Chapter Text
It starts with a promise.
A real one—spoken softly in the quiet glow of their room, after a long night of studying.
“You need a break, Elphie,” Galinda says, flopping onto her bed with a dramatic sigh. “You’ll turn into one of those stuffy old professors if you keep working yourself to death.”
Elphaba doesn’t look up from her textbook. “I’m fine.”
Galinda huffs, unimpressed. “You always say that. But you’re two books away from combusting. So”—she props herself up on one elbow, her eyes gleaming with sudden determination—“I’m taking you out. Next Saturday. After our last exam.”
Elphaba looks up at that. The tiniest bit of color decorating the tips of her ears.
“No studying, no lectures, no books,” she continues, as if she can already hear Elphaba protesting. “Just us. And you can’t say no.”
Elphaba quickly recovers and snorts softly, but there’s no real bite behind it. “Why do you care?”
The teasing spark in Galinda’s eyes dims into something quieter—something real.
“Because I do,” she says, softer now. “And because someone should.”
And just like that, Elphaba’s heart stumbles.
She knows better than to want things. Wanting only leads to disappointment. Birthdays, holidays—things that mattered to other children—had passed her by, year after year, with nothing but indifference in their wake. She’s learned to bury her wants so deeply they can’t hurt her. If you go without something for so long you can convince yourself you don’t actually want it.
But when Galinda looks at her like that—warm and earnest and impossibly bright—Elphaba lets herself believe, just for a moment, that maybe this time will be different.
“You promise?” Elphaba teases, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
Galinda scrawls the date onto a piece of pink stationery and pins it to their wall—Our Day! No Books Allowed!
“Promise!” Galinda announces with absolute certainty.
It is then Elphaba does something she hasn’t done in years.
She lets herself hope.
And maybe that was her first mistake.
The days leading up to Saturday blur together—long hours spent buried in papers and exams. But beneath the exhaustion, a quiet, fragile anticipation blooms.
She doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t let herself acknowledge how much it matters. Galinda would certainly think her silly if she showed the excitement that was bubbling under her skin. But when the lights are out and Galinda’s breathing evens into sleep, Elphaba allows herself to imagine what their day will look like.
A day where she isn’t just the serious, sharp-edged girl no one really knows. A day where someone wants her— chooses her.
Her heart flutters thinking about her and Galinda walking along the water together or sitting in the gardens chatting. They’d go somewhere to eat and she’d tease her when she orders something overly sweet. Maybe Galinda would respond with something like ‘Well you are what you eat!’ and flutter her eyelashes the way that always makes her heart skip. Maybe Galinda would indulge her and break the no book rule and let her slip into the local bookshop to peruse the books she’ll never buy herself.
A small sigh escapes her lips, a pleasant warmth floods her at the thought of her and Galinda walking arm in arm. The way Galinda always pulls her a little bit closer and how her fingers grip her arm a little tighter than she thinks friends do.
She feels the heat rise up her neck at the thought. Sure it was foolish, she was…well…her, and Galinda was perfection incarnate. There was never a world in which her silly little fantasy would ever be a reality, so she refuses to say it outloud. But laying here in the dark, listening to her soft breathing she imagines that world. A world of sweet words and soft touches and the idea of being wanted above all others.
For once, she falls into her fantasies and has pleasant dreams.
“Why, Miss Elphaba—look at you, at lunch without a textbook.”
Elphaba glances up to see Fiyero grinning as he slides into the seat across from her.
“Even I need a break sometimes,” she replies. Her last exam is finished, the weight of it lifting from her shoulders. And tomorrow—
Tomorrow is Galinda’s promise, a day for just them.
“I didn’t know you took breaks.” Fiyero pops a blueberry into his mouth, watching her with curiosity.
“Well,” Elphaba says, allowing herself the faintest smile, “I suppose I need the practice for tomorrow.”
His eyebrows lift. “Tomorrow?”
“Oh, it’s nothing important,” she says, attempting—and failing—to sound casual. “Galinda thinks I work too much. She planned something for us, somewhere she wants to take me.” Elphaba shrugs, but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips is undeniable. “She promised we’d have a day together.”
It shouldn’t excite her this much, but it does, and she knows her cheeks betray her. From the way Fiyero’s expression softens, she knows he sees it too.
“Well,” he says, leaning back with a cheeky smile. “I hope you two have a wonderful day.”
A voice, sharp and ugly whispers to her. A voice that had followed her since childhood, to remind her of her place in the world. A voice that she thought she had buried with age.
She’s just being nice. Don’t get your hopes up.
She quickly pushes the noise aside, and Elphaba—against her better judgment—hopes so too.
