CHAPTER 111: DO YOU THINK SHE HARD A BOYFRIEND BEFORE

Azazel exhaled deeply as he walked away from Ava’s gate. His hand moved to his waist, massaging the spot absentmindedly, as though trying to ease a pressure that had nothing to do with muscle or bone.

He stopped mid-step, turned to the side, and glanced over his shoulder—back at the house he had just left. His chest rose with another slow breath, but this time, it didn’t quite fall.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, looking both lost and helpless, before finally turning back and unlocking his car.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the leather warm against his back, and closed the door softly behind him.

A beat passed before he leaned back with a sigh and stared at the steering wheel, his fingers drumming lightly against it.

"So... that’s what happens when you try to do things the right way," he muttered to himself, voice low and thick with frustration.

"To be respectful, to make it known, to do things properly... Why is it so hard when it comes to you, Ava?"

Before his mouth could open again, a voice—his own, but from deep within—interrupted his thoughts.

’ Because success always needs a try... but not just any try. It should be hard work. To get something good, you have to be a hard worker.’

’ And Ava? Ava is a good girl. You know that. She’s the good one. Of course she’ll be hard to get.’

Azazel blinked, and a small, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He nodded slowly, resting both hands on the steering wheel.

"You’re right. I’ll try my best," he whispered. "I love you, Ava."

With renewed determination, he turned the key, kickstarting the engine. The quiet hum of the car filled the space around him. As he pulled into a smooth U-turn, he muttered, "Let me visit Alan. I need to cool my head."

Less than twenty minutes later, he pulled into the familiar driveway of his long-time friend, Alan.

The sun was now peeking through scattered clouds, casting soft gold light across the quiet neighborhood.

Alan’s house wasn’t far from Ava’s—comfortably tucked between rows of similar bungalows with blooming hibiscus along the fence.

Azazel stepped out of the car and walked toward the front door.

With a casual motion, he punched in the door’s keypad code and stepped inside.

"Hey, Al!" he called out, his voice echoing slightly through the small hallway.

A voice floated from the kitchen. "So it’s you."

Azazel walked in, grinning as he caught sight of Alan at the stove.

His friend stood there with a mischievous smile curling on his face, spatula in one hand and a checkered dish towel slung over his shoulder.

"Of course, it’s me. Who were you expecting? A girlfriend? Or maybe—eh, ehm," Azazel teased, winking as he made a ridiculous kissing sound.

Alan snorted with laughter and shook his head. "Stop that nonsense. I’m not waiting for any girl here. Can’t you see I’m cooking, man?"

Azazel chuckled and walked toward the living room, plopping down lazily on the soft grey couch.

He let his body sink into the cushions and stretched out his legs.

"What are you cooking?" he shouted, already reaching for the remote resting on the side table.

"I’m cooking knife and spoon," Alan replied flatly.

Azazel nodded seriously. "Mmm, sounds crunchy. Just don’t forget me when it’s time to serve."

From the kitchen, Alan let out a short laugh.

The air was thick with the scent of seasoned spices and instant noodles.

The aroma clung to the air, warm and savory, making Azazel’s stomach growl.

He flipped through a few channels, settling on one of those classic action movies they both liked, just as the sounds of a pot lid being placed down and gas turned off echoed from the kitchen.

Moments later, Alan walked in holding two bowls. Steam rose from them in curly tendrils, and the scent hit Azazel like a wave of comfort.

"Hey, have it," Alan said as he dropped down beside Azazel and handed him one of the bowls.

"Thanks," Azazel replied, immediately grabbing the bowl—only to yelp lightly and quickly place it back on the coffee table. "Hot! Damn, that’s boiling!"

Alan laughed, already twirling noodles with his fork. "Like always—afraid of heat," he teased, eyes twinkling as he shook his head.

Azazel narrowed his eyes but smiled. "I just respect temperature. That’s called wisdom."

They both chuckled, the comfortable silence between them filled with the soft sound of noodles being slurped and the occasional bang from the TV speakers.

For a while, the world outside faded—the pressure, the expectations, even Ava.

Here, in the warmth of a best friend’s home, with a hot bowl of noodles and light banter, Azazel found a small pocket of peace.

But even as he ate, his thoughts drifted back to Ava—her eyes, her voice, her grace.

And though he said nothing aloud, the quiet determination remained behind his calm gaze.

