not shocked when I told them the news.

Apparently, my apathy for Pre-Med had been made clear to Viv throughout all the years we studied together. She'd written it off as me taking it too seriously, however, rather than being deeply dissatisfied with it. The Jays, Riley and Viv had been nothing but supportive.

I told them over dinner that no matter the outcome of my secondary applications, I would reject any offers I was made. Instead, I explained, I was looking to pursue graduate study in Biotechnology. I wouldn't be wasting my Pre-Med degree because I needed all the core health concepts I'd learnt over the years in my new career.

But I could apply my love for coding to things like bionics, robotic surgery, and medical imaging. The industry was much smaller than medicine and even more competitive, but it wasn't a case of do-or-die. Depending on the topic of my research thesis, I would become an expert in a very selective niche of Biotech. There would always be a demand for my field of knowledge somewhere, maybe even internationally.

The pay was worse, but the payoff was better, to me. I had always wanted to change my world with my own hands. I wanted to get involved in life-changing procedures and technologies directly. Solving problems and creating solutions, not just following the rulebook someone else had written. Pre-Med had seemed like the only viable option for that, but now I'd discovered alternative avenues that didn't include sitting with the guilt and responsibility of treating human patients.

"It's not even a far cry from medicine," Viv reasoned. "I don't know why your Mom freaked out."

"She's had this image of me in her head since I was fourteen. A beautiful doctor that she can brag about to all her friends. I think I just dashed it to pieces."

"Then she'll come around once she gets used to the idea," Riley said comfortingly, "I'm sure if you let her know that you intend to become a doctor still — just a different type — she won't mind at all."

"I think so, too. I feel bad for palming her anger off to Dad and Kev, though. They shouldn't be the ones to have to calm her down," I told them.

From the sympathetic looks everyone was giving me, I could tell they didn't understand why I was feeling guilty. They thought I had no responsibility to cater to my Mom's wishes for me, and that my decisions shouldn't be made with her opinion in mind.

But it wasn't that simple.

Mom's love for me was inextricably tangled with her dreams for me. She pushed me because she loved me. If one day she came home not caring how many vegetables I'd eaten that day, not caring that I made it to my next photoshoot, not caring that I ventilated my room at night, not caring what major I chose for college, I would be shocked. I would wonder where Mom had gone, or why she had stopped loving me.

The way she showed her love was by exerting her supposed wisdom over my decisions. I knew that it wasn't the most comfortable way to live, but I had come to appreciate it over the years. I wondered how we could move forward from this, and if we'd ever be as close again.

"That's what family does," Jamie said softly. "I'm sure you did the same for Kevin when he was on the receiving end."

I nodded, staring at my dinner. The uncooked broccoli on my plate was a stark contrast to the vegetables at home, which were always at least steamed, if not sauteed or fried. My eyes watered thinking about Mom's cooking. "Yeah."

Jake piped up, his observant nature clearly noting the need for a laugh. Otherwise, I might have cried right there in the dining hall. "You'd take a butt-whooping for me, right, baby bro?"

"Sure," Jamie scoffed. "If you could catch me."

"Ngaw," Jake cooed, rubbing his knuckles on his twin's scalp. "I totally could. Love you." Jamie wrestled out of Jake's grip and punched his shoulder with a solid thwack.

"Shut up."

They kept roughing each other up for a good minute, gathering a few odd looks from other residents in the dining hall. Then Jake accidentally spilled a glass of water and we all rushed to clean it up, scolding him for his clumsiness.

At times I thought saying I love you would be a shoo-in compared to Mom's wrath, which I had successfully weathered.

Well, not too successfully—but I'd survived. Mom still messaged me, albeit curtly, to remind me to drink the tea she had sent, which was considered a success in my book.

But then I imagined Quen's sympathetic smile as he gently turned me down—all too easy with memories of the first rejection—the ensuing winter that would creep into our interactions until he finally faded from my life, and wasn't so confident anymore. Death by fire or death by ice; that's what comparing Mom's ultimatum and Quen's potential rejection felt like.

