And the comments hit like a slap.
And on and on and on.
Some are scathing. Others are neutral. A few try to be fair. But none of them question the validity of the photo. None ask, What if there's more to this?
They all assume the worst.
And in the middle of it all—Grace's name, dragged through the mud.
Julian leans back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"This is getting wild…" Julian murmurs, abandoning the comment section altogether.
He drops the phone onto the bed and leans back against the headboard, pressing the heel of his palm over his face. Exhaustion pulses through him—an overwhelming wave of tangled thoughts, too many to name. Shame, disbelief, anger, worry—especially for Grace.
That's when his phone starts vibrating again. A call.
His breath catches for a moment.
Could it be Grace?
He snatches the phone, glances at the screen.
It's his friend, Eugene.
"Hey, Eugene," he says, lifting the phone to his ear.
"June…" Eugene's voice comes in low and tight, "I just saw something on social media."
Julian closes his eyes.
So now it's spread that far.
It's not just the school's internal community site anymore. It's gone public.
Viral.
"Yeah, so you saw the photo," Julian mutters, weariness deep in his tone.
"I mean, it's practically a scandal now. You gotta do something, June. It's everywhere. People are reposting it with all kinds of captions. Some are even tagging your school."
Julian's head drops forward. He presses his fingers into his temples. The pace of this is staggering. He didn't even think it could escalate this fast.
Eugene's voice softens slightly. "And Grace… the picture of her is just out there. It's not even blurred. Her face is completely visible. This isn't just damaging—it's humiliating."
Julian exhales, his breath heavy, his chest rising slowly as the weight of it all bears down.
He can barely find words.
"Did you call Grace already?" Eugene asks after a moment of silence.
"...No," Julian says, quietly.
"You didn't?" Eugene's voice rises. "Why don't you call her right now? She must be in shock too."
Julian exhales deeply, fatigue heavy in his voice.
"Maybe she's asleep. It's past midnight."
"No, man, trust me—she's already seen it. It's all over social media. Just call her, okay? I don't know… just be there for her or something."
"Okay," Julian says softly. "Thanks, Eugene."
"I'm really sorry, June. I wish there was something I could do to help."
"It's fine. I'll talk to the school faculty tomorrow and do everything I can to clear this up."
"You're always so calm and rational… I know you'll handle this," Eugene says, trying to reassure him.
"Thanks. Good night."
"Good night."
The call ends.
Julian lowers the phone and sits in silence for a moment. Then he rises from the bed, walking slowly toward the window. The city stretches out before him—dark, quiet, but still glimmering faintly under scattered lights. It looks calm. Peaceful. Unlike everything churning inside him.
He grips his phone tightly, Eugene's words still echoing in his mind.
Call her.
It makes sense. He should. She's probably overwhelmed, confused, scared. But something holds him back—something unspoken, perhaps fear, or uncertainty, or guilt.
He closes his eyes briefly, then exhales, steadying himself.
Finally, he opens the student contact list, scrolls down, and taps on Grace Silver.
Her number appears.
He hesitates only a moment more before pressing the call button.
The phone barely rings before she picks up.
"Hello," comes Grace's low voice from the other end—quiet, fragile, almost like she's been waiting.
"Hi… it's me. Julian."
"Yup, I know," Grace says. "So… did you see the photo?"
"Yeah. I'm guessing you've seen it too."
There's a brief silence on the line before her voice returns, soft and uncertain.
"…I'm sorry, Professor Julian. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
Julian can hear the guilt in her voice, that quiet shakiness wrapped in regret. Before she can say more, he gently cuts in.
"No, Grace. This isn't something you need to apologize for."
"But if I hadn't asked for your help… if I hadn't left the key back in the room—none of this would've happened."
She lets out a long, heavy sigh—a kind of exhale he's never heard from her before. It lands heavily in his chest.
Julian speaks again, trying to maintain calm in his voice, even if inside, he feels anything but.
"Don't worry. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll speak with the faculty and the administration office. I'll explain everything and make sure the truth is made clear. I won't let this spiral any further."
There's a pause, then Grace replies, her voice muffled and husky, barely above a whisper. "…Thank you."
Julian hesitates, as if searching for the right thing to say next, but before he can speak, the line goes dead.
The call has ended.
He stares at his phone for a second, still holding it in his hand. Then, with a quiet sigh, he sets it down on the bedside table and lets himself sink back into the mattress.
A part of him feels slightly relieved now that he's heard Grace's voice—reassured, somehow, by the fact that she didn't sound completely shattered. But another part of him remains unsettled, weighed down by the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring.
He closes his eyes and tries to calm the thoughts swirling in his mind.
Her voice… it was lighter than I feared. Maybe she's better at handling stress than I expected, he thinks as he pulls the blanket over himself, forcing his mind toward sleep, even though it feels like the longest night is still far from over.
Grace wakes with heavy eyes, the lingering weight of sleep pressing against her lids. Her fingers fumble for her phone on the nightstand.
It's 6:30 a.m.
I can sleep a bit more, she thinks, already sinking back into the mattress.
She pulls the blanket up to her chin, cocooning herself in its warmth. Her eyes flutter shut—but then it hits her.
Last night.
Her breath hitches. A flash of memory cuts through the fog in her mind like a shard of glass.
Was that… real?
She quickly unlocks her phone again, her thumb instinctively tapping into the messenger app.
There it is. The screen lights up with message after message.
It wasn't a dream.
"Oh no…" she whispers, a tight sigh escaping her lips.
She lets the phone fall onto the bed beside her, eyes fluttering shut once more.
This can't be real. Please tell me it's not real.
She turns on her side, then back again, restless, the blanket tangling around her legs.
Can I even go to class today? Everyone's going to look at me…
Her body stiffens at the thought. They've all seen it, she realizes with a spike of dread.
That photo… me, in just a towel.
She clenches her eyes shut, biting her bottom lip. Her heart races.
At least it covered everything important… but still. That expression—what even was that look? Ugh.
Grace moans quietly into her pillow.
I've never even kissed a guy before… and now people are going to think I'm this— She stops herself. The thought is too much. No. I can't keep spiraling.
Just as she burrows deeper into the blankets, the bedroom door creaks open. Her mother stands there, already dressed for work, her hair pulled back neatly and a purse slung over her shoulder.
"Grace, honey?" her mom says gently.
Grace doesn't move at first, just mumbles, "Yeah…" from beneath the covers.
"Are you going to class today?" Her mom's voice is soft but carries a trace of concern.
Grace exhales slowly, deeply, the kind of sigh that holds more weight than words.
"I'll have to, yeah…" Grace mumbles, her voice muffled under the blanket.
"Well," her mother says, her tone firm and pragmatic, "instead of going straight to class, go to the school office first. Talk to someone. You need to ask them to do something about this rumor."
Grace still doesn't open her eyes. The weight of sleep clings to her like fog.
"That part... Professor Julian said he'll talk to the office. He said he'd handle it."
"Oh, really?" Her mother's voice lifts with mild surprise. "He called you last night?"
"Yeah."
A warm smile creeps into her mother's voice. "He's a nice person, then. Calling you that late just to ease your mind—that's thoughtful."
Grace groans and finally pushes herself up from the mattress, propping her upper body on her elbows. She blinks at her mother standing in the doorway, dressed and composed like it's any other morning.
"Mom," she says, eyeing her, "you seem weird... fine with all this."
Her mother chuckles, undeterred.
"It's not like the rumor's true, Grace. You know that. I know that. Think of it this way—this is a chance for you to speak up for yourself, to stand up and tell the truth. It's a good experience. Like practice for life."