When Saturday arrives, she wakes early. Too early.
The sun is barely rising when Elphaba pops her head up from her pillow. The excitement of spending her day with Galinda uninterrupted gives her the extra pep she needs to begin her morning routine. Washing, dressing, a cup of raspberry tea to start her morning off right. She sits on her bed nursing her mug and opening a book she doesn’t really read. She waits—listening for the familiar rustle of Galinda stirring beside her.
When Galinda finally stretches and blinks blearily into the morning light, Elphaba shuts the book and can’t help but smile brightly in her direction.
“Morning,” she says, softer than usual.
Galinda smiles at her—warm and golden and dazzling. “Mmm. Morning.”
Elphaba can’t help the heat she feels crawl up her neck as she stares at the sleepy girl before her. The girl she is before she puts on the facade of perfection. The real Galinda. She’s beautiful.
“What?” Galinda asks, Elphaba’s gaze lasting too long.
“Nothing.” She murmurs quickly and looks away, embarrassed.
Galinda hums and watches for an extra moment, as if studying her, her smile grows just a tad bit more before rising and disappearing into the bathroom leaving Elphaba alone.
Elphaba lets out a breath she didn’t notice she was holding and swings her legs off the side of the bed. Her attention now fixed on the window and the morning light filtering through.
For a moment—for one perfect, impossible moment—everything feels right.
The knot in her stomach starts small.
Galinda takes longer than usual to get ready, which is saying a lot considering her skin care routine is seven steps alone. Her eyes are locked on her own gaze in the mirror as she applies her mascara.
“Oh!” Galinda exclaims, suddenly. “Pfannee’s hosting a garden party today—everyone’s going. It’ll be divine. ” Her eyes darted towards Elphaba’s reflection from across the room.
Elphaba stays quiet, but her brow scrunches slightly.
Surely she is kidding. She thinks as she watches Galinda flit around the room.
The pink note is still pinned to their wall. Elphaba’s eyes dance between the note and the golden blur that is Galinda. Waiting— waiting —for her to glance at it and remember her promise.
But Galinda never looks at it. She doesn’t even spare that part of the room a glance.
Instead, she twirls in front of the mirror, beaming at her reflection. “Do you think this dress is too much? Ugh, never mind—of course it’s not.”
“So that’s your Saturday plan, then?” Elphaba asks, her voice colder than she means it to be. “Brunch with your adoring fans in the gardens?”
Galinda laughs softly, not catching the sharp edge beneath the question. “Well, obviously. I do have a reputation to maintain, you know. Besides…” She pauses, as if contemplating something. “You never want to join in these outings with the girls. It’s ‘not your scene’ as you’ve so pointendly stated multiple times.”
Elphaba swallows hard against the ache rising in her throat. “Right,” she says, forcing the word past the tightness in her chest. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your fun.”
Galinda doesn’t notice the hurt hidden in her tone. She just beams, twirling one last time before grabbing her handbag.
“You could never ruin my fun, Elphie,” she says sincerely as she heads to the door. “I think you’d enjoy yourself if you tried it earnestly, so if you change your mind you know where to find me.”
She fixes her hair one more time before turning and smiling at Elphaba.
“I hope to see you later!”
And just like that—she’s gone.
The silence left behind is heavier than it should be.
Elphaba doesn’t move for a long time, or maybe it’s just minutes, she can’t be sure. She simply stares at the pink note still pinned to the wall—Our Day! No Books Allowed!—as the knot that has now grown ten times inside her, slowly hardens into something else.
It was a promise. But promises are easy to make. Easier still to break. Elphaba should have known—she’s always known—that people don’t care about her. Not when there are brighter, prettier, easier things to care about.
Still, she stands quietly, glancing at the door.
Just in case.
But Galinda never comes back.
You knew this would happen. Whispers the voice. This is what you get for thinking otherwise.
Elphaba is left with nothing but an empty room and an embarrassing, broken hope she’ll never allow herself to feel again. The stillness begins to suffocate as she stands there, feeling foolish for allowing herself to feel like a child once more. She’s forced to move—forced to shake the aching emptiness from her bones.
She takes a deep breath, adjusts her dress, and leaves her room with the same quiet, deliberate steps she’s grown so accustomed to. It’s better this way. It’s better to bury the hurt in the routine, to slip into the rhythm of her day where the world doesn’t expect anything from her.
The library feels like a refuge, the towering shelves of books offering her an escape from herself. She moves through the aisles without purpose, skimming her fingers across the spines, not really looking for anything—just for the illusion of control, the comfort of knowing that some things don’t change. The words in the books never disappoint. They’re always there, always constant, always waiting for her.
