If Only You Meant it
Jay avoided him for three days.
Not that she counted.
(Okay, maybe she did. In hours. Minutes. Seconds. Shut up.)
She changed her route to class. Left lunch early. Even skipped the corridor near his locker, which meant passing by the weird art room that smelled like regret and turpentine.
He didn't chase her.
And that was the worst part.
She thought he would.
She wanted him to.
But he didn't.
Until Thursday.
"Jay Mariano," the professor called, tapping his clipboard. "You're with Watson for the final project."
She blinked. "Sorry-who?"
"Keifer Watson."
She actually felt her soul leave her body.
And then, like a plot twist written by the gods of emotional damage, he walked in late, brushing snow out of his hair, like he hadn't been haunting her dreams all week.
His eyes scanned the room - landed on her - and didn't move.
He took the seat beside her without a word.
She didn't look at him.
Not once.
Not when he leaned over to write something. Not when their hands brushed reaching for the same paper. Not even when he whispered, "You're really going to ignore me forever?"
Jay stared at the whiteboard like it owed her money.
"I'm not ignoring you," she muttered.
He leaned closer. "Then what are you doing?"
"Surviving."
His breath caught. But he didn't reply.
They worked in the library that afternoon - again. Same corner table. Same awkward silence.
Jay chewed her pen until it bent. She couldn't think. Couldn't focus.
He almost kissed me.
He said pretending was hard.
And then he said nothing.
She slammed her pen down. "I need coffee."
"I'll get it," Keifer said immediately, standing before she could stop him.
She watched him walk off. Watched his back. His stupid confident stride.
He didn't chase me.
Not like she hoped.
Not like she would've chased him.
He returned with her favorite drink.
Jay blinked. "How'd you know?"
He shrugged. "You told me once."
When? she wanted to ask.
But she didn't.
He left for the bathroom after that. His phone buzzed.
Jay didn't mean to look. Really.
But the screen lit up.
A group chat message.
And a voice note, labeled with a name she didn't recognize.
Curious (and maybe self-destructive), she put in one of his earbuds still on the table and pressed play.
It wasn't the message.
It was something Keifer had recorded.
"I don't know what I'm doing. I thought this fake thing would be fun. Harmless. But it's not. I think I've ruined everything."
Jay's heart stopped.
"She thinks I'm just playing. But I'm not. I haven't been for a while. I like her. So much it hurts."
She yanked the earbud out like it burned.
Keifer came back moments later.
Jay was already packing up.
"Hey-wait-" he reached for her arm, confused. "Where are you going?"
She looked at him. Really looked.
"You're good at acting, Keifer. Maybe even too good."
He blinked. "What-?"
Jay's voice broke. "Don't say things you don't mean."
Then she left.
Because if he wasn't faking - if he actually meant it - then she didn't know what would hurt more:
That he never said it to her face.
Or that she already loved him anyway.