Sebastian Ashford's POV
The second-year lecture hall buzzed louder than usual. That only meant one thing—first-years were joining us today. Combined session. Normally I'd hate it—immature chatter, giggling, people gawking at me like I'm a damn display case at a museum.
But today?
Today I was watching the door.
Heart punching my ribs.
Stomach in my throat.
Because Rain Wang had been missing for seven days.
And I still hadn't forgiven myself.
I don't think I ever would.
"She's not coming," Arden muttered beside me, flipping through his notes. "You should stop looking like a kicked puppy."
I didn't answer. I just stared at the entrance.
Hoping.
Dreading.
And then—
The door creaked open.
A hush fell.
Heads turned.
And she walked in.
Rain Wang.
But not my Rain.
Gone were the delicate blouses, the soft silk skirts that floated around her like petals.
Gone was the waterfall of jet-black hair that usually spilled to her knees like a shadow.
Today—
Today she wore low-slung black sweatpants that pooled around chunky sneakers. A cropped hoodie revealed the sliver of her waist—too thin.
And her hair—God, her hair—was yanked into a heavy, haphazard bun at the top of her head. Like she couldn't care less. Like she tied it just to get it out of the way, not to be beautiful.
Then—
"Oh my god…"
"…Is that Rain?"
"No way."
"She looks—what happened to her?"
And her face—
God, her face.
She looked pale.
Hollow-eyed.
Dead.
Like sleep hadn't touched her in days.
Like food hadn't either.
She looked like grief in human form.
But it was the whispers that hit hardest.
"Ew. What is she wearing?"
"She looks like she crawled out of a dumpster."
"Did you see her face? She used to be kinda pretty. Not anymore."
"I heard she locked herself in her dorm. Freak behavior."
"She's lost it."
"She deserved it though, acting like she was better than everyone."
"Guess someone finally put her in her place."
And then—
Laughter.
Short. Cruel. Quiet enough to pretend it wasn't real.
Loud enough that she definitely heard it.
She kept walking.
But slower now.
Each step like it weighed a thousand tons.
Shoulders hunched.
Eyes locked on the floor.
Not a single glance at anyone.
Not even at me.
She always looked.
Today… nothing.
Like I didn't exist.
She slid into a seat in the back corner.
Didn't pull out her laptop.
Didn't even take her hoodie off.
She just sat.
Small.
Silent.
Shrinking further into herself every time someone turned to stare.
And I—
I wanted to stand up.
Tell them to shut the hell up.
Tell them they didn't know her.
That she was kind. Gentle. Smarter than all of them combined.
That it was me.
I did this.
Not her.
But I didn't.
I stayed in my seat like a coward.
Because that's what I was.
A coward with a shattered conscience.
"She looks like she's gonna cry," someone whispered.
And she did.
Not obviously.
Not dramatically.
Just this little twitch in her lip.
A flick of her lashes.
Then she tilted her head down, and her sleeve went up to her face like she was wiping her nose—but I saw it.
I saw the tear.
One. Just one.
And somehow that one drop hurt worse than if she'd sobbed in the middle of the room.
This wasn't just humiliation.
It was a funeral.
And I was watching it happen.
The professor began to speak. People turned forward. The moment passed.
But she didn't move.
She just sat there.
And for the first time in my life…
I hated myself.