When she reaches a familiar table, she sets her things down and settles into the work that has always filled her time. It’s something to do, something that keeps her mind from wandering back to that empty promise. She finds her textbook and starts flipping through the pages, but the words blur together, unimportant, distant. She’s not really reading. Not really thinking.
The soft shuffle of hooves pulls her from her thoughts. She looks up, surprised to see Dr. Dillamond standing at the edge of the table. His gaze flickers to her, then to the empty seat beside her. He must have come to ask for help.
“Ah, Miss Elphaba,” Dr. Dillamond says, adjusting his glasses as best as he can. “Would you be interested in assisting me with some research? Your passion for the subject is always so refreshing and I think you’ll enjoy what I have here today.”
Elphaba hesitates, looking down at the book pages in front of her. She doesn’t want to be rude—especially not to him, not when he’s one of the few who’s ever shown her respect. But the thought of diving into work without her thoughts slipping back to Galinda, to that forgotten promise, is like trying to drown a fire with a single cup of water.
Still, she nods. “Of course, Professor.”
Dr. Dillamond’s eyes light up as he slides into the seat beside her, and for a moment, Elphaba feels the flicker of something resembling distraction. She turns her attention to the papers in front of her, doing what she does best—focusing, analyzing, burying herself in the things she understands. The references, the notes, the accounts—they make sense. They don’t require anything of her that she can’t give.
But even as she works, a part of her is still listening for a sound that won’t come—the soft padding of heels on the carpeted floor. Galinda’s voice calling her name, asking for forgiveness or making some excuse. She doesn’t even know what she wants anymore, but she knows she’s waiting for something.
Hours pass and morning turns into afternoon.
Dr. Dillamond talks as he works, but his voice is a background hum, a comfort in its own way. He talks about his research, about the shifts he’s seeing in Oz, about his theories on the future. The words are soothing—academic, detached, familiar. They drown out her thoughts for the time being.
Eventually, as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, Elphaba stands, stretching the stiffness out of her back. She doesn’t know what time it is anymore. The whole day has been a blur of motion without feeling.
“Thank you, Miss Elphaba,” Dr. Dillamond says, breaking through her fog. “Your help has been invaluable, as always.”
She nods, offering him a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s no trouble at all.”
And with that, she gathers her things, her movements automatic. She leaves the library without looking back, without any real purpose. She doesn’t know where she’s going. Maybe her room. Maybe the quad. Maybe she’ll just wander, as she always does, letting the shadows of the late afternoon stretch out and swallow her thoughts.
She avoids the dining hall. Too much noise.
I’m not even really that hungry anyways. She tells herself as she hurriedly passes the building.
She reaches her favorite garden, one of many Shiz has cultivated over the years, as the late afternoon sun beats down on her. She can’t help but glance toward the benches, the spots where she had possibly imagined spending her day with Galinda—talking, laughing, the world slipping away.
But the benches are empty now, and she rips her gaze away from them.
Foolish.
She continues walking.
At some point, she ends up by the lake, staring out at the water that seems so calm and unbothered. She picks up a rock and tosses it in, sending ripples across and disrupting the peace.
Elphaba exhales, trying to expel the heaviness in her chest. It doesn’t work. The weight still sits there, cold and unrelenting. She wonders—just for a moment—if it will always be this way. If she will always have to carry the quiet disappointment of being forgotten, of being invisible, even to those who promised to see her. By the one person she thought might care.
Of course you wicked green thing. This is how our story is meant to be.
The wind off the lake is soothing. The cool breeze cuts through the heat and she watches as lily pads float aimlessly. She doesn’t move. Not for a long time.
The ache in her chest has dulled into something heavier—something harder to shake. She should go back to her room. She should bury herself in her work again, where things are easier, where she doesn’t have to feel like this. But her legs stay rooted to the ground, as if some foolish, desperate part of her still hopes Galinda will come find her.
Instead of her pretty blonde roommate, her thoughts are interrupted by a gleefully brainless prince.
“Fae? What are you doing here?”
Elphaba glances up to see Fiyero strolling by, some girl she doesn’t care to know attached to his arm.
“Nothing, just enjoying the view.” She says and looks back to the water.
“Isn’t today your day with Galinda?”
She laughs under her breath—soft and bitter and hollow.
“Don’t be silly.” She states, crossing her arms. “Galinda has much better things to do than waste time on me.”
Fiyero frowns and glances at the girl beside him. He mutters something to her, something Elphaba doesn’t even attempt to catch, before she scurries off.
“Come, sit with me.” He says and plops to the ground, patting the spot beside him.
