The next day, the moment I stepped onto campus, something felt… off.
Not wrong in a way I could point to. Not loud. Not obvious.
Just different—like the air itself had learned a secret before I did.
The usual chaos of morning campus life was still there. Lockers slammed. Someone laughed too loudly near the vending machines. A group of freshmen argued about homework like it was a life-or-death situation.
Everything looked normal.
But the way people looked at me wasn't.
Whispers followed me down the hallway—half-words that died the second I turned my head, gasps quickly swallowed, eyes darting away too late to pretend innocence.
"Is that her?"
"No way."
"I swear that's her."
Each sentence landed like a pebble dropped into water, ripples spreading through my chest.
I told myself not to react.
I adjusted the strap of my bag. Straightened my posture. Kept my face neutral—pleasant but distant, like I hadn't noticed anything at all.
My heart, however, did not get the memo. It beat faster with every step, a nervous rhythm I couldn't slow no matter how hard I tried.
I replayed yesterday in my head without permission.
Ryan walking beside me.
Ryan taking my hand.
Ryan not caring who saw.
I wondered if this was the consequence of that.
The hallway felt longer than usual. Every reflective surface made me hyper-aware of myself—my hair, my expression, whether I looked like someone who belonged in the center of attention or someone who had accidentally wandered into it.
I reached the classroom door and paused for half a second.
Just walk in, I told myself. You've done this a hundred times.
I pushed the door open.
And froze.
Ryan was already there.
That alone was strange. Ryan was never early. He was the type who arrived exactly when he meant to—late enough to make an entrance, early enough to avoid consequences.
But today?
He sat at his desk properly. Not slouched. Not sprawled. His phone wasn't even in his hand. His bag was neatly placed at his feet instead of kicked under the chair like an afterthought.
He looked… composed.
Focused.
Almost serious.
For a split second, my brain refused to accept the image. It felt like walking into the wrong classroom and seeing a familiar face wearing a completely different expression.
Then he looked up.
His gaze met mine instantly, like he'd known exactly when I would walk in.
And he smiled.
Not the lazy, teasing smirk he usually wore like armor. Not the arrogant grin that dared people to challenge him.
A real smile.
Soft. Unguarded. The kind of smile that didn't perform—it existed.
My breath caught.
It was subtle, but the room felt it.
Conversations faltered. Chairs stopped scraping. Someone near the window actually gasped before clapping a hand over their mouth like they'd just witnessed a crime.
Matthew leaned closer to Ryan, squinting suspiciously.
"Bro," he muttered, "why are you smiling like you just won the lottery?"
Ryan didn't even look at him.
His eyes stayed on me.
That was worse.
Heat crept up my neck as I forced myself to move. My feet carried me forward on autopilot while my brain lagged several steps behind, still trying to process the shift in atmosphere.
Every step toward my seat felt heavier than the last.
I could feel his attention like a physical thing—steady, patient, unblinking. Not predatory. Not possessive.
Intentional.
I sat down quickly, pulling my notebook out with more force than necessary, pretending to rummage through my bag like I had something very important to find.
I did not.
What I found instead was the sudden awareness of how close Ryan actually was.
Our desks were closer than I remembered. Or maybe I'd just never noticed before. His arm rested casually on the edge of his desk, close enough that if either of us shifted even slightly, we'd touch.
I tried not to think about that.
Failed.
Five minutes into class, the teacher clapped her hands.
"Alright, everyone. Group activity today," she announced. "Partners. Same as last time."
The collective groan was immediate and dramatic.
My stomach flipped.
Same as last time.
I barely had time to process the words before Ryan stood.
Too fast.
His chair scraped loudly across the floor, the sound sharp enough to cut through the chatter. Heads snapped in our direction. Even the teacher paused, eyebrow raised.
Ryan didn't seem to notice—or didn't care.
He grabbed his chair and dragged it beside mine with smooth confidence, the legs scraping again like punctuation.
Then he sat.
Casually. Comfortably.
Like this was exactly where he belonged.
His arm brushed mine.
Not accidentally.
Not hurriedly.
Just enough to acknowledge the contact—and then stay.
"Looks like we're partners again," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear.
Silence followed.
Not awkward silence.
Shock silence.
The kind where everyone stops pretending not to look.
I stood up, my movements careful, deliberate, like if I moved too fast I'd shatter something fragile. My heart was doing parkour in my chest, leaping over every rational thought I tried to throw in its path.
