Chapter 8: The Things We Don't Say
Ozaire's POV
It's been a week since I last spoke to Ophira. A whole week—and I still don't know why the guilt's been gnawing at me like this. Maybe because I never got to finish what I wanted to say that night. Maybe because she walked away before I could explain anything. Or maybe… because I didn't try hard enough to stop her.
We were at HQ, then school, then back to avoiding each other like we were strangers. And I let her avoid me—because I knew I was the one who messed up.
Still, this gnawing, uneasy feeling won't go away until I make things right. Or at least try to.
Today was PE, and swimming class was the perfect chance. Everyone would be distracted. Maybe I'd get a moment alone with her.
I scanned the edge of the pool, but she wasn't there. No sign of her.
"Ozaire, there you are!" Coach's voice called from behind me.
I turned to see him approaching, clipboard in hand, frustration in his expression.
"You free? I've got a favor to ask," he said, gesturing at the swarm of students splashing in the water.
"Sure, Coach. What is it?"
"Can you grab the swimming pads from the storage room? I was going to get them, but…" he motioned toward the pool. "You see how it is."
"No problem," I said, heading toward the building where the changing and storage rooms were.
The hallway was dim, and when I opened the storage room door, I groped around for the light switch.
Click. Nothing.
Click. Still nothing.
Great.
I sighed and stepped in, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. I reached out, searching blindly for the pads.
Then—squish.
"Eeek!" a girl yelped.
I yanked my hand back immediately. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know someone was in here, I was just— I mean—" I turned, ready to bolt out of sheer embarrassment, but a hand grabbed my wrist.
"Ozaire," the girl said.
Wait.
That voice…
"Ophira?" I asked hesitantly.
Silence.
Then: "You're such a pervert," she muttered, letting go of my hand.
My heart dropped—and also soared at the same time.
It was her.
"I-I didn't know you were here," I said quickly, "Why are you in the—"
"The girls' changing room was too cramped," she cut in, irritation laced in her voice. "I hate changing in front of that many people."
I nodded instinctively, then realized she couldn't see me. But then—wait. Was she still changing?
I turned my back quickly. "Are you, uh, still—"
"No, I'm done," she huffed. "You squeezed my stomach after I finished changing, thank you very much."
God. Kill me now.
"Sorry again," I muttered. "I was just looking for the—"
"Turn around," she said.
I did as told, slowly turning to face her just as the lights flickered on with a loud hum.
I squinted at the sudden brightness.
And then I saw her.
Ophira stood there in a yellow two-piece swimsuit, white shorts pulled on over it. She clutched the swimming pads to her chest like a shield, cheeks pink as she avoided my eyes.
"You were looking for these, right?" she asked, voice tight.
I nodded, still stunned. "Uh, yeah. Thanks, Ms. Laurier."
She looked visibly uncomfortable. Without thinking, I shrugged off my jacket and offered it to her.
"Here. Wear this first. Then I'll take the pads."
She hesitated—then took it, quickly slipping it on before practically shoving the pads at me.
"Here."
Still mad. Yeah, I deserved that.
She started toward the door. "Let's get out of here before the coach—"
"Wait, Ophira," I said, gently catching her hand.
She froze.
Then looked at our hands.
I let go immediately. "Sorry. I just… wanted to say I'm sorry. For what happened last week. For what I said—or didn't say."
She stared at me for a moment, then laughed—light, careless.
"Oh, don't worry about it," she said with a wave of her hand. "I completely forgot everything that happened that day."
She turned and walked out.
I stood there, stunned.
Forgotten?
Just like that?
Then why had it been eating me alive all week?
Why had it felt like such a big deal to me… if it meant nothing to her?
I followed her back outside, handed the swimming pads to Coach, and stepped aside.
That's when I saw her.
By the pool.
With a guy.
Taller than most. Tan, lean, with disheveled dark hair that somehow looked perfect even after a swim. His eyes were intense, sharp, but softened whenever they landed on her.
Laughing—really laughing—shoulders relaxed, eyes bright.
