Page 2 of Stroke of Fate

“You know they aren’t all like him, right?” She insists.

Yes, I know that. But knowing something and believing it are two different things, and right now, my brain is struggling with the latter.

“It doesn’t matter. Boys are low on the priority list this year.”

She snorts. “They’re never low on the list. You just have to find one that isn’t self-absorbed or a cheating prick.”

Pia made her stance on the situation clear, and I love her for it—loyal to the end. But the reality is that I cared about Hunter. His infidelity didn’t just hurt it also left a stain on my heart, one that refuses to fade.

I never would have imagined we'd become the poster couple for cliché college breakups before freshman year ended. Sure, Hunter wasn’t always the most attentive boyfriend at times, but I never doubted his faithfulness.

That all changed the day I caught him hooking up with the girl he swore was “just a friend,"in his dorm room. And just like that, I became collateral damage to his shitty decisions.

If I'm being honest with myself, things started to shift between us once after we graduated high school. But clinging to the happy memories of our relationship was easier than facing reality. Still, I never would have thought he’d sink so low as to cheat on me.

God, if I could turn back time to that day, I’d throw something at him—my shoe, preferably.

I don’t know what cuts deeper, the betrayal or the fact that he didn’t even try to fight for us. Not that I would’ve taken him back. I just thought I meant more to him. Thought he cared as much as he made me believe he did.

What about us made him think I didn’t deserve an honest explanation after four years together?

All I got was a half-assed text saying he was sorry I found out that way, but it was best if we started seeing other people.

Yeah, jackass, I figured. The naked chick in his bed kind of sealed the deal on that one.

Trying to move on from what happened between us wasn’t easy, considering we attended the same university and ran in the same circles. Having to avoid him on campus felt like running across a two-lane highway, trying to dodge traffic—exhausting. I was just done pretending that was how I wanted to spend my college years.

“You still there?” Pia asks, a hint of concern lacing her voice.

Clearing my throat, I force thoughts of Hunter and the past few months away. “Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Not about him, I hope?”

“No,” I reply quickly.

Technically, I was, but not in the way she means —not romantically.

What we had is over—for good. I’m ready to move on with my life. And yeah, it still hurts. I’m human, after all. But these past few months have made me realize something: my sadness has more to do with the time I lost pouring everything into a relationship, only to end up having nothing to show for it.

But I’m hopeful. And for now, that’s enough.

“Good, he so doesn’t deserve any more of your mental energy.” The conviction in her voice leaves no room for argument. “And I have a feeling Huska University is full of hot guys who are more deserving of your time.”

“How would you even know?” I ask, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice.

I don’t quite share Pia’s sentiment that the best way to get over one relationship is to jump into another—or under someone else, as she’s also suggested many times before.

Frankly, the thought of getting close to someone again is terrifying. I don’t want to risk being hurt and feeling used all over again.

“Home of the Silver Wolves has a sexy ring to it,” she explains, referring to the university’s nickname. “Like Silver Fox, but for college-age guys, ya know?”

At that, we both burst into childish giggles like we’re fourteen again, ogling over the cute boys in our teen magazines.

Once our giggles die down, a sharp pang of nostalgia hits me. Our lives were so much simpler back then. We were carefree, too eager to grow up and be like the cool seniors we saw walk the hallways. We had no idea what we were wishing away.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here and doing this,” I say, getting back to the conversation.

Despite my new surroundings, it still feels surreal that this is now home—or will be for the next three years.

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