As I sat, Ryan leaned closer.
Just a fraction.
"Good morning," he said quietly.
I glanced at him. Up close, the change in him was even more unsettling. His expression was relaxed, eyes softer, like he wasn't constantly braced for a fight with the world.
"You're smiling too much," I said. "People are going to think you're sick."
His lips twitched.
"Let them."
His knee brushed mine under the desk.
This time, neither of us moved.
That realization sent a jolt straight through me. Usually, one of us would flinch back—me out of embarrassment, him out of instinct. Today, the contact remained.
Unchallenged.
Ryan stared at the paper in front of us for exactly two seconds before leaning in again.
"So," he whispered, "did you sleep?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Innocent question… or are you fishing?"
He smirked—just a little.
"Just checking if you're as distracted as I am."
Across the room, whispers reignited.
"Wait… since when are they a thing?" Elijah whispered, frowning.
"Ryan doesn't do that," Matthew said slowly.
"Do what?"
"Smile like he's in a rom-com."
Matthew stared at us longer than necessary.
Ryan noticed.
"Problem?" he asked casually, not even turning his head.
Matthew blinked. "Nope. Just… recalibrating reality."
Ryan's mouth curved slightly.
And for the first time since I'd met him, I realized something terrifyingly clear.
Ryan Vale wasn't flirting.
He wasn't playing.
He was choosing.
________________
By lunch, the rumors had stopped pretending to be quiet.
They moved through the campus like a living thing—slipping between tables, clinging to backpacks, crawling up the walls of the cafeteria and settling into every open space where curiosity thrived.
I felt them before I heard them.
The moment I stepped inside, the usual roar of lunchtime noise wavered. Not enough to draw attention, not enough to make it obvious—but just enough that my skin prickled, like I'd walked into a room where a conversation had paused half a second too late.
I tightened my grip on my tray.
Metal clinked softly as I adjusted my balance, the smell of food suddenly overwhelming. My appetite vanished instantly, replaced by that familiar, uncomfortable awareness of being watched.
I told myself I was imagining it.
Then I heard my name.
Not shouted. Not announced.
Whispered.
"…that's her, right?"
"I think so."
"No way. Her?"
"Ryan's partner?"
My steps slowed despite my best efforts.
Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to leave, to hide somewhere quiet where no one could measure me against expectations I never agreed to.
Instead, I walked.
My usual table was near the windows—nothing special, just far enough from the center that I could usually exist without being perceived. Today, it felt like the most exposed place in the room.
I slid onto the bench and set my tray down carefully, arranging things I had no intention of eating. My hands needed something to do.
Across from me, a group of girls glanced over and immediately leaned closer together, whispering behind raised hands. One of them looked at me again, slower this time—evaluating.
I hated that look.
It wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind either.
It was curious. Measuring. Like I was a question they hadn't decided how to answer yet.
"Did you see Ryan and that girl?"
"They were basically glued together."
"I swear they touched knees."
"That's basically marriage."
I closed my eyes for half a second.
Please stop talking.
I exhaled slowly and stared out the window, focusing on the familiar view of the courtyard. Trees swayed gently in the breeze, blissfully unaware of the social apocalypse happening indoors.
I told myself to breathe.
I told myself I didn't care.
Neither statement was entirely true.
A chair scraped loudly against the floor somewhere behind me.
Then the cafeteria changed.
It didn't go silent—not fully—but the energy shifted in a way I'd only felt a few times before. Conversations dipped. Laughter faltered.
Heads turned instinctively, like iron filings pulled toward a magnet.
I didn't need to look.
I already knew.
Ryan had entered.
I felt him before I saw him—the same way you feel a storm approaching before the first drop of rain hits the ground. The air thickened. The room leaned subtly in his direction.
I kept my gaze on the window.
Don't look. Don't make this worse.
Footsteps crossed the floor, unhurried, deliberate. Not searching. Not wandering.
Coming straight toward me.
My chest tightened.
Then he was there.
Ryan stopped at my table, close enough that his presence filled the space opposite me entirely. I could see his reflection in the window now—the broad line of his shoulders, the easy confidence in the way he stood.
I swallowed.
He didn't say anything at first.
Neither did I.
The silence stretched—not awkward, not tense. Intentional.
Then he pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
Just like that.
No hesitation. No performance. No glance around to see who was watching.
Like this seat had always been his.
Someone nearby sucked in a breath sharply.