He would try again.

And next time, he would make it count.

The silence from Azazel stretched too long. Alan shifted on the couch, watching him closely.

He knew his friend well enough to recognize when something was off — but this quiet wasn’t the usual "Azazel silence." No, this was different. Heavy.

Still.

And it made Alan uneasy.

He waited another few seconds before asking, gently but firmly,

"Azazel... what happened?"

Azazel didn’t look up immediately.

His hands were clasped together, his thumbs pressed hard into each other like they were the only thing anchoring him.

Then he let out a slow breath and finally spoke.

"I went to Ava’s house."

His voice was steady, but the edge of something unspoken hung beneath.

"I wanted to be honest. Tell her parents how I feel. Ask for permission to court her properly. No games. No sneaking around. Just... respect."

Alan nodded silently, encouraging him.

"They listened." Azazel blinked once, slowly. "They were surprised, sure, but they didn’t throw me out. They invited me to sit. They even called her to join us."

He paused. The next words came heavier.

"She came downstairs. Looked at me. Then looked at her parents."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"They told her to sit, said we should talk things out properly."

Alan tilted his head.

"And?"

Azazel looked at the ground again.

"She asked me to leave."

The words cut through the air.

Alan’s eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

Azazel gave a soft, humorless laugh.

"I mean she stood there in front of all of us and asked me to go.With raised voice. With anger, I could see how she is trying hard not to pounce on me, even though she won’t. Just... ’You should go, Azazel.’"

"It just like I have become a bother in her life, a gum that is stuck in her hair and she desperately want to remove." Azazel explain.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice quieter now.

"I could see her mother didn’t understand. Her father looked confused too. But Ava didn’t give them a chance to argue. She didn’t want to sit. She didn’t want to talk. She just... wanted me gone."

Alan studied his friend carefully, then asked the one question Azazel hadn’t considered.

"Do you think she had a boyfriend before?"

Azazel blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Ava," Alan clarified. "Do you think she was ever in a relationship before? Maybe someone who hurt her... maybe badly?"

Azazel opened his mouth to answer, then closed it.

He hadn’t thought about that. Not once. Not seriously.

He always saw Ava as composed, smart, sometimes guarded — but not wounded.

He assumed her hesitation was fear of reputation, pressure from family, or maybe just nerves. But now, Alan’s question hit differently.

His eyes dropped again, replaying the scene — her calm expression, the way she stood at a distance, how she avoided eye contact as she told him to leave.

The fact that her parents had been willing to give him a chance, and she still chose to end it before it began.

She hadn’t said he was making things complicated.

That was just what he felt — the sting of being dismissed, the confusion of not knowing why.

But maybe... maybe it wasn’t confusion.

Maybe it was pain.

"I don’t know," Azazel murmured.

But now, the thought wouldn’t let go.

What if she had been broken already?

What if some other guy had gotten close to her before him — only to betray her, shame her, or leave her with wounds she still carried in silence?

He swallowed, suddenly unsure of everything.

"You really think that’s possible?" he asked Alan quietly.

Alan gave a thoughtful shrug.

"It’s not hard to imagine. Some people learn to smile through pain. Maybe she learned early how to protect herself by not letting anyone in."

Azazel sat back slowly, his heart heavy.

If that’s true...

If she’s been broken from the beginning...

Then how could she ever believe he was different? That he wouldn’t hurt her the same way?

"She never said anything," Azazel muttered, more to himself than Alan.

"Not even a hint that someone else had been in the picture. But now... it makes sense. How quiet she gets when things start feeling real. How quick she is to step back the moment I get closer."

Alan said nothing more. He didn’t need to.

Azazel sat there, his mind spiraling deeper.

She had sent him away. Not with cruelty, But with anger. Just... distance.

That quiet, controlled way people use when they’re hiding pain beneath calm.

If she’s already been shattered once...

Then maybe her silence wasn’t rejection.

Maybe it was fear.

Azazel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again.

"What if I remind her of whoever hurt her?"

He looked up, eyes shadowed with emotion.

"What if every time I try to show her love, she sees it as a trap?"

Alan didn’t answer this time. The question wasn’t meant for him. It was for the one person who wouldn’t answer — not yet.

And Azazel, for the first time in his life, realized how fragile hope can feel when the heart you want has been hurt by another before you even arrived.