Chapter Two: The Lines We Draw

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Chapter Two: The Lines We Draw

The mid-morning sun bathed the campus in a golden hue, casting long shadows across the stone pathways as Leah strolled toward the café with Sylvia by her side. Leah wore her usual confidence like a badge, her floral sundress swaying lightly in the breeze. She wasn’t the kind to blend into the background, not with her effortlessly radiant presence and a voice that could light up a room. It was as though the world couldn’t help but take notice when she entered a space.

“Tell me again why you think skipping breakfast is okay?” Leah teased, nudging Sylvia gently with her elbow, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Sylvia, her cheeks flushing slightly, adjusted the strap of her bag, her eyes darting between the ground and Leah’s playful expression. “I overslept,” she admitted sheepishly, her voice a bit quieter than usual. “Besides, I knew you’d drag me here for coffee anyway.”

“You’re lucky I care about your nutrition, Syl,” Leah said, grinning widely. “A malnourished best friend doesn’t suit me.” The lighthearted teasing was Leah’s way of keeping things breezy, but her words were laced with genuine concern for her friend, even if she didn’t always show it directly.

Sylvia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, mother. I’ll get a muffin or something.”

The café was a popular spot for students, buzzing with life and energy. Leah loved this kind of vibrant atmosphere—the laughter, the clinking of cups, the hum of chatter that filled the air. It was the heartbeat of campus life, and Leah thrived in it. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered, mixing with the soft scent of baked goods. The atmosphere was electric, buzzing with the quiet but constant motion of people finding solace in their routines.

As they joined the line, Leah leaned closer to Sylvia, her voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “Okay, confession time. If I hear one more word about macroeconomics, I might throw my textbook into the nearest fountain.”

Sylvia chuckled, shaking her head at her friend’s dramatics. “Maybe you should. It’d be a statement. ‘Leah Williams protests outdated academic curricula.’”

“Brilliant,” Leah quipped, flipping her hair dramatically. “I’ll add it to my list of rebellious acts.”

The familiar sound of high heels clicking sharply on the tile floor broke into their conversation. Leah’s smile tightened slightly, recognizing the voice before she even saw the figure behind them.

“Well, if it isn’t Sylvia and her personal bodyguard,” Vivian drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Vivian’s voice was always like that—sharp, biting, as though every word was meant to peel back the layers of someone’s dignity and expose them to the harsh light of her judgment.

Leah turned slowly, keeping her smile in place as she met Vivian’s gaze. Her posture was relaxed, but there was a fire smoldering behind her eyes. “Vivian,” she said brightly, her voice full of sweetness that didn’t quite match the underlying steel in it. “What a surprise. And here I thought you only graced the library with your presence.”

Vivian’s smirk faltered for a split second, a flash of something unspoken flickering behind her cold eyes. She recovered quickly, though, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s cute how you think you’re clever, Leah,” she said with a dismissive wave. “But some of us have more important things to do than babysit charity cases.”

Sylvia, ever the quiet one, stiffened beside Leah, her gaze dropping to the floor as though she could make herself disappear. The subtle tremor in Sylvia’s hand didn’t go unnoticed by Leah. But Leah, ever the protector, stepped forward, narrowing her eyes at Vivian and her entourage.

“Charity cases?” Leah repeated, her voice firm, every syllable deliberately chosen. Her eyes darkened as she locked gazes with Vivian. “Oh, Vivian, you must be confused. Sylvia doesn’t need charity—especially not from people who mistake cruelty for personality.”

The café fell into a tense silence, the noise of the room seeming to fade as the small crowd gathered around them, sensing the brewing confrontation. Leah felt the weight of their gazes, but it didn’t faze her. She wasn’t backing down.

Vivian’s cheeks reddened, but she forced a laugh, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Whatever, Leah. Just remember, your little pet here can’t hide behind you forever.” With that, she turned on her heel and sauntered off, her entourage trailing behind like a group of well-trained followers.

Leah let out a slow breath, the tension in her chest easing just a little. She turned to Sylvia, who was still looking down, her shoulders hunched in on herself. There was a silence between them, a quiet understanding that had long existed. Leah knew Sylvia hated being the target, hated being made to feel small. But Leah wasn’t going to let that happen.

“You okay?” Leah asked gently, her voice softer now, the teasing edge gone.

Sylvia nodded, though her eyes remained on the floor. “Yeah. Thanks for that,” she said quietly, her words almost too soft to be heard. “I just… I hate that they always target me. I don’t know why they—” She stopped herself, a deep sigh escaping her. “I don’t know, Leah. I just wish it would stop.”

Leah looped an arm through Sylvia’s, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Well, it’s their loss,” she said, her voice firm but filled with compassion. “Besides, I’ve got your back. Always.”

The warmth of her words seemed to soften the tightness in Sylvia’s shoulders, and for the first time since Vivian’s arrival, Sylvia allowed herself to relax slightly. They picked up their orders and found a quiet corner by the window, the sun filtering through the café’s large windows and casting soft rays over their table. The world outside seemed to disappear for a moment, leaving just the two of them in their small bubble of comfort.

Leah made a point to steer the conversation toward lighter topics. They talked about the latest episode of their favorite show, laughed about the ridiculous things that had happened in class that morning, and even joked about how Sylvia could never remember where she’d put her keys.

The ease of the moment felt like a welcome escape, and Leah was grateful for it. After all, these were the moments that reminded her what really mattered—the connection between her and Sylvia, the loyalty, the laughter.

But as the day wore on and the sky outside shifted into shades of gold and orange, Leah’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her heart sinking as she saw the name.

It was a text from her mother.

Don’t forget about the Masquerade Ball tonight. Be ready by 7. We’ve invited the Carsons. Wear something elegant.

Leah groaned audibly, her fingers tightening around the phone. “Of course. Nothing says ‘relaxation’ like being paraded around at another one of my parents’ parties,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

Sylvia arched an eyebrow, glancing over at her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Masquerade Ball? Sounds fancy. You could channel your inner Cinderella.”

“More like my inner hostage,” Leah muttered back, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “But hey, at least I get to wear a cool mask, right?”

After dropping Sylvia off at her apartment, Leah returned home, the familiar weight of her mother’s expectations hanging over her like a heavy cloud. She made her way up the grand staircase to her room, where the closet loomed before her like a fortress—an endless sea of dresses her mother had carefully chosen, each one more “elegant” than the last.

“Alright, let’s see what we’re working with,” Leah said aloud to herself, rifling through the hangers with a dramatic flair. A deep green gown caught her eye, its fabric shimmering faintly under the soft light.

“This might work,” she mused, holding it up against herself and turning slowly in front of the mirror. “What do you think, imaginary audience? Do I scream ‘elegant and uninterested’ yet?”

Her phone buzzed again, and Leah sighed as she read another message from her mother: Remember, Leah, this is important for the family. No excuses.

She tossed the dress onto her bed in frustration, her earlier playful energy deflating. She wasn’t ready for another evening of forced smiles and polite conversations. She wasn’t ready to be the perfect daughter once more, to pretend she fit into a mold that had never felt like her own. But she knew there was no way out. Her family wouldn’t allow it.

Still, as she looked at herself in the mirror, a small smirk tugged at her lips. “Guess it’s time to make an appearance, Williams-style,” she muttered with a resigned shake of her head.

With that, she began the preparations for the night ahead, her mind already wandering to what awaited her at the Masquerade Ball.

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