Maybe I'm a Masochist

Liam's P.O.V.

Mai Blackwood. The name itself was a curse. A specter looming over my life since I was four years old. She was the reason for my scars—the reason the left side of my face was a permanent reminder of my humiliation. I thought I hated her. No, I knew I hated her. So, why was I standing in the middle of my room, staring out the window, still replaying the strange look she had when she left my house yesterday?

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When Mai left my house after our lesson, I should have felt relief. I should have exhaled, glad to be free of her presence. But I didn't.

Instead, I sat at my desk, tapping my pencil against my notebook, recalling the way she had looked before she walked out. It wasn't like her—not even close. Mai Blackwood was always sharp-tongued, full of mischief, and practically vibrating with smugness. But today? She had been quiet. Too quiet.