Another voice whispered, barely contained, "Oh my God, he chose her table."
Heat rushed to my face.
Ryan leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. His gaze flicked to my untouched food, then back to my face.
"You look like you're thinking too hard," he said.
His voice was calm. Familiar. Too normal for the way my pulse spiked.
"I am," I muttered. "Everyone's staring."
He glanced around briefly, unimpressed. "They always stare."
Then he looked back at me, expression softening just a fraction.
"Today they just have a reason."
That should have made me feel worse.
Instead, something warm loosened in my chest.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "You're not helping."
His lips curved faintly. "I'm not trying to."
I frowned. "That doesn't sound reassuring."
He shrugged. "I'm being honest."
Across the table, I could feel eyes burning holes into my skin. I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of every small movement—how I held my fork, how I sat, whether I looked ridiculous next to him.
Ryan noticed.
Of course he did.
Without a word, he stood.
Before I could ask what he was doing, he reached for my bag, slinging it effortlessly over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
Then he stepped around the table and held out his hand.
For a second, my brain stopped working.
"Ryan," I hissed quietly, "what are you—"
"Come on," he said, already moving, already confident I'd follow.
"You're being very obvious."
He tilted his head, glancing back at me.
"Good."
My heart slammed into my ribs.
I stared at his outstretched hand. The room felt too bright, too loud, too aware. Every instinct screamed caution.
And yet.
I placed my hand in his.
His grip was warm. Steady.
He didn't pull me forward. He didn't drag me.
He simply matched my pace as we walked, side by side, like we'd done this a hundred times before. Like this wasn't new. Like this wasn't a declaration.
Whispers erupted behind us, louder now, unrestrained.
I leaned closer to him, lowering my voice.
"Aren't you worried?"
He stopped.
I stopped too.
He turned to face me fully, blocking out the rest of the room. For a moment, there was only him—no crowd, no rumors, no expectations.
"I'm more worried about losing this," he said quietly.
He gestured between us.
"And you walking away because I was too scared to be seen with you."
My chest tightened painfully.
Before I could respond, he squeezed my hand once—gentle, grounding.
"I know I'm not easy," he continued. "But with you… I actually want to try."
Something in me softened completely.
I squeezed his hand back. "Well," I said, managing a small smile, "congrats."
He raised an eyebrow. "On what?"
"You've officially become the most talked-about man on campus."
His smirk returned—confident, unapologetic.
"Worth it."
______________
If there was one thing I underestimated, it was how fast news traveled when Ryan Themis decided to make a choice in public.
We hadn't even made it five steps away from the table before the cafeteria erupted behind us—not loudly, not all at once, but in layers.
Murmurs stacked on top of each other.
Gasps. Sharp whispers that carried farther than they were meant to.
I didn't look back.
I didn't need to.
Every instinct in me was torn between exhilaration and dread. My hand was still in his, and the longer he didn't let go, the more real it became. Not just to me—but to everyone watching.
We stopped near the exit, the bright sunlight spilling in through the glass doors. Ryan turned toward me again, his expression shifting just slightly—like he was checking something.
Checking me.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.".
He studied my face, eyes sharp but not suspicious. Concern, not doubt.
"Tell me if it's too much," he said. "I'll slow it down."
That alone made my throat tighten.
"I don't want you to slow down because of me," I said softly.
"I won't," he replied immediately. "I'll slow down with you."
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I didn't try. I just nodded again and let him guide me outside.
The moment the doors closed behind us, the noise dulled, replaced by the open air and distant chatter of students scattered across the quad. The sunlight felt warmer here, less suffocating.
Only then did he let go of my hand.
The absence was immediate—and oddly noticeable.
We walked in silence for a moment, side by side, neither of us quite ready to speak. My thoughts were a tangled mess of what just happened and what happens next.
"So," I finally said, "that was… a thing."
Ryan huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. It was."
"You realize half the school just mentally planned our wedding, right?"
He glanced at me, amused. "Only half? I'm disappointed."
I smiled despite myself.
Then his phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He glanced at the screen, expression flickering with mild annoyance. He didn't answer it. Just slipped it back into his pocket.
I noticed.
"Popular?" I teased lightly.
He scoffed. "Unfortunately."
We reached the edge of the quad where students sat on benches and grass patches, pretending not to stare while very obviously staring. A few people went quiet as we passed. Others whispered more openly now, no longer pretending discretion.
Ryan noticed that too.
He didn't react.
Which somehow made it louder.
