"Your destiny is defined not by what happens to you, but by how you respond to it." —Epictetus
In the days following the rejection, the mood among Dylan's friends grew tense. News spread fast: Ailín had turned him down. No one dared meet his eyes, as if afraid of seeing sadness reflected in them. Usually energetic and cheerful, Dylan now seemed distant. He did everything mechanically, and his laughter—once effortless—now sounded forced, like each chuckle cost him something.
He couldn't wait for the semester to end. Seeing Ailín every day made it harder.
Vivian, always nearby, took advantage of the emotional void Ailín had left behind. She became his constant shadow, cheering him up with soft words and small gestures. Internally, she was hopeful. Maybe now she finally had a chance. But one afternoon, she caught him looking absentmindedly toward the volleyball court—where Ailín was training—and something inside her collapsed. She adjusted her hair, forced a smile, and walked away. No one saw the tear she wiped away before entering the gym.
Ailín, on the other hand, felt strangely at peace. There was a new lightness in her chest, born from the certainty that she had acted with honesty. Her anxiety around Dylan faded. She focused on her studies, her routines, and tried not to look back.
Summer vacation arrived. Dylan left with his family, and Ailín with hers. He hoped distance would help him heal, and in some ways, it did. His younger siblings—three bursts of energy—filled his days with affection. They climbed on him, dragged him into games, and argued over who got to sit next to him at dinner. He read them stories and played until he collapsed. One night, while stargazing in the backyard, the youngest asked:
"Are you sad about something?"
Dylan looked up at the stars, searching for an answer.
"Just a little tired," he said with a smile—and then tickled them, filling the yard with laughter and fireflies.
Those days of chaos and love slowly softened the ache in his chest. No one mentioned Ailín, and he didn't bring her up. At home, he was just a big brother again—not the heartbroken guy everyone whispered about.
Meanwhile, Ailín saw the vacation as a time to rebuild. She spent long afternoons walking with a notebook in hand, writing down thoughts, goals, and quiet reflections. One night, her mother caught her sketching on the balcony.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Just sorting through ideas," Ailín answered.
"Ideas or feelings?"
Ailín smiled. Her mother always knew more than she let on. She didn't talk about Dylan. But she did write his name on a page, then folded it up and tucked it away in a drawer.
Days before the new term, Andrea visited her. They sat on the porch, eating ice cream in silence.
"Are you okay?" Andrea asked.
"I think so."
"And Dylan?"
Ailín lowered her gaze.
"I made a choice. It was the right one. But… sometimes, something inside me won't let it go."
"Guilt?" Andrea asked.
"More like fear. That maybe I was wrong. Or that he'll never look at me the same way again."
Andrea didn't press. She knew some answers can only come in silence.
When classes resumed, Ailín noticed a change in Dylan. He no longer looked sad. During practice, he was laughing, flirting, surrounded by admirers. One afternoon, she saw him talking playfully with another girl—and something twisted in her chest. The insecurity she thought she had conquered came crashing back, like a wave hitting a fragile shore.
Then, she knew. She wasn't alone.
"Did you think walking away would silence me?" Oscurita whispered somewhere in the back of her mind.
"He laughs. He moves on. He doesn't need you."
Ailín clenched her fists.
"It's not like that. I made this choice."
"Of course… you and your brave little choices," Oscurita mocked sweetly.
"Then tell me—why does it hurt?"
Ailín had no answer. Just fear. The fear of not being enough. The fear of having lost something real.
But this time, she wouldn't let Oscurita take over.
She shut her notebook, inhaled deeply, and made a decision: if something needed to be resolved, she had every right to seek closure.
Andrea, sensing her turmoil, approached Dylan during a group gathering.
"She's not doing as well as she pretends," she told him quietly. "I think she regrets not trying."
Those words struck Dylan like lightning. He thought about Ailín's quiet glances, her laughter, the way she listened so intently—how she saw the world with questioning eyes.
From that moment, he started looking for her again. During volleyball practice, he waited near the court. When Ailín walked by, he stepped forward.
"Can we talk?"
She froze, then nodded.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you," he said softly. "If you feel even a little of what I do… can we try?"
Ailín's heart pounded—but not with fear this time.
"Yes," she said with quiet resolve. "But not because you asked me to. I want to try too."
Dylan looked into her eyes, stepped closer, and sealed the beginning of their story with a gentle, honest kiss—one that carried every unspoken word between them.