Maya POV
I didn’t even remember how I got there.
One moment I was pushing through the boardroom door, and the next, I was sitting in the janitor’s closet two floors down, knees tucked into my chest, arms wrapped tight around myself as if they could keep the rest of me from falling apart.
The tears wouldn’t stop.
Not gentle ones either—the kind that came in waves. Ugly, heavy sobs that made my shoulders shake and my lungs burn. The kind of crying you do when you’ve held it in too long. The kind that comes from being humiliated, heartbroken, and tired. So damn tired.
I wasn’t even sure who I was crying for anymore. For the kiss that meant nothing? For the girl who thought it meant something?
Or for the woman who’d been trying to be enough her entire life and still never felt like she made the cut?
The door creaked.
I flinched, wiping my eyes roughly and trying to get it together. “Go away,” I choked out. “Please.”
But the door opened anyway.
And Tim walked in, holding a half-empty bottle of water and a crumpled tissue like a makeshift emergency kit.
He closed the door gently behind him, locking it with a soft click. Then he sat down beside me on the dusty floor without a word.
“You found my hiding spot,” I muttered, my voice still raw.
Tim handed me the tissue and the water, then leaned his head back against the wall. “Girl, you really thought I wouldn’t?”
I let out a weak, broken laugh and wiped my nose. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice softened. “Because you were falling apart in front of everyone, and I know you. You’d rather break in private than let anyone see you’re not okay.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat was tight again.
He turned his head toward me, his voice lower now. “Talk to me, Maya.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Liar.”
I shook my head and stared at my knees. “It’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
For a long moment, I didn’t speak. I didn’t move. But then, with a deep, shuddering breath, the words started to spill out before I could stop them.
“I used to get bullied.”
Tim blinked, watching me.
“In middle school,” I continued. “And high school. They’d make fun of how I dressed, how I talked, how my shoes weren’t name brand. I used to eat lunch in the bathroom just to avoid the stares.”
Tim’s face tightened. “Maya…”
“They’d call me a wannabe. Slut. Try-hard. And the worst part is… I believed them. I let their words carve into me. Even when I left that place, I carried the cuts.”
I sniffled, the tears coming again, softer this time. “So when I started working here, I told myself I’d be different. Polished. Professional. Quiet. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I didn’t step on any toes, people would finally see me as enough.”
Tim reached out and gently took my hand in his.
“But they didn’t,” I whispered. “They still looked at me like I didn’t belong. And the minute something went wrong—like a kiss or a rumor—it’s like I became that girl again. The joke. The slut. The one everyone whispers about.”
I shook my head and looked away, my voice breaking. “And I just… I wanted someone to see me. To choose me. To not make me feel like I had to beg for space in their world.”
Tim squeezed my hand tighter. “Maya. Listen to me.”
I looked at him with blurry eyes.
“You are not who they say you are. You are not your past. You’re not that girl they mocked, and you’re definitely not the image they painted after one stupid photo.” He paused. “You’re smart. Kind. Loyal. And brave. Braver than half the people in that office combined.”
I let out a quiet sob, then buried my face in his shoulder as he held me.
“I just… I feel so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Tim whispered. “You’re human.”
We sat there for a while—two misfits hiding in a broom closet—while my world slowly tried to stitch itself back together.
Noah’s Point of View
The bathroom was silent.
He leaned over the sink, the overhead lights casting a pale glow over his reflection. His jaw ached like hell. A dark bruise was already forming near the corner of his mouth, blooming purple and blue like the chaos he’d unleashed.
Noah touched the tender spot with his fingers and winced.
But the pain didn’t bother him.
What did was the hollow ache in his chest.
The look on Maya’s face as he said those words. The way her shoulders curled in. The silence that swallowed her whole.
He told himself he was protecting her. That if he cut the cord now, it would hurt less. That if he humiliated her first, it would make it easier for her to forget him.
But he saw the truth in her eyes.
He didn’t protect her. He destroyed her. Noah looked down at the sink, water dripping from the faucet like a ticking clock, then raised his gaze to his reflection again.
His voice came out low. Ragged. Honest.
“What the hell am I doing?”