Eyes That Cannot Lie | Winrina

Why Is It So Hard To Hate You?

Later that afternoon, Winter found herself sitting at a small corner table in the campus café. The hum of conversation and clinking of coffee mugs filled the air, blending with the soft jazz playing in the background. She had arrived a few minutes early, not out of eagerness but because she wanted to settle her thoughts before Karina got there.

She stared out the window, watching the leaves swirl in the autumn breeze, her mind heavy with the same question she had been turning over all day: Why was she even giving Karina another chance?

It wasn't forgiveness. Winter knew that. She couldn't just let go of the hurt and betrayal that easily. But something about Karina's letter had struck a chord deep inside her, a place she hadn't touched in a long time.

The door of the café jingled as Karina walked in, scanning the room until her eyes landed on Winter. She gave a small, cautious smile before heading toward the table. Winter felt her body tense slightly as Karina sat down across from her, but she kept her face neutral, determined not to let the tension take over.

"Hey," Karina greeted softly, placing her bag down next to her chair.

"Hey," Winter replied, taking a sip of her iced coffee, her gaze flickering back to the window. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, and she knew Karina probably sensed that.

Karina pulled out her laptop and opened it, breaking the silence. "So... I did a rough outline for the project. I was thinking we could divide the research and maybe tackle some interviews for different perspectives on love." She paused, glancing at Winter, testing the waters. "Unless you had another idea."

Winter reached into her own bag and took out a notebook, flipping it open to a blank page. "No, that's fine. We'll need a lot of sources to cover all the angles, and interviews might help."

She focused on the project, her tone professional, almost detached. She didn't want to make this personal—not yet. If they were going to work together, she needed boundaries. This wasn't about their history or the mess between them. It was just an assignment. At least, that's what she told herself.

"Okay," Karina said, tapping on her keyboard. "I found some articles about the psychology of love—how it affects the brain, and why some people fear it. I thought it could tie into why people react differently when it comes to relationships."

Winter nodded, jotting down notes as Karina spoke. She appreciated that Karina was staying focused on the task. Part of her had expected Karina to bring up the letter again, to push for a conversation about their past, but she didn't. Karina was keeping her distance, respecting Winter's unspoken boundaries. It was exactly what Winter needed right now.

They worked in silence for a while, the only sound between them the clicking of keys and the scratching of Winter's pen. After about half an hour, Winter leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head.

"So, what exactly do you want to cover in the interviews?" she asked, breaking the quiet.

Karina looked up from her screen, biting her lip thoughtfully. "I was thinking we could ask people about their first experience with love—whether it was positive or negative, and how it shaped their view of relationships. It could add some personal depth to the research."

Winter nodded slowly, considering the idea. "That could work. We'll need a good range of people though—different ages, backgrounds. Not just students."

"Right," Karina agreed. "I was thinking we could talk to some professors too, maybe even some couples who've been together for a long time. Get different perspectives on what makes love last."

Winter jotted down more notes, keeping her focus on the task. But as the minutes passed, she couldn't help but feel a subtle shift in the air between them. The tension from the past few days hadn't disappeared, but it had softened. They were working together, talking without the weight of their history pressing down on every word.

For a moment, Winter let herself wonder if things could ever go back to normal. If they could ever be friends again.

She caught Karina glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Winter didn't immediately feel the need to look away. It was a brief moment, but in that second, Winter saw something in Karina's expression—something vulnerable and unsure, like she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Winter sighed internally. She wasn't ready to talk about the past, wasn't ready to confront the emotions that still lingered beneath the surface. But sitting there, working side by side, she realized she didn't hate Karina. She was hurt, angry, and guarded—but hate wasn't what she felt.

"I'll reach out to a few people for interviews," Winter said, breaking the silence. "We can split the questions, and I'll handle organizing the notes."

Karina nodded, her smile soft but appreciative. "Sounds good. Thanks, Winter."

Winter glanced at her, feeling a tiny flicker of warmth at Karina's words. It was strange, the way they had fallen into this rhythm—like they had never been apart, yet everything between them had changed.

As they finished up, packing their things into their bags, Karina paused, her hand resting on the strap of her backpack. "Winter," she began, her voice tentative.

Winter tensed, waiting for the inevitable return to their unresolved issues.

"I just wanted to say... thanks for giving me a chance to work with you. I know it's not easy for you right now." Karina's voice was quiet, genuine.

Winter looked at her, a mixture of emotions swirling in her chest. She didn't know how to respond, so she simply nodded. "Let's just focus on the project for now."

Karina gave a small, understanding nod. "Yeah. Just the project."

As they left the café and went their separate ways, Winter felt something shift inside her. Maybe things between them would never be the same. Maybe they'd never go back to what they were before.

But for the first time, Winter didn't feel quite as angry anymore. And that was something.