𝙄𝙙𝙞𝙤𝙩 || 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙮 & 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮

CH #5

Holly's POV:

For a moment, I had finally gotten lost in my book, savoring every single word. The world around me seemed to fade away as I turned each page, the soft rustle of paper a soothing rhythm that drowned out the ever-present noise of reality. It was rare, moments like this-moments where I could slip away into something far removed from the weight of expectation, the biting remarks, the endless judgment.

But of course, the peace was fleeting. Nothing ever lasted long.

"Sitting alone?"

The voice was unmistakable: smooth, dripping with mockery, and laced with a faint edge of amusement that sent a chill crawling up my spine. Draco Malfoy. He stood just a few feet away, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his pale face, as though he'd just caught me doing something embarrassing. His voice cut through the warm cocoon of the story like a blade, sharp and deliberate.

I sighed inwardly, refusing to meet his gaze right away. Instead, I slid a ribbon between the pages of my book and closed it carefully, letting my fingers linger on the worn leather cover. If there was one thing Malfoy enjoyed more than tormenting people, it was the satisfaction of knowing he had successfully disrupted their solitude.

"And what if I am?" I replied evenly, finally glancing up. My voice didn't waver, which felt like a small victory.

Draco tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening. "How predictable. Buried in a book as usual. Tell me, do you even notice the world around you when you're off in... wherever it is you go in that head of yours?"

The jab wasn't clever, but it stung nonetheless. It always did, though I hated giving him the satisfaction of knowing it.

"I notice enough," I replied curtly, clutching the book a little tighter. The others were clustered in small groups, laughing, chatting, and occasionally exchanging conspiratorial whispers. It was a scene I had grown used to-a world I always seemed just slightly removed from, no matter how hard I tried to blend in.

His smirk faltered slightly, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression-curiosity, perhaps? Or was it skepticism? Either way, it didn't last long.

"Maybe no one wants to sit with you," he said, his tone light but cutting.

My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to remain calm. Draco thrived on reactions, on the satisfaction of seeing his words hit their mark. Giving him nothing was the best defense, even if it left me feeling hollow inside.

"Is there a reason you're here, Malfoy, or did you just come over to practice your insults?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

He chuckled softly, and the sound grated on my nerves. "Touchy, aren't we? No need to get defensive. I was merely making an observation."

"Well, you've made it. You can leave now."

Instead of retreating, he stepped closer, his smirk morphing into something more subtle, almost curious. He leaned casually against the back of the chair across from mine, his piercing gray eyes studying me as though I were some kind of puzzle he couldn't quite piece together.

"You know," he began, his tone softer now, "it's a bit pathetic, really. Always sitting alone, always reading, as if you're trying to escape something."

His words hit deeper than I cared to admit. I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the book as I fought to keep my composure.

"Maybe I just prefer books to people," I said evenly, though my voice betrayed a hint of the bitterness I was trying to suppress.

"Do you?" he asked, tilting his head again. "Or is it because you're afraid of people? Afraid they'll see right through you?"

I felt a spark of anger flare in my chest, but I quickly smothered it. Draco was an expert at finding people's weak spots and poking at them until they broke. He was baiting me, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I think you're projecting, Malfoy," I said coolly, meeting his gaze head-on. "Was it because of the paints?"

His smirk returned, sharper now, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he held my gaze for a moment longer, as though trying to decide whether or not I was worth the effort of another retort. Finally, he straightened up, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

He stayed silent, turning to walk away. But just before he disappeared into the crowd, he glanced back over his shoulder and added, "Enjoy your book. I'm sure it's far more interesting than real life."

As his footsteps faded, I let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. I opened the book again, but the words on the page blurred together.