CHAPTER NINE

Dahlia couldn't help but question her own sanity as she tried to convince herself that everything happened for a reason. She repeated it like a mantra, hoping it would sink in, but deep down, the words felt hollow. Witnessing the boy she fancied—the first person to ever stir something unfamiliar and terrifying in her heart—be confessed to and enter a relationship had shaken her in ways she wasn't prepared for.

Still, she told herself she'd suck it up and pretend everything was fine. Pretend she was unbothered. Pretending the sight of Hugo and Harlow together didn't feel like a knife twisting in her chest every time she saw them.

It wasn't fine. It wasn't even remotely okay. Dahlia's ability to mask her emotions might have fooled everyone else, but inside, she was crumbling. Yet, this wasn't new to her. For years, she had been an expert at wearing masks, forcing herself into roles that didn't feel like her own. This was just another act, albeit a much more painful one.

When Lily had gently suggested finding someone else to help Hugo with his studies, Dahlia had refused. She couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was her stubborn pride, or maybe she desired to cling to whatever connection she still had with him. Either way, she had waved Lily off with a forced laugh, claiming it was no big deal. She'd keep helping him until he no longer needed her assistance. That was her promise—or maybe her punishment.

In hindsight, Dahlia knew it was foolish. Every day spent tutoring Hugo felt like rubbing salt into a wound that refused to heal. She told herself that exposing herself to the pain was a form of therapy, a way to burn out the feelings she harboured for him. It was a ridiculous and self-destructive method, but Dahlia wasn't well-versed in the ways of love or heartbreak. She was learning as she went, stumbling through emotions that felt foreign and raw.

Her plan was simple: feel the pain until it no longer mattered. Break her heart over and over again until there is nothing left to break. It was reckless and masochistic, but she clung to it, convinced it would work.

One afternoon, lost in her thoughts, Dahlia sat at their usual tutoring table. Her mind wandered to places it shouldn't—memories of Hugo's laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the warmth in his voice when he talked about things he cared about.

"Hey," Hugo's voice broke through her reverie, pulling her back to the present. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of concern. "You okay? You've been spacing out a lot lately."

Dahlia blinked and forced a laugh, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sorry," she said, waving him off. "What were you saying?"

Hugo leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm as he studied her for a moment. "I was saying that I feel like Harlow might be the one."

The words hit her like a blow, but Dahlia barely flinched. She had mastered the art of keeping her face neutral. "Oh?" she said, plastering on a smile. "That's... not surprising. You two seem great together."

"Doesn't mean you have to rub it in," her inner voice hissed, but she ignored it.

Hugo chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I mean, she's just... she makes everything feel brighter, you know? Like, being around her is easy. She's kind, thoughtful, and... I don't know, I guess I just feel lucky."

Dahlia felt like she might shatter, but her grin stayed firmly in place. "That's really sweet," she said, her tone light and teasing. "You're so smitten. It's kind of adorable."

"Adorable?" Hugo groaned, leaning back in his chair. "That's not exactly what a guy wants to hear."

"Oh, hush," Dahlia said, waving him off with a laugh. "A compliment is a compliment. You should take it. Besides, it's admirable that you're so open about your feelings. Not everyone has the courage to believe in things like soulmates."

Hugo blinked, momentarily taken aback by her words. "You really think that?"

"I do," she said softly, her gaze dropping to her hands. "It takes a kind of strength to believe in love the way you do. To put your heart out there and trust it'll find the right place. I think it's... amazing."

Hugo studied her, his expression unreadable. There was something different about her tone, something genuine that caught him off guard. He remembered the conversation they'd had the year before when he'd confessed his belief in soulmates. Dahlia had seemed sceptical then, brushing off his words with her usual sarcasm. But now, her sincerity left him speechless.

What had changed?

He wanted to ask, but something in Dahlia's posture stopped him. Her smile was bright, but there was a flicker of something behind it—something he couldn't quite place. He chalked it up to her usual enigmatic nature and let it go, unaware of the turmoil raging beneath her calm exterior.

Dahlia, for her part, felt as though she were teetering on the edge of a precarious tightrope, suspended high above a sea of emotions she couldn't control. Every conversation with Hugo felt like a performance, a delicate balancing act where one wrong word or lingering glance could tip her off-balance and send her spiralling. She had become an expert at disguising her feelings, her smiles perfectly crafted, her laughter timed to perfection, but no matter how much she practised, the cracks in her armour were beginning to show.

Each interaction felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of her hidden emotions was pressing down on her more with every passing moment. It wasn't just the sharp pangs of longing that cut through her whenever Hugo spoke about Harlow with that unmistakable glimmer in his eyes—it was the relentless battle within herself. The fight to maintain composure, to act as though she were genuinely happy for him when in reality, her heart was breaking anew with every word.

She found herself overanalyzing every exchange, replaying their conversations in her mind late at night, searching for any slip in her façade. Was her smile too brittle? Did her voice waver when she offered him encouragement? Did he notice how her hands trembled when he leaned too close? These questions haunted her, leaving her exhausted yet restless, trapped in a cycle of self-doubt and unspoken yearning.

The worst part was how Hugo remained blissfully oblivious to her turmoil. His easy smile and casual demeanour made her feel both comforted and tormented. He wasn't cruel—far from it. In fact, his kindness only made things worse. Every thoughtful gesture, every laugh they shared, every small moment of camaraderie was a reminder of what she could never have. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to pull away.

Dahlia had convinced herself that staying close to him was necessary, a way to prove to herself that she could handle the situation. She told herself it was better this way—better to remain his friend than to risk everything by confessing how she felt. But deep down, she knew it was a lie. Each day spent by his side, pretending her feelings didn't exist, was eroding her resolve.

It was in the quiet moments when her defences were weakest that the truth would creep in. Like the time she caught herself staring at him as he rambled on about some obscure magical theory, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. Or the way her chest tightened when their hands accidentally brushed while exchanging notes. These fleeting instances reminded her of the depth of her feelings, feelings she had no outlet for, no safe place to express.

And then there was Harlow. Sweet, earnest, kind-hearted Harlow, who had done nothing to deserve the silent resentment that occasionally bubbled up within Dahlia. It wasn't fair to blame her, Dahlia knew that. Harlow had simply acted on her feelings, and had taken the leap that Dahlia herself was too afraid to make. Yet knowing that didn't make it any easier to see them together, to hear Hugo's voice soften when he spoke her name, or to catch glimpses of their shared moments of happiness.

Dahlia's pain was a constant, unrelenting companion. It clawed at her insides, a raw and festering wound she couldn't seem to heal. But even as the cracks in her armour widened, she refused to let herself shatter completely. She clung to the belief that she could endure this, that she could rebuild herself from the pieces left behind. After all, wasn't she used to pretending? Wasn't she an expert at masking her true self?

Still, there were moments when her strength faltered. Moments when she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, to demand answers from a universe that seemed intent on testing her limits. But instead, she bit her tongue, forcing herself to swallow the words she would never say. Because what else could she do? To confess now, with Hugo happy and Harlow by his side, would be selfish. And Dahlia refused to be selfish, no matter how much it hurt.

So she pressed on, one careful step at a time, her heart heavy and her smile fragile. She walked the tightrope, knowing that every step could be her undoing, but determined to keep moving forward anyway.