A heart beneath the mark

22. Part

I didn't sleep that night.
I just lay there, staring at the canopy above my bed in the Ravenclaw dormitory, Mattheo's words repeating in my head like a curse I couldn't shake.

"You're not special, Bennett. You're just another girl who thought she could fix me."

No amount of blinking or breathing or pretending it hadn't hurt could undo the sting of those words. I hadn't even read the letter expecting something beautiful—I don't know what I had expected, maybe an explanation, maybe just the truth—but I definitely hadn't expected that.

And the way he'd looked at me when our eyes met in the corridor earlier... like he knew I had it. Like he regretted every word of it. Or maybe not. Maybe that was just me, still hoping there was something beneath all his cruelty.

I sat by the window seat in the common room after breakfast, wrapped in a wool blanket, a steaming cup of tea untouched in my hands. The clouds outside were heavy, weighed down like my chest, and I didn't even flinch when someone sat next to me.

"Okay," Cho said quietly, brushing her long hair behind her ear. "You've been ignoring me for days. And you're pale. I mean, paler than usual. So I'm not leaving until you talk."

I exhaled shakily. "I don't know where to start."

"Start wherever it hurts the most," she said softly.

So I did.

I told her about the library. About finding the letter. About how it had felt like discovering something secret, fragile, like a part of Mattheo no one was ever meant to see. I told her how I hadn't read it at first, how I'd just stared at the word Hannah scrawled across the parchment like it might catch fire.

And then, I told her about reading it.

Cho's mouth parted slowly as I recited parts of the letter, my voice breaking in places. The part where he said he didn't do feelings. The part where he said he noticed me. And especially the part that made my chest ache worst of all:

"It makes me want to stop being the reason your eyes darken."

That line. God, that line.

But I didn't stop there. I told her how I'd gone to talk to him. How I'd been shaking, hoping—idiotically hoping—that something might change.
And how he'd ruined it.

"You're not special, Bennett."
"You're just another girl who thought she could fix me."
"It meant nothing."

By the time I finished, tears had blurred my vision and I wasn't even trying to stop them.
"I feel so stupid," I whispered, voice raw. "I knew what he was. I knew he wasn't someone you get close to. But I—God, I wanted to believe he meant it. That I meant something."
Cho leaned closer, her hand brushing mine. "You did mean something. You do. That letter... Hannah, that was real. He may have tried to take it back, but you saw it. You felt it. You know when someone's telling the truth."
"But he said—"
"He's scared," she said firmly. "He opened himself up, and that terrified him. So he did the only thing he knows—he lashed out."
"But I'm the one left bleeding," I murmured.
Cho was quiet for a moment, before whispering, "I hate what he did to you. You don't deserve that, Hannah."
I swallowed thickly. "I think I'm depressed. I feel like I can't breathe properly. I walk around and everyone's talking and laughing and I'm just... floating. Like I'm not really there."
She wrapped an arm around me. "You've been carrying this on your own for too long."
"I don't want to cry over him anymore."
"You don't have to," Cho said. "You just have to start healing. And I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
I leaned against her, letting her warmth fill the frozen space inside me. For a while, we sat in silence. Just breathing. Just existing.

⸻

That afternoon, I went to the library—not because I wanted to run into Mattheo again, but because I needed books for an essay I'd been putting off all week. I hated how even the thought of seeing him sent a sharp pain through my stomach, like some part of me still hoped he'd look at me differently, say something, anything.

But he wasn't there. Of course he wasn't.

I sat near the back, head down, trying to focus on Arithmancy equations, but my mind kept wandering. I wasn't ready to face him again. I didn't know if I ever would be.
Just as I was preparing to leave, someone stopped beside me.

"Hey... Hannah, right?"
I looked up to see a boy standing awkwardly with a stack of books in his hands. Tall, dark brown hair that curled slightly at the ends, bright green eyes that crinkled a little at the corners. Ravenclaw crest on his jumper.
"Yes," I said cautiously.
He gave a small smile. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm Callum. Callum Ashbridge."
I blinked. "You're in seventh year, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I think we've got Advanced Transfiguration together?" He shifted on his feet. "I just... noticed you've been a bit off lately. You okay?"
The question caught me off guard. My first instinct was to lie. To smile and pretend everything was fine. But something in his voice—gentle, genuinely curious—made me pause.
"I've had better weeks," I said truthfully.
Callum nodded slowly. "Well... if you ever want to talk. Or not talk. I'm pretty good at both."
I stared at him for a moment. "Why do you care?"
He shrugged. "Because I know what it's like to feel like everything's heavy and no one notices. So I notice."
I didn't know what to say to that. So I just nodded.
"Anyway," he added, holding up his books, "I should probably finish this essay before Flitwick kills me. But... it was nice talking to you."
"You too," I said, meaning it.
As he walked away, I realized something strange: for the first time in days, the ache in my chest felt just a little less crushing.

⸻

That night, I sat by the window again, looking out at the stars.
Cho was reading on the couch across from me, occasionally glancing up. "So," she said after a long silence. "Callum Ashbridge, huh?"
I flushed. "He was just being kind."
"Kind is rare these days."
"I'm not ready for anything like that," I whispered.
Cho nodded. "You don't have to be. Just let yourself feel safe again. Let yourself breathe."
I looked down at the letter again—the one I couldn't bring myself to burn or throw away.
Mattheo's words, etched into my memory forever.

"You're infuriating. You ask too many questions. You don't let me get away with the usual shit."
"And that's what makes you dangerous."

I folded the parchment and slipped it back into my notebook.
Maybe one day I'd be able to forget him.
But tonight, I was just trying to remember how to feel like myself again.
And maybe, just maybe, that started with someone noticing when I was about to fall apart.