❤️HEARTSTRING❤️
(Love melody……………)
Chapter 13&14
Written by Triplewealth
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Sylvia didn’t flinch as the note slipped from her fingers to the tray. Her heart beat steadily beneath her uniform shirt, but her face remained calm—blank, even.
She was used to being hated.
Used to being seen as the outsider.
What she wasn’t used to… was being noticed for standing her ground.
The cafeteria slowly emptied, but Sylvia felt the eyes lingering. Not just Samara. Not just the whispers. Something deeper. Something colder.
A feeling she hadn’t known since she left her stepmother’s house four years ago.
A storm was building.
And it was wearing lip gloss and designer heels.
By the time the final bell rang, someone had scratched the word “trash” into her locker.
Her gym clothes had vanished. And when she opened her textbook in science class, a sticky note slid out.
“Wrong school, wrong girl. Go back to the dirt.”
Signed with a red lipstick kiss.
Sylvia crushed it silently and shoved it into her pocket.
She wouldn’t cry.
Not again.
Not here.
Not where they could smell weakness.
She looked up—and met eyes with him.
Kingsley Brocks.
Leaning back in his chair two rows ahead, half-bored, half-aware, watching her with an unreadable look in his icy gray eyes.
Then, as if nothing happened, he turned away.
But Sylvia felt it.
A flicker.
Like the wind before a wildfire.
The bell rang, and the halls erupted—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices ricocheting off the lockers like distant thunder. Sylvia slipped her science book into her bag, soundlessly—just another student in the stream of bodies.
Until she felt the air shift.
Three steps ahead, Samara silhouette blocked the way. Her posse fanned out on either side.
“Look who made it to class,” Samara purred, leaning in close so only Sylvia could hear. “Did the countryside grant you enough smarts to find your locker, trash?”
Sylvia stopped. Lifted her chin—silent. Her chest rose once, measured, as if inhaling courage she’d stored for this moment.
Samara reached out, thumb grazing Sylvia’s cheek—smudging the faintest trace of eyeliner. “You think you can just show up and—”
A sharp rap on the locker beside them cut Samara words off.
“Hey!” A quiet voice, but firm. Kingsley Brocks stood there, hands folded over his textbooks, gray eyes flicking between Samara fingers and Sylvia’s face. “Move your hand before you break school policy on personal space.”
Samara froze, lips curling into a slow, venomous smile. “Nice save, royalty. But this doesn’t concern you.”
Kingsley’s gaze didn’t waver. “Everything that happens in my halls concerns me.”
Samara cheeks flushed—equal parts rage and embarrassment. With a last glare at Sylvia, she retreated, her friends trailing behind.
The corridor fell silent again. Students stared. Kingsley closed his locker and stepped forward.
“Are you okay?” His voice was low—almost curious.
Sylvia’s lips curved into the faintest tilt of a smile, though her eyes were steady, unflinching. “I’m fine but next time mind your damn business I don’t like dragging people into my affairs seat mate.
She turned, walking past him without another word. In her wake, the hallway buzzed—but not with her fear.
Hidden behind that calm mask was something they still didn’t see: a heart born of survival, tempered by loss—and ready for whatever came next.
Sylvia didn’t look back.
Not when the hallway eyes followed her.
Not when Samara hissed her name like venom behind her back.
Not even when Kingsley Brocks had spoken in her defense.
That part surprised her most.
But surprises didn’t shake her anymore.
She walked the halls of Brocks High like a shadow—calm, still, unbothered. But every step she took was calculated, practiced. Not in fear.
In control.
Because Sylvia had learned a long time ago: the loudest girl in the room wasn’t the strongest.
The strongest was the one who didn’t flinch.
The one who knew how to wait.
The one who remembered everything.
She still had the scar on her right forearm from her stepmother’s iron.
The bruises had faded, but the memories hadn’t.
The laughter. The lies.
The day she was shoved out with a black trash bag on her twelfth birthday.
They thought they’d broken her.
But they didn’t know.
Sylvia had been broken once before—and rebuilt herself quietly in the dark.
What Samara didn’t realize was: the countryside had not weakened her. It had trained her. Patience. Discipline. Fire.
She walked into her next class like nothing happened.
But her hands were already writing the next move in her mind.
She didn’t want war.
But if Samara wanted to start one…
Then Sylvia was ready to finish it.
Kingsley doesn’t like involve himself in hallway drama neither does he break up fights or play hero.
And he definitely didn’t speak up for girls he’d never spoken to before.
But something about the look in Sylvia Kelly’s eyes had stopped him.
Not because she looked scared—she didn’t.
She looked… still.
Like a loaded gun, quiet and coiled.
It reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place.
Now, from the third floor balcony that overlooked the courtyard, Kingsley leaned against the railing, watching the students scatter across campus like ants after a storm.
From up here, they all looked the same—noisy, shallow, predictable.
All except her.
Sylvia Kelly.
He’d heard the name only once, during a Board meeting his father had forced him to sit through.
He heard about a scholarship girl from the countryside.
Top of her class. Awarded a million-dollar academic grant.
A “Brocks Initiative” case study, they’d called her. A marketing success.
Kingsley hadn’t cared then.
But now? Now she was walking the halls with her chin up and war in her silence—and it annoyed him that he noticed.
He hated curiosity. It was messy. Uncontrollable.
Like music.
His fingers tapped against his sleeve unconsciously—five beats, same rhythm as the secret melody he listened to every night.
The melody only one person in the world knew.
The anonymous artist who’d been uploading songs under the username Mystery girl.
The one whose music made him feel like something inside him wasn’t broken.
The one he’d sworn his heart would belong to—if it ever belonged to anyone.
Not some scholarship girl from the countryside.
And yet…
There was something in the way she moved, the way she didn’t shrink from Samara, the way she ignored him like he wasn’t Kingsley Brocks.
Like he was just another boy in the hallway.
And that—that made him look again.
And he ruffled his hair in annoyance
T.B.C
