The stairway between the east wing and the library had always felt like a pause button on campus life.
Sunlight spilled through the tall glass windows, stretching across the steps in soft gold, muting the noise from the rest of the building. No crowds. No chaos. Just the echo of footsteps and the hum of distant voices that never quite reached this space.
I was halfway up when someone said my name.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Just familiar.
I stopped and turned.
Ethan stood a few steps below me, one hand hooked around the strap of his bag, the other resting casually against the railing. He looked older than the last time I'd seen him—broader shoulders, sharper jaw—but his expression was the same. Easy. Open. Safe.
For a second, my brain stalled.
"Wow," I said, blinking. "So you really exist."
He laughed. "Nice to see you too."
"I knew you were here," I added, stepping down one stair. "I just didn't expect to actually run into you like this."
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "Campus is massive.
Guess fate finally got bored.
I snorted. "Fate has terrible timing."
"Or perfect timing," he countered.
We stood there, the quiet stretching—not awkward, just full. The kind of silence that only existed when there was history. When words weren't required to fill space.
"How've you been?" Ethan asked.
"Busy," I admitted. "You?"
"Surviving," he said. "Which, for me, is an achievement."
I smiled despite myself. "Some things really don't change."
We started up the stairs together, falling into step without thinking. It felt natural in a way that surprised me—like muscle memory kicking in after years of disuse.
Ethan talked about practice, about classes, about how different everything felt compared to home. I listened, chiming in, laughing when he teased me about my terrible sense of direction, about how I still walked too fast when I was nervous.
At the top landing, we slowed again.
"I'm glad we ran into each other," he said, more quietly now. "I wasn't sure where we stood."
I looked at him. "We're still us. That didn't change."
His expression softened. "Good."
Behind the glass wall at the end of the corridor—
Ryan saw us.
He'd just finished signing something for a club event with Matthew, conversation half-finished when his attention snagged on a familiar shape near the stairwell.
You.
Laughing.
Ryan slowed without realizing it.
Matthew followed his gaze and immediately grimaced. "Oh. That."
Ryan didn't answer.
He already knew Ethan. Had met him weeks ago during a joint club sign-up—basketball captain, well-liked, annoyingly confident. And yes, the childhood friend. The one with the shared past.
Knowing that didn't make this easier.
From where Ryan stood, he watched the way you leaned slightly toward Ethan. The way your shoulders were relaxed in a way they rarely were around him. The way your smile looked… unguarded.
"That's not fair," Matthew muttered. "You don't get to look like that when you're jealous."
Ryan ignored him.
He hadn't planned to step in.
Hadn't planned to care this much.
But something tight and ugly curled in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he was moving.
Back on the stairway, Ethan chuckled. "You still smile like you're pretending not to."
I rolled my eyes. "You're projecting."
"Am I?" he teased. "Because it feels familiar."
"Careful," I said lightly. "Nostalgia lies."
"Maybe," he replied. "But it also tells the truth."
That was when the air shifted.
"Funny," a voice said calmly, "I was thinking the same thing."
I turned.
Ryan stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, expression controlled but unreadable. Matthew lingered behind him, already bracing for impact.
"Ryan," I said, surprised despite myself.
Ethan straightened beside me, instantly alert.
"Hey."
Ryan nodded once at him—short, clipped. "Ethan."
So much for pretending this was accidental.
"I didn't know you two were catching up,"
Ryan continued, eyes back on me. His tone was neutral. Too neutral.
"We ran into each other," I said. "Is that a crime now?"
"No," he replied. "Just… unexpected."
Ethan glanced between us, sensing the undercurrent. "Didn't mean to interrupt anything."
Ryan's jaw tightened. "You're not."
That was worse.
I crossed my arms. "Then what's with the attitude?"
Ryan's gaze sharpened. "I don't have an attitude."
"You absolutely do."
Matthew coughed. "Okay, maybe we—"
"No," Ryan said quietly. "I want to understand something."
I felt my patience thinning. "Understand what?"
"How close you two are," he said. "Still."
Ethan stiffened. "We grew up together."
"I know," Ryan replied coolly. "That's the problem."
My stomach dropped. "Ryan."
He looked at me then, really looked. "You don't act like that with just anyone."
I took a step toward him. "You don't get to police my reactions."
"I'm not policing," he shot back. "I'm noticing."
"Then notice this," I said sharply. "You don't get a say."
Silence snapped tight between us.
Ryan exhaled slowly, eyes dark. "You're right," he said. "I don't."
The way he said it made my chest ache.
"But don't pretend," he added quietly, "that this doesn't mean something."
I held his gaze. "Don't pretend you're entitled to meaning."
That was it.