Either way, it felt like the right thing to do. Jo had told me there was another woman in his life, and I didn't intend to mess that up for him. But I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a small part of me that hoped Quen took a chance on me.

I'd turned my world upside down. It felt right to let him know just how much he meant to me before I did anything else.

I messaged him on Saturday, asking if he had time to talk. He saw it but didn't reply. That was a bit harsh, but perhaps he had a new rule about messaging girls now that there was someone he cared for.

Admittedly, our friendship had gotten even more strained since I started sitting apart from him at lectures since the resumption of the semester. But hopefully, things could be put right now; I could talk to him in person, on campus, where he wouldn't feel like he was betraying anyone, and I could tell him everything.

The Monday following that early morning conversation between me and Jake, I planned to arrive early at the Biophysics lecture hall. With ample time to spare, I went on the lookout for Quen to make sure he didn't slip by me. Five minutes before the hour, his tall frame rounded the corner. A grin broke out on my face before he even saw me, though my excited call down the corridor definitely announced my presence.

"Quen!" His head jerked in my direction. As he approached the doorway, I greeted, "Hey."

"Hey."

"How are you?"

"Good."

"How was your weekend?"

"Fine."

"You ready for..." I trailed off as I realised two things simultaneously. First, Quen did not look fine as he claimed—none of my cheerful demeanour was returned—and second, he had two other students lingering by his side, clearly expecting to enter the lecture hall together.

Quen threw a glance over his shoulder and told them, "Go ahead, guys. I'll see you in there."

His Biophysics buddies responded cordially and took the instructions, leaving Quen and me alone in the corridor. Trying to ignore everything irrelevant—my nerves, their knowing smiles, Quen's odd, almost cold behaviour—I steeled myself and blurted, "We should talk."

"Yeah, we should."

"It won't take long, I promise— wait."

Quen had agreed with me?

So, he also had something to say to me. The hope that bloomed in my chest encompassed all my rational thought, shooting warm sparks to the ends of every fibre of my extremities—

Until I realised Quen didn't look equally excited. In fact, he was downright sour.

"Well?" he prompted, arching an eyebrow. A jet of disappointment blasted me square in the chest, hearing his sardonic tone of voice. What happened to him? I'd never seen Quen like this before.

His usually-warm irises were now flinty with prominent dark circles underneath, and his face was drawn and pale. Like metal, there was an unyielding quality about him. His jaw was tensed, and he didn't blink as he stared down at me.

"Are you okay?"

Quen gave me a dry look. "Sure." Unsatisfied and unconvinced, my lips wilted into a frown. Maybe he was having a bad day, or coursework was starting to stress him out. Fair enough, but there was no reason to talk to me like that.

"I feel like you're distant lately," I continued resolutely.

I jerked my chin toward the lecture hall door, through which his newfound friends—whom I'd never seen before, either in real life or during my occasional stalking of his sparse social media profiles—had just walked. "If you want to sit with other people during the lecture, give me a heads up. If you're going out with Jo, you know you can tell me, right?"

"I'm not going out with her. I went on one date—" he held up his index finger, "—because she was polite and brave enough to ask nicely. But there won't be any more."

"Then, why the radio silence?"

"Excuse me?" Suddenly there were splinters showing in his stoic expression, lending me a clear view of the frustration beneath. Was he angry with me? Why was he angry with me? "Sorry I'm not particularly active on social media, but I'm not the one who started this. If I recall, you started running two months ago. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

My gut twisted. On instinct, my mouth opened to defend myself until it really sunk in what Quen was talking about. All the things I'd done to try to move past my hopeless crush on him: trading in study sessions for solitude, bringing Jo into the fold, only messaging when I had a college-related question.

"You cancelled on our study sessions to revise with your friends, but then I found out you were studying with Noah instead," he accused.

I winced; it was news to me that Quen found out about that handful of days I studied in the Business building before the fall break. But whether or not he had found out, the fact remained that I had lied to him. And in hindsight, for no good reason at all.

