Elena barely slept. The hours crawled by, each one filled with the ghost of his touch — the brush of his fingers against her cheek, the heat of his breath, the way her pulse had leapt the moment his lips found hers.
Her first kiss.
And it hadn't been soft or shy like she had imagined; it had been real — alive, electric, terrifying.
Her first kiss?
Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that moment — his hand in her hair, his voice a whisper that slipped under her skin. The more she tried to forget, the clearer it became, until the memory throbbed through her like a second heartbeat.
Her first kiss!
By 6 a.m., she gave up pretending to sleep. Her pillow was damp from restless tossing, her head heavy. She sat up, hugging her knees, the pale light spilling through her curtains.
What did this even mean?
Was Nathan… really into her?
The thought felt absurd. She wasn't like the girls who caught attention effortlessly. She wasn't beautiful in the dazzling, head-turning way Claire was.She wasn't witty, or mysterious, or bold. She was… ordinary. Quiet. The kind of girl people forgot in a crowd.
And Nathan — with his confidence, his calm voice, his eyes that seemed to see right through her — he was everything she wasn't.
"Maybe he was just… being nice," she muttered to herself, though her chest ached at the thought.
She tried to imagine what everyone would say if they ever found out. Her father's disappointment. Her mother's sharp disbelief.
Her mother's voice echoed, cruelly clear in her memory:
> "Dating is a waste of time, Elena. Boys only play. They ruin your focus, your future — and when they're done, they move on. It's the girl who pays the price."
And her father's voice, stern and cold:
> "If you want to live under this roof, you'll forget that boy. Do you understand me?"
Her stomach turned. She remembered that night — sixteen years old, sitting on the living-room couch, trembling while her mother's words cut deeper than any slap could.
> "You're becoming a disgrace. Acting like a slut, chasing after boys. Is this what we raised you for?"
She'd never forgotten that. Never forgotten the shame, the way her father's silence had felt heavier than anger.
A shiver ran down her spine.
And now this — this mess with Nathan — was stirring all those ghosts again.
Her temples throbbed. The headache was sharp, the kind that came from too much overthinking. She needed air. She needed someone to talk to.
There was only one person who had always been there.
Dree.
She grabbed her phone, fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled to his name. The call connected on the fourth ring.
"Hmm… what's up, Leen?" His voice was thick with sleep — low, hoarse, and somehow grounding. It had that soft warmth that always made her feel safe.
"Not on call, Dree," she whispered, her voice tight. "Could you please pick me up?"
There was a pause. Then, quietly, "Be there in five."
She exhaled shakily and threw on a cardigan. Moving carefully so the floorboards wouldn't creak, she slipped downstairs.
But as she reached the hall, she stopped short.
Nick was already awake, sitting on the sofa, his laptop open.
"Elena?" His voice was groggy but alert. "Why are you up so early?"
Her eyes must've given her away; they were puffy and red. She couldn't tell him.
Not this. Not yet.
"If anyone asks," she said softly, "just tell them I left early for college. Something came up."
Nick frowned, closing his laptop. "Is it serious?"
She hesitated, her throat tightening. "Whatever happens… Can I count on you, Nicky?"
His brows knit together, but he stood and hugged her quickly. "Always. But tell me, what's going on?"
She forced a small smile, tears stinging her eyes. "It's just project stuff. Don't worry."
He didn't look convinced, but he let her go.
Outside, the morning air was cold and still. Dree's car idled by the gate, his hair a messy halo against the dawn light. She climbed in silently. He didn't ask questions right away. He never did.
For half an hour they drove aimlessly down the quiet highway, the world still half-asleep around them.
Finally, Dree pulled into an empty service-station parking lot and cut the engine.
He turned to her, his expression soft but serious. "Okay, talk to me. What's the matter, Elena?"
Her throat felt dry. Her eyes glistened with tears.
She looked out the window, the rising sun spilling gold over the asphalt. "Something happened last night… after the movie."
Dree stayed silent, waiting.
She took a deep breath, her fingers twisting in her lap. "He kissed me. I won't be able to bear the consequences."
---
Dree listened without interrupting. His face shifted slowly — from confusion to disbelief, and finally to that quiet, protective anger he could never fully hide.
When she finished, silence filled the car. Only the faint hum of passing trucks broke it.
He stared ahead, his jaw tight. "He kissed you?" he asked finally, voice low, measured.
Something dark flickered across his eyes, gone before she could name it.
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
He didn't say anything right away. He just leaned back, fingers drumming against the steering wheel — that small habit he had when he was trying to stay calm.
Dree knew. He'd seen her fall apart before. He'd seen how that one high-school mistake had turned her world upside down — how her parents' judgements had hollowed her out. She hasn't been the same girl since then.
The laughter she used to have — gone. The lightness in her voice — gone.
She had built herself back, piece by piece, glued together with quiet endurance. But even now, two years later, you could still see the cracks if you looked closely enough.
He turned to her gently. "What do you wanna do, Elena?"
She looked at him helplessly. "I don't know, Dree. I don't know what I want." Her voice cracked. "It's always about what they want from me."
He stayed quiet, letting her breathe. Then said softly, "Okay. Then let's solve it piece by piece."
He leaned closer. "Do you like Nathan?" And like ripping the band-aid he asked the question even she didn't dare to ask herself.
Do I like Nathan Brown?
Her lips parted. "I… I'm not sure what you mean to ask." She took a shaky breath, trying to avoid answering his question.
"Yeah, he's a nice guy. He seems to care. He seems honest. He's fun. He's charming. But what difference does it make?"
"Elena," Dree said, voice firmer now, "you know exactly what I mean. I mean — do you like him enough to see what this could be? Enough to let yourself try again?"
He cuts back to the chase. The real question.
Is she falling for him?
She blinked fast, tears spilling before she could stop them. "I don't know!" she screamed suddenly, the sound raw and small in the confined space.
She didn't have an answer to that.
Dree saw the authenticity of her reply. He knew what led her to the way she is now. Naive, confused, bottled up, reserved. She was a lost puppy.
Without hesitation, Dree pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, trembling. He kissed the top of her head the way he used to when they were kids.
"Elena," he whispered, "you can't keep everyone happy. You've done that your whole life. But the most important thing is that you're happy. No one else should matter more than you. You should matter the most to you."
She nodded against him, tears wetting his shirt.
"Now wipe those tears," he murmured, brushing her hair back. "I hate to see you cry."
He reached for her hand. "Come on. Let's get you something to eat. You're running on fumes."
"I'm not hungry," she mumbled.
"Not an option," he said softly but firmly.
They walked into the service station café. The smell of coffee and frying oil hit the air.
He ordered two burgers and fries before she could protest.
She sat quietly, her arms crossed on the table, eyes swollen and distant.
When the food came, she stared at it blankly.
"Elena." His tone carried that polite patience and quiet authority she could never argue with. "Eat."
She picked up a fry, then another. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to chew.
Dree kept talking — not about Nathan, not about her parents, just small things — Isla's latest obsession with painting, the upcoming uni fair, a stupid meme he'd seen. Slowly, the tightness in her chest eased a little.
By the time they finished, the morning sun had climbed higher, spilling gold over the parking lot.
She wasn't ready to face the future…
Not just yet, anyway!
For now, this was enough –a small, stolen place to breathe.