“And why would I do that?” She questions.
“Because you have time.”
The words sting and she scowls, but she sits regardless.
“Why aren’t you at Pfannee’s party? I heard everyone was going to be there.” She asks, trying to feign indifference. Fiyero gives it a thought before shrugging.
“Not really my scene.”
Elphaba exhales sharply through her nose but doesn’t comment.
The breeze stirs the air, tugging at the loose braids of Elphaba’s hair as she stares out over the lake. Sunlight glints off the water’s surface, too bright—too cheerful—for the heavy ache curling in her chest.
Beside her, Fiyero sprawls on the grass, legs stretched out like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s irritating—the way he always seems so at ease while everything inside her feels too tight, too raw.
“So,” he says eventually, breaking the silence, “are you going to tell me what happened, or should I start guessing?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” The words are clipped—too sharp—but she doesn’t bother to soften them. Let him think what he wants.
“Ah.” He nods, like she’s confirmed something for him. “So, she forgot.”
The words hit harder than they should, cracking through the fragile wall she’s been trying to hold up all day. Elphaba clenches her jaw, willing herself not to react—not to feel anything at all.
“I knew she would,” she says, too quickly. Too cold. Because if she doesn’t care, it can’t hurt. Right?
Fiyero hums, a quiet, knowing sound that makes her want to shove him into the lake. “And yet,” he says, with a lazy tilt of his head, “you’re still waiting.”
“I am not waiting.” She snaps the words like a whip, but it doesn’t matter—he isn’t fooled. “I just wanted some air. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Right,” he drawls, stretching his arms behind his head. “And I’m secretly the Wizard in disguise.”
Elphaba shoots him a glare—one she hopes will burn—but he only grins like this whole thing is some kind of joke.
“Why are you even here?” she demands, too tired to keep dancing around whatever game he’s playing.
“Well I was on a romantic stroll with a suitor.” His tone is easy, breezy, like nothing about this moment matters to him. But when she doesn’t have a quick witted reply he sobers—just a little. “But when I saw you,” he adds, quieter now, “I knew you needed me more.”
The words hit something vulnerable inside her—something she’s tried all afternoon to bury.
She’s used to being alone. She made peace with it a long long time ago. She can even convince herself she enjoys it. But today, being alone feels heavier than normal. Like it is some sort of punishment for forgetting her place in the carefully crafted social ladder.
He feels sorry for you. That ugly voice whispers.
“I’m not some charity case,” she states, but the usual fire behind her words is missing.
“I know,” Fiyero says, the teasing completely gone from his voice. “You’re not.”
It’s the softness in his tone that unsettles her—the way he says it like it’s obvious, like it should be impossible to think otherwise.
Elphaba doesn’t want his pity. She doesn’t want anyone’s pity. What she wants—what she’s been too foolish to admit—is for one person to mean it when they promise to choose her. For her to choose her.
“I should go,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
“On what?” Fiyero asks, and there’s something dangerous in the question—something that makes her throat tighten.
On hoping that—for once—someone would think she was worth remembering. On frivolous daydreams that painted her in a different light. On her.
But she won’t say that. Not to him. Not to anyone.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says instead. And if she says it enough times, maybe it’ll be true.
She’s already walking away, her footsteps too quick, when Fiyero calls after her.
“Elphaba.”
Against her better judgment, she stops.
“She should have remembered,” he says, and the quiet certainty in his voice slices through her defenses like a blade.
The words scrape against something fragile—something she’s been trying to lock away since this morning. And before she can stop herself, before she can stitch the edges of herself back together, she whispers the truth she’s been trying to deny.
“I know.”
The words taste bitter on her tongue, because she did know. She knew Galinda would forget. Everyone in her life forgets her, very rarely by accident and almost always on purpose. She just wanted to believe— just once —that maybe she wouldn’t be pushed to the side so easily.
And this time, when she walks away, she doesn’t stop and she doesn’t look back.
She walks away from the lake with her chin lifted, her stride sharp and deliberate, as if she can outpace the ache curling tight inside her chest. The late afternoon sun, now shifting to twilight, hangs low in the sky, casting warm golden hues over the campus, but it does nothing to chase away the cold settling deep in her bones.
By the time she reaches Crage Hall, the familiar stone walls feel heavier than usual—like they’re pressing down on her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She shouldn’t feel this way. Not over something as stupid as a forgotten promise.
Because that’s what you are. A stupid stupid girl.
She knew better. She always knows better.
So why did it hurt so much more this time?
She bites her tongue, her sharp teeth pierce the flesh just slightly, the metallic taste momentarily distracting her from the voice in her head.
