The argument with my childhood sweetheart ended with the sharp crack of his hand against my face, in front of everyone. That day, I deleted him from my life. Every contact, every connection, gone. No one could believe it. Aiden and I had grown up together. I’d been in love with him, trailing after him like a shadow for nine years straight. “Why, Zoe? Was it really just because of that one slap?” he asked, his voice hollow with confusion. “Yes,” I said, my own voice heavy with a certainty that felt like stone. “Because of that one slap.” 1. When Aiden’s palm connected with my cheek, for a split second, my brain refused to process what had happened. A dull smack echoed in the sudden silence of the classroom. I stumbled back a step, my head swimming, a sharp ringing in my ears. The spot on my left cheek bloomed with a hot flush, then began to burn like fire. I cupped my face, staring at him in a daze. My Aiden. My childhood sweetheart had just, in the middle of an argument I was having with the new transfer student, publicly slapped me. He seemed to freeze for a moment, the realization of his own action flickering across his face. But the shock was quickly swallowed by a wave of anger and impatience. “Can you just stop causing a scene, Zoe? Go back to your seat!” A few snickers broke the tension in the classroom. Most people just watched silently, eyes wide, taking in the free drama. Vanessa, the transfer student, stood beside Aiden, casually twirling a lock of her perfect chestnut hair. She clicked her tongue. “Oh, Aiden, what did you do that for? Can’t you see your little princess is about to cry?” Her words only fueled his anger. His voice dropped, turning icy. “If you’re going to cry, Zoe, do it at home. This is a school, not a stage for your little princess act.” A toxic cocktail of humiliation, grief, and rage churned inside me. Fat, hot tears finally broke free, spilling down my face. As the laughter of the boys in the class rose around me, I turned and bolted from the room. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay for the next class, couldn't bear to face any of them for another second. Aiden had always been impatient with me, that was nothing new. But for him to hit me… that was a first. More than that. In all my life, no one had ever laid a hand on me like that. 2. Aiden and I were the textbook definition of childhood sweethearts. We’d known each other since we were three. Our parents were best friends, our apartments right across the hall from each other. And I had loved him for as long as I could remember. In elementary school, I was an easy target for the boys. One was particularly relentless—he’d pull my hair from the seat behind me, stick gum on my chair, and once even set off a tiny firecracker in my desk. I cried to the teacher, and she’d give him a talking-to, but then she’d turn to me with a smile and say, “Oh, he only does that because he likes you.” I didn’t believe it. The boy never stopped, so I went home and told my parents. They were furious, ready to march down to the school and have a word with that teacher. Aiden’s dad, who happened to be visiting, overheard. He called Aiden over and told him it was his job to protect me at school from then on. We were the same age but in different classes. The very next day, during recess, Aiden stormed into my classroom, dragged the boy out into the hall, and laid into him. He’d always been tall for his age, with a fierce streak, and he left that kid and his friends whimpering. Before he left, he shot a warning glare at the other boys. “Anyone messes with Zoe again, you’ll answer to me!” That was the moment. That was when my crush solidified into something unshakable. From then on, I became his little shadow, sticking to his side wherever he went. Aiden hated it at first. He had this whole macho complex and thought hanging out with a “girly-girl” like me wasn't cool. But I was persistent, trailing behind him, calling his name. After a few years, he softened. The annoyance melted away. I started to notice things—the way his eyes would linger on me a little too long, the way he’d get flustered if our gazes met, his cheeks flushing as he’d stammer and change the subject. One evening, his dad joked, “Since the kids are so close, why don’t we just promise them to each other?” Aiden didn’t say a word, but his hand found mine and squeezed tight. I saw his ears turn bright red. A sweet warmth spread through my chest, and I declared loudly, “Yes! I’m going to marry Aiden!” But when high school started, everything changed. At the end of our first semester of freshman year, we got a new transfer student. Her name was Vanessa. The rumor was her parents’ work had brought her here. She had great grades and a face that was more than pretty—it was stunning. On her first day, she walked in with a cascade of chestnut curls and told the teacher with a cheeky grin, “It’s natural, I swear. The color and the curls.” Then she scanned the room. Her eyes landed on me, paused, and she let out a loud, incredulous laugh. “Oh my God… seriously… are we looking at a real-life Barbie Princess? Ha! Everything’s pink! We’re in high school, honey, are you trying to be cute? It’s a little… cringe.” Every head in the class swiveled to look at me. My face burned. I