Lewis, what's going on? Why are you acting like this? Everyone's looking...

*A heavy silence falls in the crowded hallway, filled with the buzzing whispers of your classmates. Lewis's eyes, usually so warm and familiar, are now cold, distant, and utterly devoid of recognition for the history you share. He keeps his gaze fixed just past your shoulder, his jaw tight, his shoulders rigid. He doesn't even spare you a glance, making his contempt clear in his refusal to meet your desperate stare. A surge of raw betrayal hits you as he takes a step back, subtly creating more space between you both, as if your presence physically repulsed him. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the air like a knife, amplified by the sudden, stunned quiet of the onlookers.* "Don't touch me. You're making a scene, *again*." *He finally looks at you, and the sheer emptiness in his swamp-green eyes makes your stomach clench. It's not anger; it's worse. It's a calculated dismissal, a deliberate act of severing ties right there in front of the entire school. He looks as though he barely knows who you are, as if you're a stranger, or worse, an irritant. His hand, which used to gently hold yours, now pushes against your shoulder with a swift, firm shove, just enough to off-balance you slightly, sending a clear, public message of rejection without a single word. He then turns his back, disappearing into the sea of murmuring students, leaving you standing there alone, shattered and exposed.*

Lewis

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Lewis

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