Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was Monday. Like every other day, Liv didn't focus on a thing being said during lessons. Much more like any other day though, she kept on zoning out.
The clash with her mom felt like a storm, a tempest of emotions that left her both furious and strangely contemplative. She, with her unwarranted anger, accused her of being distant and failing at the simplest chores.
What infuriates her was the baselessness of her mothers anger, the way she hurled blame without understanding the weight of her words. Liv felt the sting of disappointment, the knowledge that she was falling short in her mom's eyes, a daughter unworthy of her approval.
However, Liv couldn't shake the feeling that her mother might be right. In the midst of her rebellion against her perceived tyranny, a sobering thought emerged.
Had she been neglecting her responsibilities?
Has she allowed her thoughts to be consumed by Tom, neglecting her studies, and inadvertently disappointing the one person who, flawed as she may be, cares about her well-being?
The only person who cared.
It was a bitter realization. Despite the injustice of her mom's accusations, a part of her wondered if there was a kernel of truth in her words. Maybe it was time to reassess her priorities, to pull away from the tumultuous distraction of the boy and refocus on being the daughter she ought to be.
The anger lingers, but beneath it is a quiet resolve. Perhaps, in proving her wrong, she could find a way to prove herself right.
And there she was again. Snapped back into reality. Into the classroom. And then she went home again. Zoning out. She really thought she was slick with it though.
Throughout the morning, she talked during conversations, cracked a few jokes and even let a smile cover her face but Tom felt like he knew better. Felt like it was forced and immediately sensed that something was bothering her. He couldn't quite put his finger on it though.
During lunchtime, he sat next to her, like he always did. It was absurd how hyper-aware she became of his presence, each movement magnified, every glance dissected.
Annoyance brewed within her as she noticed every little thing he did—a casual flick of his wrist, the way his lips curved into a half-smile. It was as if her senses were on overdrive, picking up on nuances that she had blissfully ignored before. Not in a good way.
What grated on her nerves even more was the unsettling feeling of his gaze. She could swear she felt his eyes on her, a penetrating scrutiny that left her restless. How she despised that awareness, the realization that he, too, was attuned to her every move. The worst part was the subtle acknowledgment of her zoning out. She hated how he noticed, how her moments of detachment were no longer a personal escape.
It was as if he held a magnifying glass to her vulnerabilities, and each time she drifted away, she could sense his awareness, a silent witness to the internal turmoil she tried so hard to conceal.
