False Love

Eori Zum stepped into the high school’s sunlit hallway, his sneakers squeaking on polished tiles. 

At seventeen, he carried the weight of middle school like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. 

Back then, bullies targeted him daily, their laughter sharp as broken glass, picking on him for no reason beyond his quiet nature. 

He’d hunch over his sketchbook, drawing sunflowers to escape, their petals bold against the gray of his world. 

But one shadow loomed larger than the rest Zora Smui, his childhood friend turned tormentor. 

She’d follow him everywhere hallways, playgrounds, even the library stealing his pencils, tripping him, her taunts a constant hum. 

Yet her eyes, always flickering with something nervous, betrayed her cruelty. 

Eori never understood why she singled him out, why her laugh stung more than the others’.

Now, in high school, Zora was gone. No one knew where moved away, maybe, or switched schools. Her absence was a strange mix of relief and emptiness. 

Eori’s heart, so used to her chaotic attention, felt hollow without it. If he was a sunflower, Zora had been his sun, harsh but vital, pulling his gaze even as she burned him. 

The first day passed quietly, his shyness a wall keeping classmates at a distance. 

He ate lunch alone, sketching a sunflower in his worn sketchbook, its lines shaky without her shadow to define them.

On the second day, during lunch break, Eori sat in the courtyard, his sandwich untouched, eyes tracing the clouds. A soft voice broke his thoughts. 

“Hey, can I sit with you?” He looked up, startled. A girl stood there, her dark hair catching the sunlight, her smile calm as a still pond. Gyra. 

Her voice was gentle, the kind of kindness Eori had only known from his mother, who’d pack his lunch with notes saying, You’re enough. 

No one else had spoken to him like this, not in years. “Sure,” he mumbled, cheeks warm, scooting over on the bench.

Gyra sat, her lunch tray balanced carefully, a silver bracelet glinting on her wrist as she fidgeted with it. 

“I’m new,” she said, her tone soft but deliberate. “You looked… like you get it. Being quiet, I mean.” 

Eori nodded, words stuck in his throat. She was like him, reserved, her eyes scanning the crowd but never joining it. 

They ate in silence, her presence a strange comfort. For the first time, Eori felt seen not as a target, but as himself. 

He sketched her bracelet later, its curves a new shape in his book, wondering if this was the attention he’d craved from Zora’s taunts.

Days turned to weeks, and Gyra became his anchor. She’d find him at lunch, her quiet compliments “Nice sketch, Eori,” or “You’re braver than you think” warming his chest like sunlight. 

Her voice was a sweet melody, each word carefully chosen, making him feel special in a way Zora’s cruelty never had. 

He started speaking more, his shyness peeling away. Gyra’s calm was a balm, soothing the scars of middle school. 

But sometimes, her smile lingered too long, her hand brushing his with a precision that felt practiced. 

Eori didn’t notice, too caught in her glow, sketching sunflowers with brighter petals now.

In late spring, the school buzzed with a football match between sections. Eori, roped into playing despite his clumsiness, stood on the field, sweat beading under the afternoon sun. 

His team was losing at halftime, the score a humiliating 3-0. He sat in a corner of the bench, frustrated, his sneakers scuffing the dirt. 

Gyra appeared, her bracelet catching the light. “It’s okay, Eori,” she said, her voice a soothing breeze. “You tried. That’s what matters. Just show them what you can do.” 

Her words lit a spark. He imagined her watching, her calm smile his new sun. In the second half, he ran harder, legs burning, her voice echoing. 

When he scored the winning goal, the crowd’s roar paled next to her quiet, “You did it, Eori.” Her smile, steady and warm, made his heart soar. 

He sketched her that night, her face beside a sunflower, its petals bold as his newfound confidence.

Summer break came, and Eori found himself restless. He missed Gyra’s voice, her attention. 

Sitting in the town park, he watched the breeze ripple through wildflowers, their yellow heads nodding like tiny suns. 

He sketched them, wishing Gyra were there, her melody filling the silence. A soft voice broke his thoughts. “Eori.” He turned, heart lifting, expecting her. 

But it wasn’t Gyra. Zora stood there, her dark eyes softer than he remembered, a small smile flickering on her lips. 

She was different her usual sharpness dulled, her hands twisting nervously.“Zora?” His voice was flat, disappointment curling in his gut. 

He’d wanted Gyra, not the girl who’d made his life hell.“It’s been a while,” she said, her tone gentle, almost fragile. “I… I’m sorry, Eori. For middle school. For everything.” 

Her smile returned, tentative, like a flower pushing through frost. “I was wrong, treating you like that.”

Eori’s chest tightened. Memories flooded back Zora stealing his sketchbook, tripping him, her nervous glances he’d never understood. 

Now, her apology felt like a trap, too late to matter. Gyra’s calm had filled the hole Zora left. 

“Who’s Gyra?” Zora asked, catching his muttering, her voice curious but soft.

“None of your business,” he snapped, colder than he meant. “Forget about it. I’ve moved on. Live your life and don’t disturb me.” 

He stood, brushing past her, his sketchbook clutched tight. He didn’t see her flinch, didn’t hear her whisper, “I love you, Eori,” as a tear traced her cheek, glinting like regret. 

The words hung in the air, unheard, as he walked away. Zora stood frozen, an ocean of regret swallowing her. 

She’d loved him since they were kids, her bullying a clumsy bid for his attention, a way to keep him close when she didn’t know how to say it. 

Now, her chance was gone, drowned in the pain she’d caused. Weeks later, summer’s heat faded, and Eori waited for Gyra’s texts. 

They’d grown sparse, her replies short, her bracelet’s glint missing from his days. 

At a school dance in early fall, he spotted her across the gym, her laugh bright but not for him. 

She leaned close to another guy, her hand on his arm, her smile the same one she’d given Eori. 

His stomach twisted. Later, she found him by the bleachers, her expression cool. 

“I’m bored, Eori,” she said, twirling her bracelet. “You were fun, but… I’m done.” She walked away, leaving him with a crumpled note Find someone else to shine for.

Eori stood there, the music pounding, his heart a cavern again. Gyra’s kindness had been a game, her melody a lure. 

He’d chased her gold, her fleeting attention, and lost something real. He dug through his bag, finding an old sketchbook from middle school. 

Inside was a sunflower, drawn by Zora years ago, its petals messy but bold. A note in her scrawl read, Keep growing, Eori. 

He hadn’t noticed then, too hurt by her taunts. Now, her nervous glances, her clumsy cruelty, clicked into place she’d loved him, and he’d pushed her away.

He walked to the park, the same wildflowers swaying under a fading sky. 

Clutching the sunflower sketch, he heard a faint melody in his mind, like Zora’s laugh softened into a song: “Sunlight falls, my heart will stay, waiting for you, come what may.” 

He’d lost his diamond for fool’s gold. Zora was gone maybe moved, maybe lost to him forever. 

He stood alone, the sketch trembling in his hand, wondering if he’d ever find her again, if he’d ever heal the regret now blooming in his chest.