Tangled Affections

11.

Becky's PoV

I spent most of the day trying to avoid her, but it was impossible. The school wasn't big enough to hide from her presence, and every time our paths crossed, I felt that same, unsettling mixture of anger and pity. She'd hurt me, but there was something broken inside her, too. I could see it now.

Yuki found me at lunch, her cheerful energy a welcome relief from the heaviness of the morning. She sat down beside me with a smile, and for a moment, I could forget about everything else. We talked about our classes, about our plans for the weekend, and for those brief minutes, I felt normal. Like a regular high school student with regular high school worries.

But I couldn't tell her about last night, about the tutoring. Freen had made me promise to keep it a secret, and I wasn't sure if it was out of shame or pride. Maybe both. So I kept quiet, even though it felt wrong to hide something from Yuki. She was my friend—my first real friend—and I hated lying to her. But I also knew that the truth would only complicate things further.

After school, I went to my tutoring job, trying to push Freen out of my mind. The kids I taught were a welcome distraction, their eager faces reminding me why I did this in the first place. They looked up to me, respected me, and for those few hours, I could forget about my own problems.

When I got home, I went through the motions—making a quick dinner, doing my homework, writing in my diary. But the heaviness in my chest wouldn't go away. It was there, pressing down on me, reminding me that no matter how hard I tried to distance myself from Freen, our lives were now intertwined in a way I couldn't escape.

Dear Diary, I wrote that night. I don't know how much longer I can do this. Pretending that everything is fine, that I'm not affected by her. But I have to keep going. I have to be strong. For myself, for Yuki, for the kids who look up to me. I have to prove that I'm more than what people think of me. Even if it means facing Freen every day.

As I closed my diary and turned off the light, I couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. Would it be another day of hiding, of pretending, of fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me? Or would it be something else—something I couldn't yet predict?

All I knew was that I had to keep going, no matter how hard it got. Because giving up wasn't an option. Not for me. Not anymore.

Freen's PoV

The evenings I spent with Becky were becoming the moments I looked forward to most in my day, though I tried my best not to let it show. The tension between us was palpable—an unspoken understanding that neither of us dared to acknowledge. Becky was patient, far more patient than I deserved, especially after the way I had treated her at school. She was different during these sessions—calm, composed, and so intelligent that I found myself mesmerized by how easily she made complex concepts seem simple.

At first, I told myself that I hated these sessions. That the only reason I tolerated them was because my father insisted. But as the days passed, I began to realize that wasn't entirely true. I found myself watching her more closely, stealing glances when she wasn't looking, trying to decipher the thoughts behind her quiet, determined gaze.

One evening, as we sat together in the study, I noticed the way her brow furrowed in concentration as she explained a particularly difficult concept to me. The light from the desk lamp cast a warm glow over her features, highlighting the softness in her expression. I caught myself staring at her lips, the way they moved as she spoke, and quickly averted my gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

The silence between us stretched on after she finished speaking, and I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for some sort of response. I managed a nod, not trusting myself to speak, and she smiled—a small, hesitant smile that made something in my chest tighten painfully.

"Does that make sense?" she asked, her voice gentle, almost tentative.

"Yeah," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the sudden rush of emotion. "It makes sense."

She seemed satisfied with that and turned her attention back to her notes, but the air between us remained thick with tension. I could feel it in every shared glance, every accidental brush of our hands as we reached for the same book or paper. There was something between us—something I didn't understand, something I wasn't sure I wanted to understand.

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