The jealousy wasn't subtle anymore.
And neither was the fight waiting to happen.
_____________
The first sign that something was wrong was the way Ryan stopped looking for me.
Not avoiding.
Not cold.
Just… distant.
He still occupied the same spaces—lounging against railings, drifting through hallways like he owned them—but his attention wasn't locked onto me anymore. No lingering glances. No quiet gravity pulling him toward me.
And that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
I told myself it shouldn't.
We weren't anything. No label. No promise. Just tension and almosts and words spoken too softly to be official.
But jealousy doesn't care about logic.
I noticed her three days later.
She was tall. Confident. The kind of girl who walked like she knew people were watching—and liked it. Her laugh carried, bright and unrestrained, cutting through the courtyard noise.
She was standing too close to Ryan.
Too comfortable.
Her hand rested casually on his arm as she spoke, fingers brushing the sleeve of his jacket like it was second nature. Ryan listened, head slightly tilted, expression neutral—but he didn't step away.
That was the part that made my chest tighten.
I told myself not to stare.
I failed.
Matthew noticed before I said anything.
"Don't," he muttered quietly, falling into step beside me.
"Don't what?" I asked, eyes still tracking them.
"Don't spiral," he said flatly. "You're doing that thing."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he interrupted. "The jaw thing. The quiet rage thing."
I forced my gaze forward. "Who is she?"
Matthew exhaled slowly. "Sophia Lark."
The name landed heavier than it should have.
"And?" I pressed.
"And she's trouble," he said. "Old money. New influence. Likes control. Especially over people like Ryan."
"People like Ryan," I repeated. "You mean boys who think they're immune to consequences?"
Matthew gave me a look. "You're not wrong."
Across the courtyard, Sophia laughed again. Ryan finally smiled—small, restrained—but it was still a smile.
Something ugly twisted in my stomach.
"Why does he look like that with her?" I asked quietly.
Matthew hesitated. "Because she knows him from before."
Before.
I hated that word.
Before me.
Before the almost-kiss.
I didn't respond. I just walked away.
_________&
Ryan didn't text me that night.
That was worse than seeing him with her.
By the next day, the rumors had grown teeth.
I heard my name whispered more than once. Paired with his. Paired with hers.
"She's playing him."
"No, he's playing both."
"Didn't he say he doesn't do serious?"
I sat through class with my pen frozen mid-page, anger simmering just beneath my skin.
By lunch, I was done pretending it didn't bother me.
I found him where I knew he'd be—by the gym entrance, leaning against the wall, phone in hand.
Sophia stood in front of him.
Close again.
I didn't slow my steps.
Ryan noticed me instantly.
His posture shifted. Subtle. Alert.
Sophia followed his gaze and turned.
Her eyes flicked over me, sharp and assessing, lips curving into a polite—but not kind—smile.
"Well," she said smoothly. "You must be her."
I stopped a few feet away. "Must be."
Ryan straightened. "Sophia—"
She held up a hand. "Relax. I'm just curious."
"About what?" I asked.
"About the girl who has you suddenly… distracted," she replied, eyes never leaving mine.
I laughed softly. "That's funny. I was wondering why he suddenly looks unavailable."
Ryan's jaw tightened. "This isn't—"
"Isn't what?" I cut in. "Awkward? Too late."
Sophia tilted her head. "You're more confident than I expected."
"And you're more obvious," I shot back.
Ryan stepped between us slightly. "Enough."
That word snapped something in me.
"Enough?" I echoed. "You don't get to decide that."
His eyes flashed. "Not here."
"Why?" I asked sharply. "Afraid people will see who you really can't choose?"
Sophia's brows lifted, amused. "Oh, this is interesting."
Ryan turned to her, irritation clear now. "You should go."
She shrugged, unbothered. "Call me later," she said, fingers brushing his arm again before she walked off.
I watched him watch her.
That was my breaking point.
"So," I said coolly.
Ryan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're overreacting."
I laughed, sharp and humorless. "Classic."
"Don't do that," he snapped.
"Do what?" I demanded. "Call you out?"
"You don't know what's going on," he said.
"Then explain it," I challenged.
His silence was answer enough.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You don't get to say you're serious and then let someone else claim space you didn't earn."
His eyes darkened. "You don't own me."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"And you don't get to act like you want something you're not ready to fight for," I shot back.
People were staring now.
Ryan noticed. Didn't care.
"Maybe I'm not the one playing games," he said coldly.
That hurt.
"Maybe you just like attention," he continued. "Mine. Hers. Anyone's."
I felt my chest tighten. "Say that again."
"You heard me."
I took a step back, shaking my head. "Wow. So this is you when it gets real."
His voice dropped. "You think this is real?"