And there was more: "You claimed you were taking a break to focus on midterms but then midterms passed and nothing changed, even after I tried catching up with you at the ball and Cal's party. You didn't message me once over fall break."

True.

"You wouldn't even look at me when I saw you at the mall with Jo. And since coming back to campus, you ditched me at all the lectures," Quen listed. "It's been months since we talked or hung out properly. What radio silence are you talking about? Yours?"

Fuck. He was right. And he was hurt. I had hurt him by pushing him away.

"I... I'm sorry," I excused weakly. "I didn't know you felt that way."

Quen's hands ran through his hair, looking anxiously towards the lecture hall. "Do you still want to be my friend? You can say no. I get it. If I was just a study tool to get you through the midterms or someone to check your code. If this was a convenience thing."

Quen's tone and his accusations, which usually made me appreciate his blunt honesty, reminded me so much of what Noah had said to me. That night on the porch, Noah had essentially called me fake and hungry for attention. Now Quen spoke as if I was just playing games with the people in my life; did he think the same?

"What?" I whispered, almost taking a step backward.

I felt the nape of my neck flame with indignation. Neither of them had a clue.

I wasn't some attention-seeking people-pleaser. Maybe I had acted like that in the past, but I absolutely treasured the few friends I kept close. I invested everything into the people I cared about. My loyalty wasn't fickle, and it couldn't be bought.

He really didn't have any idea what went on in my head. If he did, he'd realise...

Realise that I'm so into you.

I bristled, my gaze hardening. "Why would I do that?"

"People want a girl that's too good to be true," Quen shrugged, recycling my words from earlier in the semester. "You give them a girl that's too good to be true."

Unbelievable. What did he mean by that? Too good to be true. Those weren't the type of words you threw in the face of a girl you had to reject. At least, you shouldn't. Was he trying to call me fake? Did he think I'd been curating my friendship with him? All our conversations and inside jokes.

I shook my head. "Don't say that to me."

Emotion flared in his eyes, before he sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. But seriously, has something happened?"

My heart ached. I needed to apologise for my immature behaviour these past few months. I should have been communciating with Quen about what I felt and needed. Then, if I could muster enough courage after being thoroughly reprobated, I could confess what lay under all my shitty decisions and flaky behaviour.

But I didn't factor the depth of Quen's feelings into my equation. Now that he'd started, there was little I could do to stop him.

"Are you in trouble or something? You don't have to tell me, but... what the fuck, Krista?" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "I feel like I've missed you so much, even when you were sitting right beside me. I didn't know people could even feel like that before I met you."

And faced with the idea of saying the wrong thing and losing him, I found myself retreating back into the comfort of saying what I thought people wanted to hear. In other words, lying.

"Nothing's going on. I was just stressed about Med school applications," I recited calmly. "I think I got some bad tunnel vision and just disconnected from everyone."

Quen shook his head. His hand came to my shoulder, pressing lightly and keeping my attention on his probing eyes. "What's really going on?"

"We're really late for the lecture."

"I'll watch it online. Talk to me. What's going on in your head?"

"I..."

In that second, all the pretence between us melted away. I saw the confusion and irritation and curiosity within Quen, and I hoped he could see my remorse and genuine care for him in return.

In that second, I received the chance I had been yearning for.

"I..." It was all the opening I needed. Just say it. "—don't know."

I couldn't tell him. The words were crushed by the knot of emotions in the back of my throat, among them guilt and shame and so much regret.

Quen's features fell. "Alright." He turned away, obviously detecting the lie but saying nothing about it this time, heading for the lecture hall.

I followed whilst kicking myself internally. If I could go back to the night of SciBall, I'd be the one to tiptoe and kiss him. Or even further, to when Quen turned me down for lunch, I'd lay it out there that I thought we could be something more.

Or further still, to the day I sat down next to him. I'd do everything differently. I'd be a different person. The person that didn't screw up her plans so majorly.

Quen pulled the door open and gestured his hand forward, his face carefully blank and pleasant. Hiding the way I hid. "After you."

I nodded curtly and stepped inside, wondering how to mend the rift I'd caused between us.