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The evening sun melted into the horizon, leaving the sky bruised in shades of crimson and ash. The girl sat by her window, her cheek resting against the cold glass. The laughter of her friends from earlier that day still echoed in her head—mocking, sharp, a chorus that cut deeper than she cared to admit.
“Maybe he just doesn’t see you that way,” one had teased.268Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiQ2rufJFvE
“Or maybe you’re not his type,” another had laughed.
She had laughed too—at least on the surface. But deep inside, something shifted.
She was the only daughter of her parents, yet not their pride, not their cherished flower. Love had always been rationed in her house, offered to her with conditions she could never quite meet. She had grown accustomed to that hollow space in her chest, the one where affection should have lived. So when he—this boy—refused her, it wasn’t heartbreak she felt. It was humiliation.
It was her pride.
She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. It was no longer about love. It was about proving something—about refusing to be the girl people could laugh at, dismiss, or ignore.
He had said no.
And no was a word that would now become the blade she sharpened against him.
The boy, meanwhile, sat with his friends at a tea stall down the street, completely unaware of the storm. His laughter was carefree, his tone gentle as always. For him, the world was still untouched by venom, still painted in simple lines of kindness and honesty.
But for her—268Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdlrsirRJAq
The rejection had ignited something darker. Something dangerous.
That night, she whispered to herself in the dim light of her room, her eyes gleaming with a quiet fire:
“He will regret this. He will see me. He will pay.”
And thus, the seed of revenge was sown.
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