Chapter 784: Chapter 784 Why are you crying?

Scarlett had her arm around Bella’s shoulders, her head tilted close, her voice low as she talked about something Winter could not follow and did not care to follow. She kept touching Bella, patting her arm, squeezing her hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Every touch made Winter’s chest feel tight.

Winter’s eyes narrowed.

She glared at Scarlett, her dark eyes sharp and cold, fixed on Scarlett’s face like a hawk watching a mouse. Bella was her friend. Her only friend. The only person who had shared her lunch, offered her a race ticket, and asked to be friends without flinching at her oddness. And now Scarlett was touching her, hugging her, claiming her like she had the right.

Winter’s glare intensified. She could feel the heat building behind her eyes, the muscles in her jaw tightening.

Hazel noticed.

She had been watching Winter since they boarded, her eyes calm and assessing, missing nothing. The girl was quiet.. very quiet, speaking only when spoken to and even then her answers were short, precise and economical like each word cost her something to say. She did not waste words. She did not smile or fidget. In this setting, her reaction was quite different from what anyone would expect from a college girl, and Hazel found that interesting.

And she sat close to Bella, very close, and she was glaring at Scarlett with an intensity that could cut glass.

Hazel’s lips curved slightly.

Scarlett, mid-sentence, felt a chill run down her spine. She looked up.

Winter was staring at her.

Her dark eyes were fixed on Scarlett’s face, unblinking, unwavering. Her expression was blank and unreadable but her gaze was sharp as a blade, sharp enough to draw blood if looks could cut.

Scarlett blinked. "Winter? What’s wrong with you? You’re looking at me like I stole your lunch money."

Winter did not answer. She just looked at Bella, her dark eyes big and round, looking at Bella like Bella had cheated on her with Scarlett like she had been betrayed by the only person she trusted.

Bella finally noticed. She turned to Winter, concern knitting her brows and softening her eyes. "Winter? What’s wrong?"

Winter blinked in a daze, her eyelashes fluttering. Bella was her first friend. The first person who had looked at her and not seen a freak.

She remembered school. The elite academy her father had sent her to. She had not been accepted there. The rich kids had sniffed her out immediately, sensing that she did not belong, that her family name was not old enough, that her clothes were not branded enough.

"Freak" they had called her. "Weirdo" They had whispered it behind her back and sometimes to her face, smiling sweetly while they stabbed her with their words.

Even the normal students had not dared to talk to her. They had looked away when she passed, had shifted their seats when she sat near them, had pretended not to hear when she spoke.

She had no friends. No one to sit with at lunch. No one to walk with between classes. No one to share notes with or laugh with or cry with.

Then her father died.

She had been away for a week, a week of funeral arrangements, relatives she barely knew, and a house that felt hollow and cold without his voice filling the rooms. When she returned to school, she walked into her classroom and looked for her seat.

It was gone.

Someone had moved her desk. Someone had taken her spot. The desks were arranged in neat rows, and every seat was filled.

She stood in the doorway, her bag clutched to her chest, her eyes scanning the room, searching for an empty space, a gap..anything. The students looked at her for a moment, then looked away. The teacher was writing on the board, her back turned. The students were copying notes, whispering and laughing.. and no one, not one person, offered her a seat.

Winter walked to the back of the room. She set her bag on the floor and sat down on the cold tiles, folding her legs beneath her, her back against the wall.

She sat there all day.

No one said anything. No one offered her a chair. No one even looked at her. The teacher glanced back once, her brow furrowed but then she turned to the board again and continued writing.

Only the next day, during her favorite teacher’s lecture, did someone finally notice. The teacher was a kind woman with gray hair and gentle eyes, the only teacher who had ever looked at Winter without pity. She had been writing on the board when she turned around and saw Winter sitting on the floor.

"Why are you on the floor?" she had asked, her voice soft with concern.

"There’s no seat," Winter had replied, her voice flat like she was stating a fact, not asking for help.

The teacher had looked at the full rows of desks, then back at Winter. She had walked to the storage closet at the back of the room and pulled out a spare desk, dusting it off with her sleeve before carrying it to the front of the room and setting it right beside her own.

"Sit here," she had said. "From now on, this is your seat."

Winter’s eyes glistened.

She had not realized she was crying until she felt a soft hand on her cheek.

Bella was wiping her tears away with her thumb, her touch gentle and warm. "Don’t cry," she said softly, her voice like honey.

She pulled Winter into a gentle hug, her arm around Winter’s shoulders, her warmth seeping into Winter’s cold skin like sunlight through a window. Winter stiffened at first, not used to being touched, not used to being held but then she relaxed, just a little, just enough.

"Why are you crying?" Bella asked gently, her voice a whisper.

Winter did not answer. Her lips pressed together. Her dark eyes looked away, toward the window, toward the clouds, toward anywhere but Bella’s face. She did not know how to explain. She did not have the words.