"Hey!"
A familiar voice cut through the air.
Matthew.
He jogged toward us from near the fountain, a grin already forming like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. His eyes flicked between us—our proximity, the way we walked too close to be accidental.
Then he slowed, dragging it out, dramatic as ever.
"Well," he said, hands on his hips, "this is new."
Ryan arched an eyebrow. "You spying on us now?"
Matthew shrugged. "Emotionally invested. Big difference."
His gaze slid to me, sharp and assessing in that way he did when he was trying to read between the lines.
"You alive?" he asked.
"Barely," I said honestly.
He nodded like that was the expected answer. "Makes sense."
Matthew leaned back against a nearby bench, crossing his arms. "So. Lunchroom debut. Public hand-holding. Zero attempts at subtlety."
Ryan smirked. "You sound impressed."
"Oh, I am," Matthew said. "I'm also deeply entertained."
I laughed weakly. "Everyone's going to talk.".
Matthew tilted his head. "They already are."
As if summoned by his words, a pair of girls passed behind us, whispering far too loudly.
"Did you see how he just walked her out?"
"He didn't even look back."
"That's actually insane."
I felt my shoulders tense.
Ryan noticed.
He stepped just a fraction closer—not touching, but close enough that the message was clear. Intentional.
Matthew clocked it immediately.
"…Wow," he muttered. "You're really doing this."
Ryan's expression sobered. "Yeah."
Matthew studied him for a long moment, the teasing draining from his face.
Then he nodded once.
"Okay," he said. "Then let's talk about
consequences."
Ryan didn't flinch. "Go on."
"People are going to assume things," Matthew continued. "About her. About you. About how long this lasts."
"I don't care," Ryan said flatly.
Matthew's gaze flicked to me again. "She might."
That landed.
Ryan turned to me. "Do you?"
The honesty in his question caught me off guard.
I hesitated.
"I care about what this is," I said carefully. "Not what they say."
He searched my face like he was making a decision.
Then he nodded. "Good."
Matthew exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright. Then let's establish something before this turns into a campus-wide drama series."
"What?" I asked.
"Boundaries," he said. "For you."
Ryan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Matthew met his gaze evenly. "You know your world. Your name. Your orbit. She doesn't."
Ryan stiffened.
"That means," Matthew continued calmly, "you don't get to disappear into photoshoots and meetings and leave her standing alone with rumors."
My chest tightened.
Ryan didn't respond immediately.
Good.
He was actually thinking.
"I wouldn't do that," he said finally.
Matthew raised an eyebrow. "You don't mean to. That's different."
Ryan exhaled through his nose. "Point taken."
Matthew nodded, satisfied—for now.
"Good. Because if she gets hurt, I will become a problem."
Ryan smirked faintly. "You already are."
Matthew grinned. "Occupational hazard."
A bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of lunch.
Students began moving again, the moment broken into pieces by schedules and responsibilities.
Ryan glanced at his watch. "I've got a meeting."
Of course he did.
I kept my expression neutral. "Go."
He hesitated.
That was new.
"I'll walk you to class," he said.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
Matthew stepped back, holding up his hands. "I'll disappear. But I'm watching."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Creepy."
Matthew winked at me. "Protective."
As Ryan and I walked away, the distance between us felt heavier—not because it grew, but because I was suddenly aware of how often he'd been pulled elsewhere lately.
His phone buzzed again.
He ignored it.
That helped.
For now.
But as we reached my building, he slowed.
"I'll see you later?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Later."
He hesitated, then leaned in—just close enough that his voice was only for me.
"I meant what I said," he murmured. "About choosing."
My heart skipped.
"I know," I said.
He smiled once more—that soft, real smile—and then he was gone, pulled back into his orbit as easily as breathing.
I watched him walk away longer than I should have.
Matthew appeared beside me again, quiet this time.
"He doesn't realize yet," he said softly.
"Realize what?"
"How loud this is," he replied. "For you."
I swallowed.
"He will," Matthew added. "Eventually."
I nodded.
I hoped so.
________________
I didn't realize how much of the school had been watching us until Ryan disappeared into the crowd and I was left standing alone in the hallway.
That was when it hit.
The silence didn't follow him—it stayed with me.
At first, it was subtle. A pause in conversations. A shift in posture. People pretending to scroll on their phones while absolutely not scrolling. My footsteps echoed louder than usual as I walked toward my classroom, backpack suddenly heavier against my shoulder.
