A Story Of Three People - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

We rarely saw each other in person, but we texted all the time. We asked how the other was doing, shared our struggles with exams, and talked about all the little difficulties that came with being first-year university students living away from home for the first time.

And more than once, I received messages like:

“I feel so sad and empty, you know? Alethea and I…”

Or:

“I think I still like Alethea, you know. Sometimes…”

They were always unfinished messages, words trailing off before they reached the end.

But I understood.

I understood perfectly.

And somehow, even though I knew I had no right to feel that way, I couldn't help being sad. Whenever Amory mentioned Alethea, something uncomfortable would quietly slip between us, settling in the space between our conversations.

Something I didn't know how to name.

Something I wasn't supposed to feel.

And yet, I felt it all the same.

Lately, I had been receiving messages from a guy named Amity, trying to get to know me.

Only later did I find out that he was one of Amory's classmates at university. Amory had given him my phone number.

After a few conversations, all of them through text messages, I got the impression that Amity was a little too smooth for my liking. I didn't like that about him.

Maybe he knew how to keep a conversation going, how to comfort someone, how to make people feel cared for. Maybe he was the kind of guy many girls would consider the perfect shoulder to lean on.

But not me.

We eventually met in person.

Then Amity told me that he liked me.

And honestly, I didn't even know what I was supposed to feel anymore.

Amory

I had liked Alethea for quite a long time.

Since high school, in fact.

I don't remember what the weather was like that day. I don't know whether the sun was shining brightly or rain was pouring down like something out of a romantic love story.

I simply remember that I told her.

No—actually, I texted her.

I told Alethea that I liked her.

It wasn't an impulsive decision. I'd had more than enough time to think carefully about my feelings and decide whether they were real.

Back in high school, I didn't want either Alethea or me to spend too much time thinking about something like this. We had a difficult university entrance exam waiting for us, and I didn't want anything to distract us from it.

But now, I thought it was finally time to say what I had been keeping inside.

Sadly, and more painfully than I expected, Alethea didn't accept my feelings.

Maybe I was just a fool. Maybe I wasn't nearly as confident or mature as I—or everyone else—had imagined.

I did something stupid.

I kept texting her. I called her, too.

Why do I call it stupid?

Because Alethea told me I was bothering her.

That was all.

Then I received a message from Derek, a girl who had been my classmate back in high school.

Just a classmate.