"Yes," I snapped. "That's the problem."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe.
Then it vanished.
"Then you should walk away," he said.
Silence stretched between us.
I nodded slowly. "Maybe I will."
I turned and left before he could stop me.
______
I didn't stop walking until my legs started to shake.
The hallway blurred past me—faces, lockers, voices—all noise, all irrelevant. My chest burned like I'd swallowed something sharp, and every breath felt too shallow, too fast. I hated that he could still do this to me. Hated that walking away felt like losing even when I knew staying would've hurt worse.
By the time I reached the stairwell, the quiet one between the east wing and the library, my hands were trembling.
Of course it was here.
Everything seemed to circle back to this place.
I sat on the steps and pressed my palms into my eyes, trying to breathe through the ache curling in my ribs. I told myself not to cry. I refused to give him that, even if he'd never see it.
But the words replayed anyway.
You don't own me.
Maybe you just like attention.
They sank deeper the more I tried to push them away.
I wasn't stupid. I knew we weren't official. I knew there was no rulebook, no promises, no rights. But he'd looked at me like I mattered.
"Hey."
I stiffened.
Ethan's voice—gentler than Ryan's, familiar in a way that didn't hurt. He stood a few steps below me, concern written plainly across his face.
"I saw you walk off," he said carefully. "You okay?"
I laughed weakly. "Do I look okay?"
He didn't answer. Just sat beside me, close enough to feel steady but not crowding me. That had always been his thing—knowing when to give space.
"I shouldn't care," I muttered. "That's the stupid part."
Ethan leaned his elbows on his knees.
"Caring isn't stupid. It just means you're human."
I huffed. "Tell that to him."
Ethan didn't smile. "Ryan doesn't seem great at handling… feelings."
That earned a bitter laugh. "That's an understatement."
We sat in silence for a moment, the stairwell wrapping around us like a pause in the world. I felt my breathing finally slow.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble," Ethan said eventually. "Earlier. With him."
"You didn't," I replied immediately. "This isn't on you."
He hesitated. "He looks like someone who doesn't like losing control."
My jaw tightened. "He hates it."
Ethan glanced at me. "And you make him lose it."
I didn't respond. I didn't trust my voice.
After a beat, Ethan stood. "Come on. Walk with me to class?"
I nodded, grateful for the distraction.
What I didn't see—
Was Ryan.
He stood at the far end of the corridor, half-hidden by a column, watching the two of us leave the stairwell together. Watching the way Ethan leaned slightly toward me. Watching me laugh at something he said, softer this time, tired but real.
Ryan's chest felt like it was collapsing inward.
He told himself he didn't care.
Told himself he'd pushed me away for a reason. That Sophia was easier. Predictable.
That she didn't make him feel like he was standing on the edge of something he didn't know how to survive.
And yet—
His hands curled into fists.
Matthew, beside him, sighed. "You're really messing this up."
Ryan didn't look away. "I told her to walk away."
"Yeah," Matthew replied. "And now she is."
Ryan swallowed hard.
The rest of the day passed like a slow burn.
I avoided places I knew Ryan would be. Sat in different sections. Took longer routes. I didn't look for him, and he didn't look for me. The distance between us grew heavy, deliberate.
That night, my phone buzzed.
Ryan.
I stared at the screen for a full minute before unlocking it.
Ryan: We need to talk.
I exhaled slowly.
Me: About what?
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Ryan: About today.
Ryan: About everything.
I almost said no.
Instead, I typed:
Me: I don't think talking fixes what you said.
Several seconds passed.
Ryan: I know.
Ryan: But not talking will make it worse.
I hated that he was right.
Me: Where?
Ryan: The lake. By the old boathouse.
My stomach twisted.
That place already felt loaded. Dangerous. Intimate.
Me: Fine.
Ryan: Please don't bring Ethan.
That did it.
Me: Don't tell me who I can or can't bring.
A pause.
Ryan: I'm not trying to control you.
Ryan: I just want this to be… honest.
I stared at the word.
Me: Then start being honest.
I didn't wait for his reply.
______
The old boathouse stood silent, creaking softly in the evening breeze. Moonlight spilled through the cracked windows, silvering the weathered wood and casting ripples across the lake beneath. I hesitated at the doorway, fingers brushing the edge, catching the faint scent of old wood and lake water.
Ryan was already inside, leaning against a makeshift table with a small lantern casting soft shadows across his face. He'd changed out of his designer clothes—simple black sweater, jeans—but somehow still looked impossibly… Ryan. Vulnerable, though.
"Hey," he said softly, eyes scanning mine.
"You came."
"Of course I did," I replied quietly, stepping in. "You don't usually ask for things like this, Ryan. Planning a coup?"