This was the part Matthew warned me about.
Ryan had walked away like nothing had changed.
But for me?
Everything had.
"Hey."
A girl stepped into my path near the lockers.
Tall, polished, perfectly put together—one of those students who looked like they belonged on posters. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You're the one from lunch, right?"
I forced a polite nod. "Yeah."
Her friends gathered behind her, curious, sharp-eyed.
"I'm Lena," she said. "Ryan's… friend."
I doubted that very much.
"Oh," I replied. "Nice to meet you."
She tilted her head, studying me openly now. "You transferred recently?"
"Yes."
"From where?"
"The province."
There it was.
The word landed like a stamp—outsider.
Lena hummed softly. "That explains it."
"Explains what?" I asked.
Her smile widened, thin and calculated. "Why Ryan's fascinated."
Before I could respond, another voice cut in.
"Class starts in two minutes."
Matthew stood a few steps away, arms crossed, expression neutral but eyes sharp.
He hadn't raised his voice, but somehow it carried.
Lena glanced at him, clearly annoyed.
"Relax," she said. "We're just talking."
Matthew smiled without warmth. "Then take it somewhere else."
The tension thickened.
Lena scoffed, tossing her hair. "You can't seriously expect this to last."
My chest tightened.
Matthew stepped forward.
"You should go," he said calmly. "Before you embarrass yourself."
Her eyes flashed.
"This isn't over," she said to me—not him—before turning on her heel and walking away with her friends.
The hallway breathed again.
I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until Matthew sighed.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"I think so," I said. "Is it always like this?"
He hesitated.
"No," he admitted. "Not usually this fast."
That didn't help.
He walked with me to my classroom door and stopped.
"For what it's worth," he said, "you handled that better than most."
I smiled faintly. "Low bar?"
He chuckled. "Painfully."
When I stepped into class, the whispers followed me.
I sat down, heart still racing, and stared at my notebook without really seeing it. Words floated past me, but none of them stuck.
Ryan's seat—two rows ahead, by the window—was empty.
Of course it was.
My phone buzzed under the desk.
Ryan: Meeting ran long. You okay?
I stared at the message, thumb hovering.
Me: Yeah. Just a lot of eyes.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Reappeared.
Ryan: I'm sorry.
That surprised me.
Me: It's not your fault.
Another pause.
Ryan: I'll make it up to you later.
I wasn't sure how.
Or if later would feel the same.
Class ended in a blur.
By the time the final bell rang, my name—or at least my face—had already circulated. People glanced at me like I was a headline they hadn't finished reading.
I walked out into the quad again, hoping for air.
That's when I saw her.
She stood near the fountain, posture relaxed, phone in hand, sunlight catching in her hair like it belonged there. She wore confidence the way some people wore perfume—subtle, unmistakable.
Sophia.
I knew who she was before anyone said her name.
Everyone did.
She looked up as I passed, eyes meeting mine with polite curiosity—and something else.
Recognition.
"Hey," she called.
I stopped.
"Hi," I said cautiously.
She smiled. "You're the girl from lunch."
That wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"I'm Sophia," she said, stepping closer.
"Ryan's ex."
The word ex echoed louder than the bell ever had.
"Oh," I said.
She studied me, not unkindly. "You seem… different from his usual type."
I didn't know whether that was an insult.
Or a warning.
"I'm not trying to replace anyone," I said carefully.
Sophia laughed softly. "Good. Because you can't."
My stomach dropped.
She tilted her head, gaze steady. "But you can change things."
I swallowed. "What do you want?"
She considered me for a moment, then smiled again—this time softer, almost sympathetic.
"To see how serious he is," she said. "And how strong you are."
Before I could respond, Ryan's voice cut through the air.
"Sophia."
He stood a few steps away, expression unreadable.
Her smile widened.
"Speak of the devil," she said lightly. "We were just talking."
Ryan's eyes flicked to me. "Everything okay?"
I nodded.
Sophia stepped back, hands raised. "Relax. No claws out."
She leaned in toward him. "You're moving fast."
Ryan didn't deny it. "I know."
Sophia looked at me one last time.
"Good luck," she said.
And then she walked away.
Ryan turned to me immediately. "Did she say anything—"
"I'm fine," I interrupted.
He searched my face again, that same worried intensity.
But this time?
I wasn't sure what he was looking for.
Or what I was supposed to give.
It wasn't just us anymore.
It was everyone.
CHAPTER 4 END