loved pink. It was my color. Pink backpack, pink tumbler, pink hair clips, pink sweaters, pink phone case. Even my keychains were pink. It wasn't the first time I'd been teased for it. In grade school, boys called me cutesy or prissy; some girls said I was trying too hard. But most people were kind. More often, girls would tell me I looked adorable, that pink suited me perfectly. But I had never been mocked so openly, so cruelly, in front of everyone. I felt an overwhelming urge to disappear, to sink right through the floor. “Oops, sorry,” Vanessa said, winking playfully when she saw my expression. “I’m just a little blunt. Don’t get upset, Princess.” “That’s enough. It’s your first day, keep it down,” Aiden’s sharp voice cut in. I turned to see him scowling at Vanessa, his face clouded with annoyance. Vanessa just raised an eyebrow, her gaze locking onto him. “Oh? Has the Princess’s knight in shining armor arrived?” “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?” Aiden shot back, slamming his hand on his desk as he stood up. The teacher quickly reprimanded him and found Vanessa a seat. As if by some cruel twist of fate, the only empty desk in the entire classroom was the one directly in front of Aiden. And just like that, they were neighbors. 3. I don’t know when, exactly, they got close. It was subtle at first. One day, the strawberry milk Aiden’s dad always had him bring me in the morning was replaced with plain milk. “I hate plain milk, you know that,” I said, frowning at the carton in my hand. “Come on, you only like the other one because the box is pink,” he said, ruffling my hair. “You’re too old for strawberry milk anyway. Plain is healthier.” Vanessa, holding an identical carton of plain milk, turned around and gave me a half-apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, Little Miss Pink. I prefer plain, so I asked Aiden to grab this kind.” She took a sip. “Besides, strawberry milk is so sweet, it’s sickening. Do all you girly-girls actually like that stuff?” I set my carton down, my eyes narrowing. “Do you enjoy giving everyone nicknames?” She blinked, feigning surprise and a little hurt. “Wow, don’t take it so seriously. It was just a joke. You’re so sensitive…” “Is it me being sensitive, or is it your guilty conscience talking?” “Alright, Zoe,” Aiden cut in, looking exhausted. “Vanessa… doesn’t always think before she speaks. Don’t take it to heart.” That was it. I was so angry my eyes started to sting. I shoved Aiden, hard, and shot a glare at Vanessa. “If you don’t know how to talk, then don’t talk at all!” Aiden stumbled, surprised, but his arms shot out to steady me. “Okay, okay, my fault,” he said instantly. “Don’t be mad. I’ll bring you strawberry milk tomorrow, alright?” I glanced over his shoulder and saw Vanessa’s face. Her smile was gone, replaced by a cold, hard stare fixed directly on me. 4. After that, it was like a switch had been flipped. Vanessa started targeting me. I’d pull out a pack of pink tissues, and she’d exclaim, “Wow! Even your tissues are pink! Are you trying to turn yourself into a life-sized Barbie doll?” During classroom cleaning, I used a wet wipe to clean the handle of my broom. She’d catch the eye of a few boys and smirk. “Here comes the princess act.” When we had to rearrange desks every two weeks, I paused for a moment to catch my breath. Vanessa’s voice would ring out across the room: “The princess is tired! We need some knights over here to help the princess!” And every single time, the group of boys she hung out with would roar with laughter, egging her on as if it were the funniest show on earth. At first, Aiden would try to intervene. “Hey, cut it out,” he’d mutter. But Vanessa would just wave a dismissive hand. “It’s just a joke! Zoe’s always so uptight. I’m just helping her loosen up and get along with everyone.” Aiden would nod thoughtfully. “Yeah, she can be a bit of a princess. Are all girls like that these days?” Vanessa would playfully punch his shoulder. “Hey! Don’t lump me in with them. I’m not like that at all.” Aiden would just smile. A bitter pang went through me. I’d always known Aiden thought I was a little delicate, a little spoiled. Maybe to most guys, liking pink, having a thing for cleanliness, and not being very strong just screamed “princess syndrome.” Finally, one day, I snapped. Over the summer, my family went on a beach vacation, and I came back with a serious tan. It had happened before; my skin would usually return to its normal shade after a couple of weeks indoors, so I didn’t think much of it. A few days after school started, I wore a pink button-up under my school uniform blazer. Vanessa saw me and her voice shot up, dripping with mock horror. “Oh my God! Zoe, you’re wearing that pink with your skin tone? Don’t you think you look ridiculous?” She doubled over, howling with laughter. “I’m sorry, I can’t—you can’t be a princess anymore! Where are there any tan princesses? You look more like… a stray puppy trying to play dress-up! Hahahahaha!” She and a few boys collapsed into a fit of giggles. I saw Aiden crack a smile, clearly amused. In that moment, a tidal wave of shame and helplessness washed over me. Blood rushed to my head, and my hands clenched into fists. Through the sound of their laughter, I