife in my gut. It hurt so badly that I could barely breathe.

I tossed and turned all night, haunted by sad dreams that left me feeling even more drained when I woke up. It felt like I hadn't slept at all. My whole body ached, as if I were coming down with something. But I knew it wasn't physical sickness; it was heartache, plain and simple.

But I made a decision as I dragged myself out of bed. Today, no matter what, I was going to talk to Enzo. I couldn't keep holding this pain inside me, letting it eat away at me day after day. The thing was, as much as I was hurting, I knew I didn't have the strength to break up with him.

So, after I got to school, I headed straight for the garden. I was determined to catch him alone. As I sat there on the bench, every second felt like an hour. I kept checking my phone, watching the minutes tick by, wondering if he was even going to show up at all.

Just when I was about to give up hope, I saw him walking through the gate. My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly all the anxiety I had been feeling melted away. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I didn't want him to see how sad and upset I had been. I needed to play it cool.

"Enzo," I called out, my voice sounding a lot more confident than I felt.

"Hey," he replied casually, like we were just old friends catching up, as if he hadn't been ignoring me for days, leaving me to wonder what I had done wrong.

A surge of disappointment rose within me. How could he act so normal, so unaffected, when I had been tearing myself apart? But I pushed it down. Getting mad wouldn't solve anything. I needed to stay calm and say what I had come here to say.

"Can we talk?" I asked softly, and to my surprise, he nodded and moved closer to me. We walked together to our special spot, the place where we always went when we needed to connect.

At first, I found myself rambling on about random things just to fill the silence. Enzo played along, chatting and laughing like everything was normal, as if we hadn't just gone through this painful, confusing rough patch.

But as we sat there, side by side, I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to feel close to him, to know that we were okay. In a moment of boldness, I reached out and took his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. Then, almost without thinking, I laid my head on his shoulder, nestling into him like I had done so many times before.

For a second, I held my breath, waiting for him to pull away, to reject me. But instead, I felt his hand gently rest on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin.

As I sat there in Enzo's arms, a lingering sadness washed over me. Sure, he was here, holding me close, but he hadn't really done much to address the hurt and confusion I had been feeling. He hadn't even brought up what had happened between us—the days of silence and uncertainty.

It made me think about what some of my girlfriends always said: that boys just don't have the same emotional depth as girls, that they can't really understand what we're going through. Maybe there was some truth to that. Perhaps this was just something I would have to learn to deal with if I wanted to be with Enzo for the long haul. Because I knew, in my heart, that I wasn't giving up on him.

So, I clung to him tighter, burying my face in his chest and breathing in his familiar scent. He responded by wrapping his arms around me, pulling me closer. But still, he didn't say anything. He didn't ask me what was wrong or tell me how he'd been feeling. He didn't talk about our relationship or our struggles.

And that's the thing. I wanted him to talk to me. Really talk to me. I wanted him to open up about his emotions, his thoughts, his fears. I wanted us to communicate, to work through our problems together and find ways to avoid these fights and misunderstandings in the future.

But Enzo wasn't really wired that way. He was more about action than words, more about showing than telling. While I appreciated that about him, it sometimes left me feeling a little lost, a little alone.

As much as I loved being close to him physically, I needed that emotional connection too. I needed to feel like we were on the same page, like we were working toward the same goals—like we were a team in every sense of the word.

I knew I should have more self-respect. I shouldn't be the one chasing after him, begging for his attention and affection. But the truth was, my heart felt too fragile right now. The thought of losing him, of going back to that cold, lonely place where we weren't speaking... it was more than I could bear.

Swallowing my pride, I looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Are we good now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

I could feel my cheeks burning with shame, knowing I was basically groveling at his feet. But what choice did I have? My emotions were tearing me apart from the inside out. I needed him, needed his reassurance, his validation—even if it meant sacrificing my dignity in the process.

Enzo looked down at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—satisfaction, maybe? It felt like he knew he had me right where he wanted me, reveling in the power he held over my heart.

But then he softened, his hand coming up to caress my cheek. "We're good," he said gently, and I felt like I could finally breathe again. Still, I wanted him to talk. I wanted him to say something more, to start a conversation. But deep down, I knew I probably wouldn't get anything like that from him. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to leave him.

Part of me wondered if this was all just a game to him. Did he get off on seeing me so desperate, so willing to do anything to keep him? Was he using my love as a weapon, a way to control me?