Ayla had never been the top student in her class, but she wasn't in the category of bad either. She was good at mathematics and English, subjects that gave her a sense of control—numbers were predictable, words were her escape. While her classmates talked about parties and social media, Ayla buried herself in books, losing herself in worlds where love was always returned, where the heroine didn't have to beg to be seen, where people weren't cruel just because they could be.
Books were her sanctuary.
And then, one day, reading wasn't enough.
At fifteen, she started writing her own novels, pouring everything she felt into them—the unspoken words, the longing, the ache of a love that would never be hers. She wrote about love stories that always ended in happiness, about heroines who were cherished, who weren't mocked for the feelings they couldn't control.
She became a self-published author.
It wasn't about money. It was never about money.
It was about control.
In her stories, she could decide who suffered and who didn't.
In real life, she had no such power.
She wasn't on Silas's level—he was effortlessly brilliant, topping every exam, standing at the peak while the rest of them struggled to catch up.
But she wasn't less.
She had dreams, too.
She wanted to study finance, investments, to build something of her own, to be more than just a girl hopelessly in love with someone who barely knew she existed.
But no matter how much she tried to prove herself, the world around her wouldn't let her forget what she was—a joke.
For three years, she became the class entertainment. Ayla Wilson, the girl stupidly in love with Silas Williams.
It became a routine—the whispers, the smirks, the fake sympathy.
"Oh, poor Ayla. Still waiting for her prince?"
"She probably writes love letters she never sends."
"I bet she dreams about him every night."
"She's so pathetic. It's actually funny."
She never fought back.
Not because she was weak. Not because she wasn't hurt.
But because what was the point?
If she got angry, they would win.
If she cried, they would win.
So she smiled.
Even when her chest ached, even when the laughter of her classmates felt like knives slicing into her skin, she smiled.
Ayla had perfected it—the bright, cheerful smile, the one that could melt even the coldest heart.
Except for Silas's.
Because he never noticed.
Or if he did, he didn't care.
It was supposed to be a normal day—a school trip to the countryside.
Ayla had been excited. Her mother spoiled her endlessly, treating her like a little princess. Unlike the other students, she had her own phone, something she treasured more than anything.
That day, she made a reckless decision.
She took a picture of Silas.
It was quick, secretive—just a simple photo of him standing by the lake, looking at the water, his usual distant expression in place.
Her heart pounded as she lowered the phone, terrified he'd notice.
And then—he turned.
Their eyes met.
Ayla froze.
She expected him to snatch the phone away, delete the picture, say something cruel.
But he didn't.
He simply looked at her for a second… then turned back around and walked away.
She should have been relieved.
But instead, her chest ached.
Because it meant nothing to him.
Months later, the worst happened.
One of Silas's friends grabbed her phone in class.
"Oh, let's see how many pictures of Silas she has saved," Devid laughed, unlocking it.
Ayla's stomach dropped.
"Give it back!" she cried, lunging for it, but they passed it between themselves like a game.
And then—
Every photo of Silas, both group and single, was gone.
Deleted.
Ayla felt something in her shatter.
She broke down, right there in the classroom, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe.
Amy was furious. She stormed to their table, spitting curses, yelling at them, telling them how disgusting they were.
And then, something unexpected happened.
Silas stood up.
For the first time, his calm exterior cracked.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped at his friends. His voice was sharp, angry.
They stared at him, stunned. Silas never got angry. Not like this.
He snatched Ayla's phone back, walked over, and placed it on her desk.
"I'm sorry."
It was the first time he had ever spoken to her voluntarily.
And Ayla?
She cried harder.
Not from happiness.
But because even in that moment, even when he defended her, she knew—he still didn't care.
.....
Three years passed.
The teasing never fully stopped, but she endured it. She became stronger.
But inside, she was crumbling.
Depression became a second skin, wrapping itself around her like a familiar blanket.
And then, one day, she left.
After her exams, her mother finally made the decision.
They packed their bags and moved far away, to another city.
Her mother's parents—Ayla's grandparents—never truly accepted them. They had always resented Alice for leaving her husband, for choosing her self-respect over her marriage. They never forgave her.
Ayla had learned long ago not to expect love from family.
She didn't look back.
But she took her love for Silas with her.
Because some things never leave, no matter how far you run.