grabbed my water bottle, twisted off the cap, and flung its contents directly into her face. Vanessa gasped, sputtering as she frantically wiped at her drenched face. Her makeup—the eyeliner, the foundation—began to streak. “Cough—what the hell is wrong with you? Are you insane?!” “Oh, dear,” I said, mimicking her tone. “Coming to school with a full face of makeup? No wonder you’re not a princess. You’re more like a clown, here to put on a show.” A couple of boys moved to step between us, but Aiden was faster. He snatched the bottle from my hand. “Zoe. Apologize.” He looked down at me, his brow furrowed, his voice cold and hard. My eyes burned. I stared right back at him. “Did you not hear what she called me? She said I looked like a stray puppy.” “That’s a separate issue. You already insulted her back. Now you need to apologize for throwing water on her.” He said it so matter-of-factly. “Admit when you’re wrong. Be good. Stop throwing a tantrum.” “Just apologize,” he pressed on. “Vanessa won’t hold it against you.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Go to hell.” Aiden’s eyes widened in shock. Then, his arm swung back, and he slapped me across the face. 5. I didn’t go back to class that day. I went straight home. I tore through my room like a hurricane, pulling books off shelves, yanking clothes from my closet, ransacking storage bins. I found a large cardboard box and started filling it, throwing in every single thing Aiden had ever given me, from childhood trinkets to recent gifts. When the box was overflowing, I made one last sweep to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. Then I hauled it downstairs and dumped the entire collection of our shared history into the communal dumpster. My parents weren’t home yet, so I called my mom. “Hey, sweetie. What’s up?” “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. “When you get home, I need you to go tell Aiden’s parents that he and I are done. And one more thing.” My voice was ice. “From this day forward, Aiden is never, ever to set foot in our house again. Tell him to get lost and stay lost.” When my mom got home, her eyes went wide with a mixture of shock and fury as she saw the red handprint blooming on my cheek. I told her everything that had been happening for the past few months. Listening, I could see a vein throbbing in her temple. Without a word, she spun around and marched across the hall, banging on Aiden’s door. His mom was confused at first, but my mother laid it all out, sparing no detail: how hard Aiden had slapped me, how he’d stood by while the new girl relentlessly bullied me, and how, in the end, he had chosen to stand in front of that girl and defend her. Aiden’s mom’s face cycled through shades of white and green. The friendship our two families had cherished for over a decade was fracturing right before her eyes, because of me. But my own mother didn’t blame me for a second. She just wrapped her arms around me, her voice soft but firm. “No one gets to hurt my Zoe. Whatever you decide to do, your father and I are behind you one hundred percent.” The dam of suppressed hurt and grief finally broke. My nose stung, and I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed. 6. When Aiden got home that night, he must have seen the discarded contents of the box in the dumpster. He came to our door, his knocking sharp and angry. “Zoe! Come out here! We need to talk.” I opened the door. He stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. “Why did you throw away everything I ever gave you?” “What’s it to you?” I asked, my gaze as cold as his. The mark from the morning’s slap was still vivid on my face. He hadn’t held back. My cheek was swollen and purplish, the outline of his fingers darker now than it had been hours ago. His expression shifted, the anger dissolving as he stared at the bruise. “I… I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he stammered. He reached out to touch my face, but I flinched back, my expression unchanging. I was rarely injured, but in the past, even the smallest scrape would have me running to him with teary eyes, demanding he kiss it better. I was never really afraid of pain; I just liked the excuse to be coddled by the boy I loved. And Aiden, for all his talk about me being delicate and prissy, secretly loved being needed by me. Not anymore. I was done playing that part. He’d never seen me this cold, this distant. He looked at me with disbelief. “I didn’t mean to, Zoe. It’s just… you swore at me, and I got angry…” I cut him off. “Since you’re here, let’s get this straight. From today on, we’re strangers.” “I want you to call me by my full name. If you see me at school, don’t talk to me. And don’t you ever come knocking on my door again.” I started to close the door. He shot his hand out, grabbing my wrist. His eyes bored into mine, his expression morphing from guilt to confused rage. “Is it really that serious, Zoe? If you’re mad about the slap, I’ll apologize. But don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?” He tightened his grip. “Have you thought about what you’ll do when you regret this?” “I won’t regret it.” “Why?” he demanded, his voice strained. “Just because I accidentally slapped you?”
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