Valery's Rumor Ordeal

The glow of my laptop screen cast shadows across my face as I refreshed the university's booking system for the fifth time that hour. Three days. Three days of navigating this dysfunctional website, calling travel agencies during their limited student hours, and standing in queues that stretched across campus. All for two business class train tickets home for the holidays.

"Come on, come on," I whispered, blinking away the fatigue burning behind my eyes. The system crashed twice yesterday, and I'd spent six hours on hold with three different agencies. But it would be worth it. Worth every minute of lost sleep.

When the confirmation finally appeared, I let out a squeal that startled my roommate Emma from her studies.

"Valery? You okay?" she asked, peering over her economics textbook.

"I got them!" I spun my laptop toward her, pointing at the screen. "Two business class tickets for me and Wesley. We'll be able to sleep properly on the overnighter home."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "You actually managed to get business class? How?"

"It wasn't easy," I admitted, allowing myself a small smile of triumph. "But Wesley's never traveled business class before, and I want our first trip to meet my family to be perfect."

I carefully printed the e-tickets, tucking them into my wallet like precious documents. For three days, I'd maintained my usual modest appearance—jeans worn at the knees, hair pulled back in a simple ponytail—while secretly drawing on resources most students couldn't access. Not that they needed to know that.

---

"I have a surprise for you," Wesley said the next afternoon, sliding into the seat across from me at our favorite coffee shop. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

I stirred my latte absently. "What kind of surprise?"

He reached for my hand across the table, but I pulled back slightly. Something in his tone made me uneasy.

"I gave your train ticket to Isla," he said casually, as if announcing he'd borrowed my pen.

The spoon stilled in my cup. "You... what?"

"Isla's going through a really rough patch," he continued, oblivious to my growing disbelief. "Her boyfriend just dumped her, and she's been a wreck. She needs the comfort of business class more than you do."

"More than me?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

Wesley sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "It's just a train ticket, Valery. Don't be so materialistic."

"Just a train ticket?" I echoed, heat rising in my cheeks. "Do you have any idea what I went through to get those seats?"

"You can still come home," he said dismissively. "I booked you a standing-room ticket in the same car. It's not like you'll be in steerage or anything."

I stared at him, trying to process what was happening. Three sleepless nights. Countless phone calls. Hours of my time—all for nothing.

"Isla's really upset," he continued, his tone suggesting I should be more concerned about her feelings than my own. "She's been crying for days. You've never seen her like this."

"And you didn't think to discuss this with me first?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

Wesley's expression hardened. "What was there to discuss? It's my ticket too, and Isla needed it more."

"Your ticket?" I repeated, incredulous. "I secured both tickets."

"And I paid for them," he countered, though we both knew that wasn't true. I'd insisted on handling everything this time.

As I sat there, something shifted inside me. The carefully constructed wall I'd built around my true identity trembled slightly.

"I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of this," Wesley said, his voice taking on that condescending tone I'd grown to resent. "I thought you were better than this, Valery. More caring about others' feelings."

"Others' feelings?" I repeated, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

"Yes," he said firmly. "Isla is going through real emotional pain. Have you ever been truly devastated by a breakup? Do you even understand what that feels like?"

I stared at him, speechless. Of course I understood pain. But what struck me most was how easily he dismissed my efforts, how quickly he assumed I was being selfish rather than disappointed.

"Look," he said, reaching for his phone, "if it makes you feel better, I'll show you the standing-room ticket I got you. It's actually not that bad—"

I tuned out as he scrolled through his phone, suddenly seeing with perfect clarity what I had been blind to for months.