Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 173

**Hearts Written in Silent Rain by Ava Bloomfield**

**Chapter 173**

Noah

As the final bell reverberated through the hall, all I yearned for was a fleeting moment of peace, a small sanctuary amid the relentless storm of high school life that seemed to swirl around me.

The day hadn’t been particularly grueling in terms of academics; in fact, the details of my teachers’ lectures felt like a distant fog, barely registering in my mind.

What truly gnawed at my composure were the insidious whispers that slithered through the air like venomous snakes, burrowing beneath my skin and igniting a simmering frustration that made me want to hurl my backpack against the nearest locker.

Jessa and I exited the cafeteria together, our shoulders brushing ever so slightly, a closeness that was enough to draw the eyes of our peers, yet we weren’t holding hands.

And evidently, such proximity was scandalous in the eyes of those who watched us.

Fragments of their hushed conversations reached my ears, sharp and cutting:

“Why her?”

“He can do better.”

“She’s not even that pretty.”

“She doesn’t wear makeup.”

“Dude, he’s desperate.”

Each whispered remark felt like a dagger aimed at me, even though they were directed at her, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Jessa’s expression shifted, the way her shoulders would tense and then relax, only to tense up again.

She was valiantly attempting to conceal her discomfort, but I saw through her facade.

It made my heart ache for her, a deep, gnawing ache that twisted in my chest.

It ignited a simmering anger within me, not just for myself, but for the injustice she faced.

But above all, I loathed the audacity of others to believe they had any say in who I chose to care for.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

When practice finally rolled around, the locker room buzzed with an energy so palpable it felt like it could crack concrete.

Jackson tossed his bag onto the bench beside me, his brow furrowing slightly as he asked, “You good?”

“Fine,” I replied, attempting to sound indifferent, though I could feel the tightness in my chest.

He arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’re acting like you’re one bad play away from committing felony assault.”

“I said I’m fine,” I repeated, my voice a bit sharper than intended.

“Right,” he shot back dryly. “And I’m Cinderella.”

I shot him a look that could curdle milk. “I thought you were still adjusting to the whole me-and-your-sister situation.”

“Still weird,” he admitted with a shrug, “But… she’s happy. I can deal with weird.”

His words struck me unexpectedly, a reminder of the tangled web of relationships we navigated daily.

“Thanks,” I murmured, pulling my jersey over my head, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and confusion.

He nudged my shoulder with his, a gesture that felt almost like a hug, before wandering off to join the others.

Practice was grueling.

The coach was in full drill-sergeant mode, barking orders with an intensity that felt almost maniacal.

It seemed like nobody could take a breath without incurring his wrath.

Normally, I thrived under such pressure, but today it only wound me tighter, like a spring coiled to its breaking point.

All I could think about was Jessa, desperately trying to act as if the hurtful comments from people who didn’t matter didn’t affect her.

By the time practice finally ended, I felt utterly drained—my body ached, and my mind was a jumbled mess.

All I longed for was to see her.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the parking lot, I made my way toward the chaos of teammates shouting and cars honking, the usual cacophony that accompanied the end of another school day.

And then, there she was.

Jessa stood with Mariah near the flagpole, her backpack slung casually over one shoulder, her hair dancing in the gentle breeze, a soft smile illuminating her face as she listened intently to something Mariah was saying.

My heart raced, a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I jogged over, still catching my breath from practice, and greeted her with a casual, “Hey.”

She turned to me, and her entire face lit up—not in an exaggerated manner, but with a warmth that felt genuine and real.

“Hi,” she replied, her eyes flickering momentarily behind me. “Practice must’ve been rough.”

I blinked at her, momentarily stunned by her concern.

Then I glanced around, taking in the bustling scene before returning my gaze to her.

“…wait. Why are you still here?”

The question slipped out, tinged with surprise; she was never one to linger at school this late.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “I, um… I wanted to watch you practice.”

My mind short-circuited at her admission, a mix of disbelief and elation surging within me.

“You… watched me?” I asked, incredulity lacing my voice.

She nodded, her eyes dropping shyly for a moment. “Yeah. I did.”

A warm sensation tightened in my chest—a good kind of tightness that made me feel buoyant.

“Why?” I asked softly, genuinely curious.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Because… I wanted to.”

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