Page 65 of Shadowed Whispers

I clear my throat, unable to bear the quiet any longer. “So why don’t you want to walk alone?” I ask, my voice betraying my curiosity.

Tori’s shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, I think she’ll snap at me. Instead, she lets out a long sigh, weary and deep. “It’s... this stupid thing with Chloe and the others. They are mad because I skipped the party last night. Now, I’m apparently not committed to the squad,” she mimics in a high-pitched voice with air quotes, her usual mask of indifference slipping.

“That sucks,” I respond, surprised by the sympathy warming my voice. It feels unfamiliar, almost foreign, to offer her comfort.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” She flicks her hair back, a gesture that might have been dismissive but lacks its usual sharpness. We take a few more steps in silence before she speaks again, her voice softer, almost hesitant. “You ever feel like you’re just playing a part? Like you have to be someone you’re not just to fit in?”

Her question catches me off guard, and I glance at her, noting the genuine uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “All the time,” I admit, finding it easier than I expected to open up. “I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

“No, I... Yeah, it happens to me a lot too.” She meets my gaze, and for a moment, there’s a real connection, something honest and raw, before she looks away, almost embarrassed.

I decide to push the conversation a little, driven by the surprising sincerity between us. “It’s like you’re constantly switching masks, trying to figure out which one will stick, huh?”

She nods, biting her lip. “Exactly. And the worst part? Sometimes I forget who I am underneath all those masks. It’s like I’m more them than me most of the time.”

“That sounds... really exhausting,” I say, my voice softening further. It’s a revelation, seeing this side of her. “Do you ever wish you could just drop all the pretenses?”

“All the time,” Tori answers with a small, rueful laugh. “But then I think about what would happen if I did. Would anyone still be around if I was just... me?”

I nod, understanding more than she might realize. “It’s scary, thinking you might end up alone just for being yourself, but maybe it’s worth finding out to find people who like you for you.”

She looks at me with something like wonder in her eyes. “You think that’s actually possible?”

“I have to believe it is,” I say with a smile. “Otherwise, what are we even doing, right?”

Tori smiles back, a genuine smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes but suggests it could someday. “Yeah, what are we even doing...” Her voice trails off, carrying a mix of resignation and newfound curiosity.

As we approach the building, the looming presence of her friends reminds us that our moment of honesty can’t last, but something important has shifted between us, a door cracked open that might lead to something real. Her friends are laughing and oblivious to her inner turmoil, while I’m left with hope and apprehension. Maybe Tori and I could find a way through the masks to something resembling a real friendship.

The entrance to our cryptography class looms ahead, an imposing structure that echoes the uncertainty of our truce. As we near the door, I see a group of Tori’s friends clustered nearby. My stomach tightens as I watch Tori’s demeanor change. She straightens, her face smoothing into its usual unreadable expression, her steps gaining a rehearsed grace.

“Well, here we are,” she says, her voice cool and detached. “Thanks for the company, I guess.”

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, trying to mask my disappointment as she heads over to her friends, reverting to the Tori I know in public.

My brief moment of hope evaporates under the scorching gazes of Tori’s friends. Chloe, leaning against the wall with a smirk, eyes me like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“Ew, are you following Tori?” she taunts, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Nope,” I mutter, trying to walk past them without another word, but the corridor suddenly feels narrower, their laughter and sneers trailing me like a bad smell.

“What the hell, Tori?” Amanda chimes in, her voice sharp and accusing. “Did you ditch us for her?”

I hear Tori’s response, a harsh, mocking laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “She wasn’t even home last night,” she declares, and even though I know it’s all an act for her friends, her words sting. I feel the bite of betrayal, shallow but unmistakable.

I quicken my pace, wishing I could block out their voices, their laughter echoing off the walls. It’s cruel, the way they twist the knife, and I hate that it gets to me. I hate that I thought, even for a fleeting moment, that Tori could be different.

“Seriously, Tori, why would you even talk to someone like her?” another voice adds, laced with mock confusion.

“Yeah, what were you thinking? Lowering our standards now, are we?” Chloe remarks, her laugh sharp as glass.

Tori’s reply is noncommittal, a mumbled something that placates them but doesn’t reach me. I don’t look back. I don’t need to see her expression to know the kind of balancing act she’s playing—keeping up appearances while perhaps, somewhere deep down, regretting them a little.

As I push through the door to my class, their voices finally fade away, but their words linger, nasty and biting in my memory. It’s a clear reminder of the gap between us, a chasm widened by their cruelty. Still, as I sit down at the back of the room and pull out my books, part of me can’t help but replay our earlier conversation, clinging to the thread of understanding we shared.

The contrast between that brief, honest interaction and this public mockery leaves me reeling, confused about the real Tori. Who is she when she’s not performing for an audience? The question hangs over me, heavy and unresolved.

Despite everything, a stubborn, naive part of me wants to find out. Maybe not today or even soon, but eventually. I tuck that thought away, a small ember of curiosity in the back of my mind, as I prepare for class. The real work, I realize, isn’t just in the cryptography problems I’m about to tackle—it’s in deciphering the complex code of human relationships, especially those as encrypted as the one with Tori.

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