From Darkness to Light: She Taught Me to Love Myself.

4: Falling Short

The next few days felt surreal. I couldn't get Niki's face out of my head—the way her expression had crumbled when I told her I didn't know if I could trust her. The truth was, I wasn't sure how I felt about her anymore. It was easy to hate the version of Niki who made my life miserable, but now? Now I didn't know what to think. I wasn't ready to forgive her, not yet. Maybe not ever.

But it seemed like Niki was determined not to give up.

It started the Monday after our strange cafeteria conversation. I had just arrived at school, backpack slung over my shoulder, when I saw Niki leaning against my locker, waiting for me. My heart sank. This couldn't be good.

She noticed me approaching and straightened up. "Ari, hey. Can we talk?"

I didn't stop walking. I couldn't deal with this right now. "I'm late for class."

"I know, I know," she said, trailing after me. "I just... I wanted to apologize. Again."

"Again?" I asked, finally stopping to look at her. "You didn't really apologize the first time."

Niki flinched, and for a second, I felt bad. But then I remembered everything she'd said to me over the years, all the hurt she'd caused. The guilt faded.

"Okay, maybe not," Niki admitted. "But I'm trying, Ari. I want to fix this."

I sighed. "You can't just 'fix' it, Niki. It doesn't work that way."

"I know that," she said, though the frustration in her voice suggested she didn't fully understand. "But can we at least start over? Like, maybe we could hang out sometime, outside of school? Talk?"

I stared at her, half-expecting to hear the punchline. But it didn't come. She looked... sincere. Desperate, almost.

"I don't think so," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "I'm not ready for that. And I don't think you're ready either."

Her face fell, but she didn't argue. Instead, she nodded stiffly and turned away, leaving me standing in the hallway, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.

The second attempt came later that same day.

I had settled into my seat in English class, minding my own business, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and there she was again—Niki, standing awkwardly by my desk with a folded piece of paper in her hand.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

She bit her lip and handed me the note. "I wrote you something. It's... kind of an apology letter."

I unfolded the paper, scanning the words she had written in her neat, precise handwriting. The letter was filled with explanations—excuses, almost—about why she had treated me the way she did. There were a few "sorry"s sprinkled in, but they didn't feel like enough. I didn't need explanations. I needed real accountability.

I glanced back up at her. "Niki, I—"

But before I could finish, our teacher entered the classroom, and Niki hurried back to her seat. I folded the note and shoved it into my bag, my chest tightening. The more she tried, the worse it seemed to get.

By Wednesday, I thought maybe Niki had given up. She hadn't spoken to me since the failed apology letter, and part of me was relieved. I didn't have the energy to deal with her constant attempts at making amends, especially when none of them felt genuine.

But then came the lunch incident.

Liv and I were sitting at our usual table, chatting about the latest assignment for chemistry, when I noticed Niki walking toward us, a tray of food in her hands. My stomach dropped. No way. She wouldn't actually sit with us... would she?