Her footsteps echo in the empty corridor as she climbs the staircase, fingers curling into fists at her sides. Maybe Galinda’s still at Pfannee’s party, laughing with people who fit more neatly into her perfect little world.
She belongs with them. Not her beautifully tragic roommate.
The thought twists inside her—sharp and bitter.
When she reaches their room, the door creaks softly as she pushes it open. The room is too quiet, too empty.
And there—still pinned to the wall —is the note.
Our Day! No Books Allowed!
The handwriting is cheerful, with playful loops and hearts where there should be dots. The edges of the pink paper flutter faintly in the breeze from a cracked window, as if mocking her.
Elphaba stares at it for a long moment, her throat tight and aching.
Without thinking, she crosses the room and reaches for the note on the wall. Her gaze is sharp as she stares at it, hand raised to pull it down. She should throw it away. She should rip it into pieces and let it go—let her go.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she leaves it be and turns back to her half of the room. It may be petty but part of her wants Galinda to see it, to remember what she had forgotten and maybe even feel bad about it.
She tells herself it doesn’t matter. That it’s better this way as she opens the door to the balcony and steps out.
Because the truth—the one she refuses to say aloud—is that she doesn’t fit in anywhere.
And maybe it was foolish or maybe it was pathetic, to think that, just for one day, she could matter to someone like Galinda.
The sound of laughter drifts up from the courtyard below—light and careless and far away. Elphaba grips the railing hard.
If she’s learned anything, it’s that wanting— hoping —only leads to disappointment.
She won’t make that mistake again.
The twilight sun soon turns into a moonless evening. Elphaba buries herself in her work, scribbling notes in the margins of her textbook with a furious intensity. She tells herself over and over she doesn’t care. That this is better—easier. Books don’t forget you. Research doesn’t make promises it won’t keep.
She’s halfway through an essay she doesn’t need to finish for another two weeks, working carefully by lamplight. She has since retired from the balcony to her bed. The ache in her chest has dulled into something distant—something easier to ignore—when the door to their room swings open with a cheerful click .
“Sweet Oz, that party was divine.”
Galinda sweeps in like a breeze—bright and glittering and effortless . She hums to herself as she drops her purse onto her bed, the soft scent of flowers trailing after her. Elphaba doesn’t look up. She tightens her grip on her quill and keeps writing, as if she can will herself invisible.
Galinda, of course, doesn’t notice.
Why would she notice anything about you?
“I know you don’t like parties but you should’ve come, Elphie,” she says, toeing off her shoes with a contented sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know how you manage to stay cooped up all day when there are so many more exciting things to do. The event decor was absolutely breathtaking. And you’ll never guess who tried to kiss Milla—”
Her voice is light and careless—so casual it makes Elphaba’s stomach twist.
Elphaba swallows against the bitterness rising in her throat and flips a page in her book with a little more force than necessary and copies something down.
“Sounds delightful,” she says, her tone as sharp as the edges of her heart.
If Galinda hears the venom behind her words, she doesn’t show it.
“Oh, it was! And the cake—Elphie, the cake—” She flops onto her bed, all sparkling joy and soft laughter. “I mean, I usually avoid cakes, they always come out so dry, but I couldn’t resist. It was lavender honey— heavenly. ”
Elphaba’s fingers tighten around her quill until they ache. She could say something. She could bring it up—could throw the forgotten promise in Galinda’s face and let her see how much it hurt.
But what would be the point?
She’s not Galinda’s priority. She never was and she never will be.
“I’m sure it was.” The words taste like ash in her mouth.
Finally— finally —Galinda seems to notice something is off. She props herself up on one elbow, her bright eyes scanning Elphaba’s rigid posture. “Elphie?” Her voice softens, losing its playful edge. “Is everything all right?”
The question stings. The fact she needs to ask tells everything she needs to know about her place in Galinda’s life.
Elphaba doesn’t look up, refusing to meet Galinda’s gaze. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks. “I’ve had a perfectly productive day.”
Galinda frowns, her brows drawing together in confusion. She opens her mouth—maybe to press further—but a knock at the door interrupts her.
“Galinda, you must come! You won’t believe who just asked me out!” Pfannee’s voice, sugary and insistent, drifts through the door.
Galinda hesitates—just for a heartbeat—before hopping to her feet. “Coming!” she calls, casting one last glance at Elphaba.
If she remembers the note on the wall—the promise she made—she doesn’t say anything.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the room falls quiet again.
Elphaba sits there, staring at the place where Galinda had been, as the ache in her chest spreads—thick and heavy and impossible to shake.
She should have known better.