Page 102 of Hannah.

Against my ear, the phone rings and rings. He doesn't answer. I try again and get the same result. Frustrated, I throw the phone down beside me, but not before it makes a small chime to let me know I have class in fifteen minutes. Because, of course, I do. My heart is breaking, but the world is still turning. So it goes, I guess.

I drag myself off of the bed and wash my face in the sink, not wanting to have to explain to anyone why I’m crying. Then I grab my bag, check my face once more in the mirror, and head out the door.

Cambridge University is huge. I’m barely an ant compared to the sprawling campus and endless grounds. The buildings, too, are gigantic, and even though I’ve not looked at the map on my phone since my second week, I’m still occasionally lost. Today is one of those days. By the time I figure out where I am and get to class, I’m five minutes late.

My professor—Professor Watson, an older gentleman who is already balding despite only being in his forties—looks at me as I scurry into the lecture hall and sit down.

“Late night, Ms. Van den Bosch?” he asks with a trace of humor in his tone. “Trying to be a good example to the rest of the class?”

A nervous titter runs through the room. I take my seat, open my laptop, and try my damndest to hide behind the screen. Class is only an hour long. All I can possibly do is endure.

Since it's just an introductory lecture on Western Art, I let my mind wander a little bit. Everyone's attention span is short, and the embarrassment of being late quickly fades as the lesson gets into full swing. After this, I have a study group for European Art History, and then my last class of the day, Renaissance Art. The professors at Cambridge have a tendency not to give much homework, but I still have tons of reading and research work from other classes.

Maybe that's a good thing. It'll keep me occupied and out of Johan’s way.

Even as I try to comfort myself with these thoughts, the weight of him, his betrayal, is on me like a black cloud. Professor Watson finishes his lecture, and everyone starts packing up their stuff. A few students are lingering behind, though, and I find myself amongst them.

“Do any of you know what’s up with Prof Bentinck? He canceled the two classes I had with him,” one of them asks the group loud enough for me to hear.

My ears perk up when one of his friends answers. “My older brother lives in an apartment building across from his and saw him leaving this morning, so at least he’s not dead.”

The first guy snorts. “I don’t mind, to be honest. When I saw he was a replacement for Foster, I thought we might have it easy, but no, his class is just as demanding.”

“I wonder what's up with him,” another girl muses. “He's a substitute professor; he shouldn’t be canceling classes like that.”

Their words cut through me, and even though I know that Johan probably isn’t lounging around but instead planning his and Astrid’s future. The thought makes my stomach roll.

The conversation pivots, and I peel myself away as subtly as I can, an idea taking shape. If Johan is at his place, then there’s a decent chance I could catch him alone and confront him without Astrid there. If he’s going to duck all my calls, I have to find some way to talk to him. Even if I’m forced to accept his engagement, there is no way I can let it go without at least having a single conversation with him first.

Okay...just a few more hours of school, and then I can go and attempt to speak to him. Seeing Johan will be difficult, especially with it having been just days since we spent those blissful moments together, but I have to be strong. I can crumble later when I’m alone. Right now, I have to hold myself together. I walk out of the lecture hall with my chin held high, ready to face anything, and determined to get closure.

I’m going to Johan Bentinck’s flat.

And there is nothing he can do about it.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, my mind swirling with unanswered questions and heartache. Before I know it, I’m standing on the street in front of his apartment building, my breath catching in my throat. My heart pounds furiously in my chest, and my palms are slick with sweat. I wipe them on my pants, trying to calm my racing thoughts. With a deep breath, I square my shoulders and force myself to take a step forward. I’m still a block away when his building’s front door swings open. My heart skips a beat as Astrid steps out, looking just as radiant as she did at lunch today. Her smile is bright, her hair is perfectly styled, and she exudes a happiness that feels like a punch to my gut.

Then I see him.

Johan follows her out, holding the door for her, and my world seems to tilt. Then, as they walk together, Astrid reachesout and takes Johan’s hand in hers. Their fingers intertwine almost instinctively, and the sight of it sends a bolt of jealousy through me. His car is parked on the curb, and they walk towards it, Johan only letting go of her long enough to open the car door for her. They look perfect together—like a couple from a magazine.

I think back on what my mother said—that this isn’t high school, and it’s not right for me to steal my friends' boyfriends. Astrid deserves better than that from me. She’s been so nice and kind. And Johan is the one who initiated things between us. He can’t put this all on me.

Still...even knowing this, watching Astrid and Johan laugh together before Johan closes the car door and walks around the driver’s side, tears prick at my eyes. I’m not going to cry. I’ve done enough of that today.

But I can’t avoid the truth. I had sex with him; I gave him everything that he could possibly want from me, both my body and my heart, and now that he’s satisfied his curiosity, he will be able to marry his perfect match.

The misery is so heavy that it steals my breath. Before they can see me, I turn, head down, I’ve seen enough. I have to get the hell out of here.

The urge to run is strong, but I keep my cool. My pulse is thundering, thinking that at any second, they’re going to pass me in the car, but they must have gone the other direction. The sun is setting, and it’s a long walk back to my dorm, but I don’t think I can be cooped up in the backseat of an Uber right now. The fresh air in my lungs and the wide open spaces around me are the only things keeping me sane.

I walk back to my dorm alone, tears silently falling. Eventually, the tears stop, and the cool breeze dries them on my face. The sun fully sets, and I want more than anything not to be alone right now.

But I am alone. Astrid isn’t. Johan isn't. But I am. And maybe that’s how it will always be.

It’s dark enough that the gas streetlamps are on once I finally make it back, and despite the nervous energy coursing through me, I’m relieved. There’s life in the common area, people talking and laughing together in couples and small groups as if there was a party or something. It’s too much for me right now, but thankfully, there’s a back stairwell, and it’s empty.

I head for the stairs, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but I almost trip over someone coming down from one of the upper levels. They laugh and step back to give me space—it's one of the other students with whom I share a few classes, Ginger.