Giving Treize a chance was something I had never even considered in my past life. Even now, the idea felt surreal—like stepping into a scene I'd only imagined but never dared to believe could be real. But as I stood there, staring into his hopeful eyes, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering back to what had once been.
In the latter half of my college years, I learned through whispers and timeline posts that Treize and his high school girlfriend had broken up. The news had sent ripples through our old circle. Some said it was because of a third party; others believed it was the long-distance strain that finally pulled them apart. At the time, I remember feeling a confusing mix of happiness and sadness—happy, because maybe now, there was room for something between us; sad, because even in their breakup, I was never more than a distant admirer.
His posts would pop up on my feed unexpectedly—smiling selfies, cryptic quotes, tagged locations I had never visited. I'd pause, glance a little too long, let a flicker of hope bloom in my chest… then quickly bury it before it spread too far. But by my fourth year, I heard from a friend of his girlfriend that they had gotten back together. The devastation was quiet but heavy, like rain on a windowpane—gentle but endless.
He was posting again—this time with her, always with her. Smiling. Laughing. The captions told stories of love rekindled, of promises made. Meanwhile, I watched from the sidelines, my heart aching quietly in a place no one saw.
But now… here I was, reliving my youth, and he was standing in front of me—not with Samantha, not with anyone else—but with *me*, asking for a chance.
Could fate really change?
Would I be foolish to hope?
Would history repeat itself… or was this a fresh page?
I looked him in the eye, heart pounding. "You know how I said I won't get a boyfriend while in high school?"
"Yes," he nodded slowly, searching my face. "What about it?"
"That still stands," I said, steady and sure. "But… I'll give you a chance to prove yourself. If you can wait until we both graduate, and if by then I still feel the same… then maybe the future will permit us to be together."
He didn't hesitate. "Of course I can wait. Don't worry, Carmela—I'm sure we'll be together."
I arched a brow. "Don't be too sure. What if you fall in love with someone else? Or I do?"
"That won't happen," he said, his voice confident. "I'll make sure of it."
He sounded so sure. So certain. But inside, my thoughts whirled like a storm. I had heard words like this before—beautiful promises that were so easily broken. As we parted ways that afternoon, I whispered to myself with quiet determination:
*We'll see next year. If you stay true to your words, maybe I'll break my rule. But if you fail me again… that will be the last time I ever entertain the thought of us.*
---
Surprisingly, after that moment with Treize, something inside me shifted. If I could give *him*—the boy who had unknowingly hurt me so many times—a second chance, why couldn't I do the same for others?
And so, I softened.
I smiled more. Laughed more. Let myself be open to new friendships and familiar faces I'd once kept at a distance. My classmates noticed it too. I wasn't the quiet, guarded girl I used to be—I was finally letting myself enjoy the present. I danced during school programs, joined games, even competed for fun. I was becoming someone who didn't just watch life from the sidelines… I was living it.
---
The most awaited event of the year was finally approaching—*Intramurals*. The entire school buzzed with excitement as we were sorted into four Hogwarts-inspired houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. I was sorted into *Hufflepuff*, and not only that—I was chosen as a *sub-leader*.
For a first year, that was huge.
Leadership roles were usually reserved for fourth years. Occasionally, a second or third year would get chosen as a vice leader, but a *first year sub-leader*? It was almost unheard of.
At first, they wanted me to be our representative in the pageant, but I quickly declined. That kind of spotlight was not for me. Instead, I was given the responsibility of designing and overseeing the creation of our team costumes.
It was the perfect task.
Inspired by the future yet grounded in the theme, I envisioned a look that captured both school spirit and style. For the boys, I modeled the uniform after Robert Pattinson's portrayal of Cedric Diggory—a two-tone long-sleeve shirt, half yellow, half black, with the house crest embroidered over the chest, paired with clean jeans and white sneakers. For the girls, I chose a chic black blouse, paired with a yellow-and-black plaid skirt and matching white shoes.
It was simple, stylish, and screamed *Hufflepuff*.
Working closely with my teammates—and especially with the fourth-year leaders—brought its own set of challenges and rewards. I admired our leaders deeply. They were skilled, composed, charismatic… and, if I'm being honest, ridiculously attractive.
We bonded over practices, late-night planning sessions, and impromptu pep talks. But while I felt proud of our growing camaraderie, Treize didn't share the same enthusiasm.
---
"Treize," I said one afternoon when we were alone. "You need to calm down."
"I *am* calm," he muttered, arms crossed.
"You're jealous. And honestly, it's ridiculous."
"I'm not jealous without reason. I'm a guy—I know how they think when they're around someone like you."
"Oh, *please*. Not everyone sees me that way."
"Maybe not *everyone*. But those who do approach you? Most of them aren't just being friendly. Especially knowing you're single—they think they have a chance."
His voice was sharp, serious—and annoyingly logical. As much as I wanted to deny it, he had a point. But I refused to let that justify his behavior.
"I get what you're saying," I replied, calmer now. "But here's the truth: we're *not* together. You don't get to stake a claim on me. If someone crosses a line, I'll reject them. But I won't start shutting people out just because you're *worried* they might like me."
He fell quiet.
"I can't control what they feel," I continued. "Only how I respond. And right now, no one has confessed. So there's nothing to reject."
After a pause, he finally said, "That's enough for me."
"Good," I nodded. "Just remember—we're not together."
He smirked. "Yet. It's only a matter of time, Carmela. Sooner or later, you'll be mine."
I rolled my eyes. "We'll see, Treize. We'll see."
---
After that conversation, I made a conscious effort to maintain a professional distance from the leader. He hadn't confessed, but I didn't want to give him or anyone else the wrong idea.
I buried myself in my role—perfecting costume details, managing schedules, coordinating with teammates. I avoided one-on-one time with him, and to his credit, he seemed to understand. He didn't press. Didn't pry. No awkward tension. Just quiet understanding.
Maybe I was never more than a passing interest to him. Maybe he respected my space. Either way, it didn't hurt—because I had never hoped for more.
But it *did* show me something.
Maturity.
The kind that Treize hadn't fully reached yet. The kind that made me wonder: had I made the right choice?
I found myself watching Treize from across classrooms, silently thinking, *Please don't let me down.*
Because despite everything—my past, my fears, and my firm resolve—part of me still hoped he would prove me wrong.
---