Burning Lines

The video went live at 7:06 a.m.

By 7:10, it had over 2,000 views.

By 7:30, the school group chats were exploding.

At 8:05, the principal called for an emergency student assembly.

And by 8:20, Simon Donovan and Elena Reyes were seated side-by-side in the front row, daring the world to say something first.

The video was raw. No filters. No fancy edits. Just truth.

Five minutes of Simon and Elena staring down the camera and saying everything no one had the guts to before.

They didn't flinch.

They didn't apologize.

They didn't hide.

> "We're not ashamed," Elena had said in the video.

"We didn't break laws—we broke expectations."

> "The only reason this is a scandal," Simon added, "is because people are addicted to judging what they don't understand."

> "We're not asking you to like us.

We're just not letting you lie about us anymore."

By noon, the video had 100k views.

People were stitching it on TikTok. Debating it on Twitter.

Some called it brave.

Some called it disgusting.

Some just said:

> "Damn… why do I feel this in my chest?"

The school tried to stay silent.

But silence was gasoline—and the internet lit a match.

So the administration had to act.

Cue the assembly.

Cue the forced smiles from the principal and guidance counselor.

Cue the damage control speech.

> "This school is a safe space for all students. We value privacy, respect, and appropriate conduct…"

Simon almost laughed.

Now they cared about respect?

But what happened next, he didn't see coming.

Midway through the speech, someone stood up in the back of the gym.

It was Eddie.

Elena's ex.

Simon tensed.

Everyone turned.

"Can I say something?" Eddie asked.

The principal stammered, "This is not—"

"I think the whole school deserves to hear this," Eddie said, louder.

Silence followed.

So Eddie walked down the steps, turned to face the crowd, and looked at Simon.

"I hated him," Eddie said. "Still kinda do."

Everyone stiffened.

"But he's not the villain in this story."

Gasps. Whispers. The tension was cuttable.

"I made it worse," Eddie said. "I joked, gossiped, turned people against them—because I was pissed, not because I was right."

He looked at Elena next.

"You loved me once. But you love him more. And it shows. It always showed."

He looked back at the crowd.

"And honestly? We don't have to get it. But we should stop pretending we're better."

Then he walked out.

Just like that.

No mic drop.

No applause.

Just truth.

And for the first time in weeks…

The room was quiet.

Outside the gym, Elena gripped Simon's arm. "Did that just happen?"

Simon exhaled. "I think Eddie just saved our lives."

"Or at least our reputations."

Simon smiled. "I'll take that trade."

Back at home, the video reached the local news.

> "Two high school students take a controversial stand on love and defy judgment from peers and faculty…"

The anchor read lines like it was a tabloid.

But the footage they aired?

It was the truth.

No distortion. No sensationalism.

Just Simon and Elena—owning their story.

Later that night, Simon's mother stood in the living room, arms folded.

"I saw the video," she said quietly.

Simon nodded. "I figured."

"I also got a call from my supervisor. The department wants me to keep a lower profile for now."

He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him—really looked at him. Not as a boy, but as someone growing into something she didn't fully recognize yet.

"Are you happy?" she asked.

Simon hesitated. Then nodded. "Yes."

She sighed.

"Then keep being honest. It's the only armor you'll have left."

Later that night, Elena sent him a message:

> Elena: We didn't just survive the storm.

We became it.