He ran a hand through his hair, a little awkwardly, lips curling into a self-deprecating smile. "No. Not a coup. Maybe just… admitting I'm a moron in the most public way possible."
I raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious."
He winced. "I know. Not my finest skill."
I folded my arms, stepping closer, careful to keep a comfortable distance. "Then why here? Why now?"
Ryan exhaled, gaze dropping to the lantern. "Because… I need to explain. Before you think I'm completely insufferable."
"You're halfway there already," I teased lightly, though my stomach was tightening.
He ignored the jab, voice low and serious. "You deserve honesty. Not excuses, not games, not… hiding behind someone else's presence to avoid your own feelings."
I blinked. "Wait. That's about… Sophia?"
"Yes," he admitted, jaw tightening. "But not like you think. I let her touch me, talk to me, stand there… because it was easier than admitting how I feel about you."
I laughed incredulously. "You mean, you let her be your human shield so you wouldn't have to admit—"
"Yes!" he snapped, and then winced at the volume. "Exactly that. I panicked. I realized… I realized how much I care about you, and instead of being honest, I did the stupid, jealous thing. I let someone else—someone who doesn't matter to me—play a role I should have claimed myself."
I folded my arms tighter, trying to appear unbothered. "So… the jealousy was your coping mechanism?"
"That, and a terrible, self-sabotaging defense mechanism," he admitted with a sheepish shrug. "Pretty impressive, huh?"
"Ah yes, Ryan Reynolds-level self-sabotage. Got it," I quipped.
He snorted, a little laugh escaping. "Shut up."
I tilted my head, watching him closely. "So… you admit it. You panicked. You were jealous. You scared yourself—and me."
His eyes softened, shadows from the lantern dancing across them. "Yes. And I hate myself for it. You didn't deserve to feel unsure. You shouldn't have had to wonder where I stood."
I shook my head, heart tightening. "You know what hurt more than seeing her with you?"
"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"The silence. Not knowing. Thinking you didn't care enough to tell me."
He stepped closer, careful, almost reverent. "I do care. I care more than I can manage half the time. And I was terrified that… if I admitted it, it would ruin things. That you'd look at me and think I'm not worth the trouble."
"You are," I said softly. "Worth the trouble. But you have to meet me halfway."
Ryan nodded slowly. "I'm trying. I really am."
I let out a short, ironic laugh. "Trying? You mean panicking spectacularly, testing me, making me question every interaction for the last three days, and then showing up here like some brooding heartthrob in a sweater?"
He smirked, corners of his lips twitching. "I'm an overachiever. Can't help it.".
I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself. "You're impossible."
"Agreed," he said. "And that's why I'm here. To fix it. To try. And maybe… to beg forgiveness like a very stylish dog."
I laughed, shaking my head. "I didn't know brooding could be adorable."
He leaned just slightly closer, and the air shifted. "Can I… kiss you?" he asked softly, voice low, cautious in the best way, giving me an out.
"You have to ask?" I teased, a spark of mischief in my voice.
"Every time," he admitted. "I want to make sure you want it. I don't want assumptions. Not with this… not with you."
I let out a breathy laugh, heart racing. "Fine. Then yes. You may kiss me—but if you make it weird, I walk."
"Deal," he whispered, eyes flicking to mine, searching, hesitant.
Slowly, he leaned in, careful, almost shy. His hand hovered near my cheek, warm but respectful. "Tell me to stop anytime," he murmured, lips inches from mine.
"It's not too much," I whispered.
Then he kissed me. Gentle. Sweet. Careful. Like he was memorizing every moment, every curve of my face. My hand instinctively curled into the fabric of his sweater, grounding us.
His other hand came to my waist, steadying us both, warm and comforting.
The kiss deepened gradually, more confident now, more tender, like he was finally allowing himself to show all the feelings he had buried. I tilted my head, letting him explore slowly, gently, savoring every second.
When we pulled back, foreheads resting together, his breath mingled with mine. "I've wanted to do that… for a long time," he admitted softly.
"You could have just asked," I whispered, breathless but smiling.
"And ruin the anticipation?" he teased back, eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief.
"You're impossible," I said, shaking my head, but the corners of my lips tugged upward.
"But worth it," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. "Always worth it."
I pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, heart still racing. "Ryan…" I began, voice low, careful. "No games."
He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made my chest ache. "No games," he whispered. Then, his voice dropped slightly, soft and filled with certainty:
"Just… us."
And that was it. No tension. No misunderstanding. No lingering doubts. Just him, me, and the quiet of the boathouse—the world outside forgotten, and the chapter closed.
CHAPTER 3 END