And something twisted in my chest.
Is that why?
Is he the reason it didn't matter to her?
Because she'd already found someone else?
He wasn't from our class—I would've remembered someone like him. His uniform top was tied around his waist, revealing a plain black swim shirt and a silver chain hanging around his neck. He exuded the kind of easy confidence that didn't demand attention, but got it anyway.
Who is he?
They looked… comfortable. Too comfortable. As if they've known each other for years. Or worse—like they were just getting to know each other, and it was going perfectly.
I turned away.
Whatever Ophira do or who she interacted with have nothing to do with me.
Sigh.
Atleast that's what I have always been telling myself. Everytime.
I should've looked away.
Should've walked back to the boys' lane, jumped into the water, let the chlorine sting my eyes so I'd have an excuse for how they burned.
But I didn't.
I kept watching her.
She was radiant—effortless, infuriatingly herself. The way her smile curved, the way she shoved the guy's shoulder lightly when he teased her, the way her wet hair stuck to her cheeks and she didn't even bother fixing it. It all drove me mad. Not because she was with someone else.
But because I wasn't the one making her laugh like that anymore.
I used to. I think. Back when we weren't avoiding each other. Back before I messed things up.
A lump formed in my throat, and for once, I didn't push it down. I let it sit there, heavy and unmoving.
I liked her.
God, I liked her.
Maybe I always had—through the bickering, the tension, the stupid banter that never quite meant nothing. Every sarcastic retort she threw my way, every challenge, every glare—it was her way of getting close. And mine? Mine was pushing her away.
Because I didn't know what to do with the way she made my heart race. With how she made me feel seen… and exposed all at once.
But now… now someone else was standing beside her. Someone who wasn't afraid to be there. Someone who didn't waste time pretending they didn't care.
And maybe that's what hurts the most.
Because I do care.
I care too damn much.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity, my eyes locked on Ophira and the mystery boy. They were laughing together—something I hadn't seen in a while. Not the fake laughs or the polite smiles, but the real, carefree laugh that only came when someone felt completely at ease.
And it was with him.
My chest tightened. I couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but I knew then. I knew it was too late.
I had been avoiding it. Trying to convince myself that everything was fine—that I didn't care. But watching her like that, seeing her smile like that, something inside me snapped.
I turned away, my heart pounding in my ears. My feet, almost as if they had a mind of their own, carried me to the pool. The sound of my shoes hitting the tiles seemed too loud in the silence that hung between us.
I reached the edge, my hands gripping the cold metal of the railing, staring at the water below. It had always been a comfort to me—this water. The quiet it provided, the way it allowed me to think. But now, even the ripples in the pool felt too loud.
I couldn't get her out of my mind.
Her laugh. The way she looked at him. The way she seemed so happy, so free, while I stood here, drowning in my own regrets.
She deserved that. She deserved happiness.
But I hated that it wasn't me.
The thought stung deeper than I expected. It wasn't just jealousy. It was something else—something I couldn't even name. The feeling of being too late. Of watching her slip through my fingers while I stood there, paralyzed by my own mistakes.
I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I should've done something. I should've been braver. But instead, I had kept my distance, convinced I was doing the right thing, when all I'd really done was build walls between us.
I took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill my lungs, and then I stepped into the water.
The chill of the pool was sharp against my skin, but it did nothing to numb the ache inside me. I swam, cutting through the water with frantic strokes, pushing myself harder, faster, as if I could outrun the truth.
But I couldn't.
No matter how fast I moved, the truth was still there. Still following me, like a shadow that wouldn't let go.
I cared. I cared more than I ever wanted to admit. More than I could ever say.
And now, all I could do was watch her with him.
The realization hit me harder than the water ever could.
I was too late.
The thought echoed in my mind as I swam, as I let the silence of the pool swallow me whole.
Maybe she wouldn't even look back.
And maybe that was the hardest part of all.
"Sometimes, it's not the distance that hurts the most—it's the silence that fills the space between two people who used to understand each other without saying a word."