Chapter 4: Letting Go of the Ice Prince

Back at the dorm, everyone was talking at once, giving me a headache. I listened with a bitter smile, determined it was time to have a real talk with him.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, rehearsing what I’d say. I knew I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. It was time to be honest—with him, and with myself.

The next day, I messaged him. He said he was busy, to wait for his reply.

I stared at my phone, willing it to buzz. Hours passed. Nothing. I tried to distract myself with homework, but my mind kept drifting back to him.

I waited all day. Nothing.

By midnight, I was pacing my room, checking my phone every five minutes. Still nothing. I started to worry—was he ghosting me?

Wandering outside the boys’ dorm, I ran into his roommate.

I wandered over, trying to look casual. His roommate spotted me, surprise flickering across his face.

When I asked if he’d seen Carter, the guy looked surprised, then shook his head.

He hesitated, then shrugged. "Haven’t seen him since this morning."

“Did you call him?”

I nodded, holding up my phone. "No answer."

“His phone’s off. He said he was busy.”

He frowned, glancing at his own phone. "Weird. He’s usually glued to that thing."

“Yeah, he’s pretty busy. Don’t wait here—go home.”

He gave me an awkward smile, then ducked back inside. I stood there for a moment, feeling lost.

I nodded, disappointed, and turned to leave. After a few steps, I remembered something and went back—only to hear them talking in low voices.

I paused outside the door, voices drifting out. I knew I shouldn’t listen, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Didn’t we just see Carter at the café? Why not tell his girlfriend?”

“You don’t get it. If Carter’s not answering, it means he doesn’t want to talk.”

“No way, is he sick of her? She seems like a nice girl.”

“Ha—nice on the outside. You didn’t see Carter come back with a hickey on his neck, face like a thundercloud. Obvious he was forced.”

“Carter doesn’t like being touched, but he’s like that with his girlfriend too. Guess he’s just not that into her.”

“Maybe she’s just a cover. That foreign languages girl was a real handful.”

“No way, Carter’s not like that.”

“Yeah? You saw that gorgeous girl at the café. She’s Carter’s real crush—comes to see him all the time. He always seems annoyed, but he still goes, even stayed out all night once.”

…

I couldn’t listen anymore. I ran for the exit.

I stumbled down the stairs, heart pounding. I didn’t want to believe it, but the doubts had already taken root.

Sure enough, there was Carter by the window, sitting with a girl whose long hair fell in sleek, inky waves. She was stunning, crying on his shoulder. The guy who never let anyone touch him wasn’t pushing her away. He even handed her a tissue, eyes lowered, as if comforting her.

I watched from outside, hidden behind a pillar. My chest ached. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. It felt like watching the end of a movie, the part where the hero walks away and the credits roll.

My heart dropped.

It was like something inside me broke. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.

So that’s why he didn’t like kissing or cuddling. Not because he was old-fashioned, but because… he didn’t love me.

The realization hit hard. I’d been telling myself stories, making excuses. But the truth was right in front of me.

At our age, if it’s real love, how could you be so restrained?

I thought about all the couples I knew—how easy it was for them, how natural. With Carter, it had always felt like work, like I was chasing something just out of reach.

I’ve never been the type to make things hard for myself. Never tried reaching for what I knew I couldn’t have. Carter was the only exception. For him, I kept forcing and lying to myself, over and over.

I’d always been practical, realistic. But with Carter, I let myself hope. I let myself believe in fairy tales. Maybe that was my biggest mistake.

But honestly, from the first time he pushed me away, I knew I was forcing it. If you’ve already hit a wall, it’s time to turn back and heal. Crashing into it again and again—what’s the point?

I took a deep breath, letting the pain wash over me. I knew what I had to do. It was time to let go.

I let out a bitter laugh, pulled out my phone, thumb hovering as I hesitated for just a second, then sent a text:

[It’s over. I’m tired. Let’s break up.]

My fingers shook as I hit send. I stared at the screen, waiting for a reply that never came.

Then I blocked and deleted him, and walked away.

I slipped my phone into my pocket, squared my shoulders, and walked out into the night. The campus was quiet, the air cool and fresh. I breathed it in, feeling a strange sense of relief. I didn’t look back.

I thought it would hurt less in the dark.