Chapter 10: Chapter 8: The Distance Grows
The tension between Lumen and Lina had become almost palpable. Where once they shared quiet moments, now there was only an awkward silence whenever their paths crossed. It wasn't that they ignored each other—it was more that they seemed to have forgotten how to be the friends they once were. The comfortable familiarity between them had shifted into something else entirely, something distant, cold.
Lumen noticed it first in the little things. The way Lina would glance away when they bumped into each other in the hallways, her eyes no longer lingering as they once did. She was always with Jun now, her laughter ringing through the air like a melody Lumen couldn't bring himself to listen to. Every time he saw them together, his chest tightened, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her about it. He couldn't face the possibility of hearing the truth again—the truth that she had moved on, that the bond they once shared was no longer enough to keep her from choosing someone else.
And the more he saw her, the more he felt the weight of what he had lost.
In the quiet solitude of his room, Lumen found himself staring at his sketchbook, the pages blank and untouched. His pencil, once a tool for expression, now sat idly beside him, as if it too had abandoned him in his moment of emotional paralysis. The drawings he had once poured his heart into now felt meaningless without Lina. The inspiration she had once given him had evaporated, leaving only a hollow space where his creativity used to flow.
It wasn't just the art. It was everything.
Lumen had always been able to rely on his quick wit, his ability to navigate life without putting too much thought into his emotional needs. But without Lina's encouragement, without her gentle nudges, his sense of purpose had begun to crumble. He hadn't realized how much he had leaned on her until she was no longer there. The way she used to ask him about his art, how she would compliment him, urging him to keep going—those small moments had fueled him in ways he never truly understood.
Now, all he could do was stare at the empty pages, feeling more and more distant from the person he had once been.
Lumen's friends noticed too. The light in his eyes, the spark that once drove him to try new things, to push himself in ways that surprised even him, was fading. His calm laughter, which had once been infectious, now seemed forced, like he was going through the motions without truly participating. His friends tried to joke with him, to pull him back into their circle, but the walls Lumen had started to build around himself were high and thick. He didn't want their pity. He didn't want them to feel like they had to fix him. He couldn't even fix himself.
One afternoon, as Lumen wandered aimlessly through the school courtyard, he saw Lina and Jun sitting on the steps near the old oak tree. They were laughing softly, their heads close together as they talked. Lumen paused, a lump forming in his throat. He could feel the pang of jealousy, but it wasn't the kind he had expected. It wasn't an angry jealousy, nor was it the childish kind that came from wanting what someone else had. This was different. It was the sense of self blame and acceptance by someone who had made the mistake of waiting too long, of not taking the opportunity when it was right in front of him.
Lumen turned away before they could see him, his chest heavy with the weight of his own regrets. It was as if he had been walking through the world in a haze, only now fully waking up to the consequences of his inaction. His insecurities, his fear of being rejected, had paralyzed him in ways he hadn't fully understood. And now, as he looked at Lina and Jun together, he realized with bitter clarity that he had let fear decide the course of his life—and it had cost him the person he had cared for most.
That night, Lumen sat at his desk, sketchbook open in front of him. He tried to draw, but his hand trembled as he held the pencil. He had forgotten what it felt like to create freely, to put his emotions into his art without overthinking it. His mind kept returning to the same thoughts, the same painful realizations.
He had been afraid.
He had been afraid of not being enough, of not being the person Lina needed. And in that fear, he had built walls between them—walls that had only gotten taller and thicker the longer he had hesitated. Now, all that remained was the distance.
Lumen looked at the blank page before him, the emptiness staring back at him like a mirror. He had let his fear steal everything that mattered. And now, there was nothing left to do but face the aftermath.
The next morning, as he entered school, Lumen felt the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between him and Lina. They passed each other in the hallway, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. But instead of the warmth he once saw in her gaze, there was only a cool indifference—a silent acknowledgment that things were no longer the same. Lumen swallowed hard, his throat dry, but he didn't know what to say. What could he say?
He had already said too much in silence.
As the day wore on, Lumen's mind wandered. He tried to concentrate in class, tried to engage with his friends, but it was impossible to shake the nagging feeling that he had lost something—something important, something irreplaceable. He could hear Lina's voice in his mind, telling him that she had moved on. That she couldn't wait for him anymore.
The thought of that, of her with Jun, made something inside him twist with sadness, but it was a sadness he knew he had to carry. He couldn't go back in time and change his choices. All he could do now was face the silence he had created.
That evening, as the sun set, Lumen sat once more in front of his sketchbook, the empty page still staring back at him. He could no longer ignore the truth—he had let Lina slip away, and now, in the quiet aftermath, he had to find a way to rebuild himself. To learn how to move forward.
But how could he, when the thing that had given him purpose had been taken from him by his own hesitation?
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