Mia

As I stood there in our secluded spot, our bodies close but our hearts seemingly miles apart, I felt a deep ache in my chest. I wanted so badly to talk to Enzo, to really discuss everything that had been going on between us. I needed to know how he felt, what he was thinking, and if he truly loved me the way I loved him.

But as always, he remained silent on that front, his emotions locked away behind those mesmerizing dark brown eyes. So, when he leaned in to kiss me, I let him—not because it was a solution, but because I craved his touch, his affection, like a drowning woman craved air.

As his lips met mine, I felt that familiar spark, that undeniable chemistry that had drawn me to him from the very beginning. His kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if he was gauging my reaction. But as I melted into him, parting my lips in silent invitation, he grew bolder, more passionate.

His tongue danced with mine, exploring and caressing, sending shivers down my spine. I could taste him, that unique flavor that was purely Enzo, and it made my head spin with desire. His scent enveloped me—an intoxicating mix of his cologne and his natural musk—making me feel drunk on his very essence.

As his lips trailed from my mouth to my jaw, then my neck and collarbone, I couldn't help but let out a soft moan. The sound seemed to spur him on, his kisses becoming more urgent, more demanding. I could hear his breathing, ragged and heavy, mingling with the little sighs and gasps that escaped my own lips.

His hands roamed my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He touched me like I was something precious, something to be treasured. In those moments, lost in the haze of our passion, I could almost believe that he loved me as deeply as I loved him.

But even as I surrendered to the pleasure of his touch, I couldn't shake the nagging doubts that plagued my mind. Did he really care for me, or was I just a convenient distraction? Did he think about me when we were apart, or was I just an afterthought? Did he see a future with me, or was I just a temporary fixture in his life?

I wished he would tell me about those things. I wished he would talk to me about his feelings. But he never did. We always had casual conversations and never any deep discussions about ourselves.

These questions swirled in my head, even as my body responded to his every move. I wanted to ask him, to demand answers, to finally lay my cards on the table and see where we stood. But I was afraid—afraid he would get mad at me again and leave. I couldn't even think about not being with him. I had suffered for days without hearing his voice, and I didn't want to face that pain again. I was scared to confront that hurt again.

So I stayed silent, letting my actions speak louder than my words ever could. I kissed him back with all the love, all the longing, and all the desperation I felt inside. I clung to him like he was my lifeline, my anchor in the storm of my own emotions.

And when we finally broke apart, both of us breathless and flushed, I realized it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But for now, it was all I had. So, I held onto it—and onto him—with everything I had.

I searched his eyes for some sign, some hint of the feelings he kept so carefully guarded. He looked happy. He looked satisfied. But I was not happy. I wanted to hear him say he was happy, that he loved me, that he missed me.

Enzo, just tell me what you feel. I wanted to scream at him. But I didn't, afraid of losing him.

Enzo

Finally, Mia talked to me again, and I felt so relieved when she ended her silent treatment. Those past few days had been extremely frustrating because she hadn't been speaking to me. I pretended like everything was okay, but deep down, I was really suffering. I even did some crazy things because of how upset I was, yet I made sure to act happy on the outside.

Now that Mia and I were speaking again, I felt alive. These last few days had been so tough without her attention. Even though I acted like I didn't care, her ignoring me really got to me. I drank too much and started fights—all because I was desperate for Mia to acknowledge me again.

Not having Mia around made me feel like I was withering away inside. Getting her warmth back was like finally being able to breathe fresh air again. Just a few words from her brought color back into my world.

I hate when people I care about deeply hurt me like that. Mia picked a stupid fight and got furiously angry over essentially nothing. That's why I didn't make the first move to talk to her—she was the one being unreasonable. As much as I needed her in my life, I had to be prepared for the possibility that she could just up and leave me over dumb disagreements like this.

No matter how important Mia is to me, I can't let her walk all over me emotionally whenever she gets irrational. I have to try to protect myself from that pain, even if the thought of losing her devastates me. If she's going to discard our relationship so easily over trivial arguments, maybe it's not as rock-solid as I'd like to believe.

I've gone through a lot of emotional and physical pain in my life, but nothing hurts as much as when people I deeply love leave me. I hate that feeling more than anything. Right now, there are only two people I feel that strongly about.

The first is my Papa, Manuel. If he ever left, I honestly don't think I could even breathe. He's the one who comforts me, and I have no idea how to live without him. My Papa is my rock. Losing him would completely break me.

Then there's Mia. My bond with her is different, but she's just as important to me. She holds a special place in my heart that no one else can replace. The thought of Mia walking out of my life is devastating.

My group of friends is also hugely important to me; they are like brothers. Even though I don't open up to them about my problems, just having them around helps take my mind off my troubles for a while. Their friendship heals me in its own way.

Pedro

"Why do you look worried?" my wife asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"There's a parent-teacher meeting at Enzo's school. I was just thinking about that," I said.

"So, are you ready to go?" she asked.

"No, I'm not going. I promised Enzo I'd never go to his school," I replied.

