Rain Wang's POV | Flashback – One Week Ago
There are 138 steps from the East Wing lab to the girls' dorms.
I counted each one that night.
Barefoot.
With my ID badge still swinging from my neck, soaked in tears and humiliation.
It started like any other Thursday.
Ava messaged me—said the second years needed help in the anatomy hall for their patient simulation displays.
"Sebastian said you're good at sketching. Come fast!"
Sebastian Ashford.
Top of his year. Arrogant. Cold. Perfect.
But he knew my name.
And when someone like him knows your name, you show up.
So I did.
With my clipboard. My charcoal pencils. My heart thudding against my ribs like a defibrillator.
The moment I walked in, I knew something was wrong.
The second-year lecture hall was dimly lit—presentation screen glowing blue.
They were all there. Second years lounging back in their chairs, white coats open like royalty. First years sitting stiff near the back.
The screen flickered.
And then—there it was.
My face.
Projected on the wall.
Photo after photo.
Snapped when I wasn't looking—in the library, in the cafeteria, even during our shared dissection lab.
Zoomed in. Edited.
Captioned.
"Desperate Dorm Mouse."
"Wangstagram Queen of Obsession."
"Would cut open a cadaver for Ashford's attention."
Laughter erupted.
A few people actually clapped.
Someone had added voiceover effects.
A warped version of my voice whispered, "Sebastian, want me to be your lab partner forever?"
Another, louder: "Sebastian, I'll donate my heart—literally."
Someone snorted, "She probably smells his scrubs."
My body locked up.
All I could hear was my heartbeat. Not even the laughter. Just the pounding in my skull.
And then—
He laughed.
Sebastian.
He didn't stop them.
He didn't blink.
He just leaned against the anatomy table, arms crossed, watching it play like a bad rom-com.
That hurt more than the whispers.
More than the humiliation.
Because I liked him.
I thought—maybe—he liked me too.
My hand unclenched. The clipboard hit the floor with a dull thud.
No one noticed.
No one cared.
Except Ava, maybe—but she didn't speak either.
I walked out.
Fast. Blind.
Shoes forgotten.
Phone in my pocket.
Tears choking me like sutures stitched too tight.
138 steps to my dorm.
I counted each one like a prayer.
When I got to my room, I scrubbed my hands raw in the sink, like I could wash off the shame.
Turned off my phone.
Blocked everyone.
The white coat I loved so much—stuffed into the bottom of my closet.
My notes? Untouched.
My sketchpad? Torn in half.
I didn't leave that room for six days.
Not even to eat properly.
And Sebastian?
He never texted.
Never checked.
Never apologized.
He became the ghost in every beat of my heart—cold, clinical, cutting.
And I—Rain Wang—became just another case study in emotional trauma.