Sebastian Ashford's POV
The wind was cold. Not sharp enough to hurt—but enough to remind you you were alive. Enough to make you breathe deeper.
I hadn't meant to follow her. Not really.
I'd just… seen her.
From the far end of the corridor, her silhouette climbing the rooftop stairs like a ghost. Like something fragile I shouldn't be chasing.
But I did.
She didn't hear me.
She sat at the edge of the rooftop—legs folded beneath her, chin tucked into the collar of that same pale cardigan she always wore on bad days. Her hair was still in that messy knot. Her eyes were on the stars.
She looked like she belonged up there—quiet and out of reach.
Like something you pray for but don't deserve.
I walked closer.
Each step was too loud. Too heavy. Like guilt.
She stiffened before I even said her name.
"…Rain."
She didn't turn.
I should've walked away. Should've said nothing. But I never did the right thing when it came to her.
"I saw you up here."She didn't speak.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
Still nothing.
The silence stretched. My throat burned.
"…Why are you up here alone?"
She finally moved. A tilt of the head. Her voice was a whisper.
"Why do you care?"
The words hit harder than they should've.Because I did care.Too much.Wrongly.Painfully.Stupidly.
"I shouldn't." I swallowed. "But I do."
She laughed. It wasn't kind. It wasn't like the soft smile she gave that fourth-year guy.This one was hollow. Like glass cracking.
"You ruin me in front of everyone and then come here to… what? Redeem yourself?"
"No," I said, louder than I meant to. "That's not—God, Rain. I'm not here to make excuses."
"Then why are you here?"
I couldn't answer.
Not because I didn't know.
But because if I said it, it would make everything worse.
Because the truth was simple and cruel:
I was obsessed with her.I wanted her attention. Her smiles. Her fear. Her everything.And now all I had was her silence. And that hurt worse than anything.
She turned her face away, brushing at her cheeks.
"I hate you," she said.
I nodded. "You should."
The wind blew again. Her hair caught in it. That thick, ink-dark braid she used to wear undone, messy now. Tired. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.
"I never meant to—" I started.
"Don't," she whispered.
Another beat of silence.
Then, softer—
"You scare me."
That's when it cracked inside me.
Because I'd always known. But hearing her say it out loud?
It felt like bleeding.
I sat down on the concrete near her, far enough not to make her flinch.
And for the first time in months, I didn't say anything cruel. I didn't smirk. I didn't break her down.
I just sat. Quiet. With the girl I broke.
And watched the stars she used to smile at.