My wife didn't know what had happened the last time I went to Enzo's school, angry. I knew I would probably hear a bunch of nonsense about what he'd done, and when I tried to talk to him about it, he would just talk back and make me even angrier. Then I would lose my temper, and who knows what I might do in the heat of the moment? No way. I wasn't putting myself in that situation again.

"If you want, I can come with you," Elena offered.

I knew Elena had always loved Enzo, no matter what he did. She had adored him since he was little. When he annoyed us while we were talking in the garden before we got married, she never saw it as Enzo bothering us; she thought he was just a cute little boy. She felt bad hearing that Enzo was only two years old when Mama died, and she was worried when Papa punished him in cruel ways. I knew Enzo liked Elena, too, since she had always been kind to him.

"I'm not going," I repeated firmly.

Elena could tell that she wasn't going to change my mind, so she didn't argue further, not wanting to waste either of our time.

But the main reason I didn't want to go to the parent-teacher meeting was that Enzo had tried to show his manhood to his classmates. I was so embarrassed that he would attempt something like that, and I couldn't bear the thought of discussing it with the principal and teachers. Enzo would be facing his final exams in a few months, and then he would be leaving the school. Papa never attended any of the parent-teacher meetings throughout Enzo's entire school life, so what was the point of going to just one now?

Enzo

It was the day of the parent-teacher meeting. I didn't think Pedro would show up, since he promised he'd never come to my school again. I was actually glad he made that promise. I didn't want to face his punishments, which were unpredictable. You never knew what he would do when he suddenly got angry. The last time he got mad at me, I was lucky not to have any broken bones. He pushed me hard against my car, and the pain was like hell. I was even afraid he might have fractured something.

I saw Mia's parents arrive, with her walking between her Mama and Papa. They all looked happy, and I couldn't figure out why they were smiling and seemed so cheerful. Mia had told me that her parents didn't want her dating any boys until after she passed her exams, so she said we needed to act like we were just classmates. I agreed with her on that.

My favorite part of parent-teacher meeting day was sneaking off to a corner where no one could see me and watching the other kids' parents. I always made sure to hide from my best friends' parents. For years, they had known that no one from my family ever came to these meetings, but they still asked me, "Is no one coming for you?"

When they ask me that, it makes me feel really uncomfortable, and I never know how to respond. If I say "no," they follow up with "why." So I just tell them my family is busy and then sneak away from there as fast as I can.

Sometimes, there are teachers who are even worse than the parents. As educators, they definitely know that my parents or anyone from my family never shows up at school for any reason. Yet, Mrs. Kim always makes a point to ask me, "Why don't your parents come?" I tell her, "They're busy." Then she goes on about how "it's not right for them to skip out on your parent-teacher meetings." So I said, "Well, tell them that yourself." That made her angry, and she started lecturing me about how poorly my parents had raised me.

I watched as Diego's, Elijah's, and Noah's parents arrived and started chatting together in a group. Seeing them like that made me feel a bit lonely and sad, knowing that I was all alone here. I couldn't go over and join them. I didn't want them to pity me or for other people to see me as some pathetic, neglected kid. Sometimes, I tried to imagine myself standing between two loving parents, talking and smiling with them, doing all the things that other parents do with their children. But I couldn't even picture it properly because I had never experienced what that felt like.

While I couldn't imagine myself with a mom and dad, I could easily picture myself with Papa (Manuel). I wished he could come to the parent-teacher meeting. He's the one who truly cares about me. Why couldn't he be the one to show up for me? He was the person who raised me. I would feel so proud if he came to the meeting as my Papa. I bet he'd be the most handsome Papa among all the parents here. And he'd definitely be the youngest since he was only 18 years older than me. It's kind of crazy when you think about it. He raised me as his own when he was just 20 years old himself. I don't think I could ever raise someone else's child while I'm in my 20s.

"Enzo," I gasped, hearing Diego's voice, and I turned to his side.
"I saw you were with your parents," I said, trying to hide my surprise.
"Yeah," he replied, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, curious about his unexpected presence.
"Nothing. Just checking on you," he said, his eyes meeting mine with a hint of concern.
"Why?" I questioned, not quite understanding his motive.
"Nothing special," he shrugged, but I sensed there was more to it than he let on.

I hesitated for a moment before asking, "You think I'm upset because no one's coming to the parents' meeting?"

Diego looked at me thoughtfully, his voice softening as he spoke. "I know you're used to it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't bother you."

I felt a lump form in my throat, realizing that he understood me better than I had expected. It was true; I had grown accustomed to being alone at these meetings, but deep down, it still hurt.

"Why are you here, though? You can go to your parents," I said, feeling a sudden urge to be alone. It was what I usually did during a parents' meeting, a concert, or anything that involved parents. I found a place to hide from everyone so no one could see that I was neglected and abandoned by my own family.

"I just didn't want you to be alone," Diego said, his words catching me off guard. I didn't know how to react to his kindness. Instead, I looked down, sitting on the short wall, my feet dangling inches from the ground.

Diego sensed my unease and sat down beside me. He put his arm around my shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, offering a silent comfort that I hadn't known I needed.