The Thorne family dinner was… surreal. I floated out of that private dining room feeling light, relieved, and more than a little mortified by my own assumptions. The scholarship wasn't charity, it wasn't a PR stunt for Felix. It was real. My work was real, and it was valued. The weight of that "public messes" comment, which had clung to me like a suffocating shroud, finally lifted. Felix hadn't been trying to humiliate me further; he'd been trying to solve his problem, and in doing so, had made me feel like one. But now, it was clear: his family genuinely appreciated my art.
Walking back to the dorm, the evening air felt different. Fresher. Lighter. I found myself thinking about Felix not as the "arrogant jerk" but as something far more complex. The sudden tenderness with the puppy, the surprising bluntness of his coaching in badminton, and now, the quiet relief in his eyes when his parents had praised my work. He hadn't bragged or said "I told you so." He'd just… nodded. A silent understanding.
I saw him again the next day in the student lounge, huddled over a textbook. My old instinct would have been to find another couch, to make myself invisible. But this time, I didn't. I just… existed. He glanced up, our eyes meeting across the room. There was no glare, no challenge. Just a brief, almost tentative acknowledgment. He nodded, a barely perceptible dip of his head. I found myself nodding back. It wasn't a grand gesture, no sweeping apology or declaration. It was just a quiet shift. The raw wound was healing, replaced by a lingering curiosity. We weren't friends, not yet. But the wall between us felt less like a fortress and more like a fence with a gate, perhaps even slightly ajar.
The Aftermath: A Subtle Relief (Felix's POV)
The dinner had been… productive. More than I expected. My parents, surprisingly, hadn't just gone through the motions; they'd genuinely engaged with Elisa about her photography. And Elisa. She'd blossomed under their attention, speaking with a passion I hadn't seen when she was just trading barbs with me. Seeing her light up, seeing that silent, wounded look replaced by genuine excitement, was a relief I hadn't realized I was carrying.
She finally understood. It wasn't about the car, or the "public mess." It was about her talent. The thought that she might have truly believed I was using her, that my family was manipulating her future, had actually bothered me. Now, that specific tension was gone.
The next day, I spotted her in the student lounge. She was sitting by herself, reading. My usual reflex was to ignore her, or make a sarcastic comment if our paths crossed. But this time, as she looked up, our eyes met. No flinching from her. No immediate scowl from me. Just… a gaze. She gave a small, almost hesitant nod. I found myself nodding back. A quiet, unspoken acknowledgment. The air between us felt different. Not hostile. Not even just neutral. Something… less complicated.
She still kept a slight distance, of course. That deep-seated caution wouldn't vanish overnight, and frankly, my own guarded nature wasn't going anywhere fast. But the immediate, visceral tension that had crackled between us since day one had dissipated. The wound from my carelessly thrown words, from the article, was no longer fresh. It was a scar, perhaps, but one that no longer actively bled. It was progress. A quiet, subtle kind of progress that, for once, didn't feel like another problem I had to fix, but rather, something that was simply… settling.
Felix's POV)
The past week had been… quieter. The lingering tension with Elisa had finally dissipated after the dinner. It was a relief, honestly. The constant, subtle animosity was exhausting. She still kept a polite distance, but that sharp, wounded look was gone, replaced by a more neutral, almost thoughtful expression when our paths crossed. It was progress, however incremental.
My father, in his infinite wisdom, had decided I needed to "inspect" the new arts facilities the foundation had funded. A thinly veiled excuse to remind me of the family's 'philanthropy' and, more likely, to ensure I wasn't making any more 'public messes.' Still, it got me out of the office.
I found the art studio dimly lit, smelling faintly of chemicals. Figures. Elisa. She was hunched over some trays, concentrating. "Still here?" I asked, my voice coming out softer than intended.
She jumped, nearly dropping something. "Just finishing up," she replied, her voice a little breathless. "What are you doing here?"
I pushed off the doorframe, walking into the studio. "My father thought it would be 'beneficial' for me to check in on the new arts facilities the foundation funded." I waved a hand vaguely. "See where the money's going, apparently." The sarcastic edge in my voice felt lighter now, a shared understanding with her. "Though I suspect it's more about making sure I'm not causing any more 'public messes'."
She actually chuckled. A genuine laugh, light and clear. "Well, if you're looking for messes, you've found the right place. These chemicals are notorious. Careful not to track developer all over your designer shoes."
I smirked. "Duly noted." I walked over to a table where some of her finished prints were laid out. Black-and-white. My parents had been impressed, and I'd secretly glanced at some of her portfolio during the scholarship review. Her "Faces of the City" series. Raw. Unfiltered. Something about it stuck with me.
I picked one up, a portrait of an old man. His eyes. They held so much. "This is... raw," I murmured, genuinely impressed. "The way you captured his eyes. It's like he's seen everything." It was the kind of honesty I rarely heard, or spoke, in my world.
She started talking, explaining about the old man and his stories, her voice softening with enthusiasm. I found myself actually listening, truly listening. Then I moved to another print, a chaotic, vibrant street scene. "And this. The energy. You manage to make chaos look beautiful." I turned to her, my gaze direct. "You have a real eye for it, Elisa. You capture… life. Not just pretty pictures."
It was a compliment, unvarnished. She looked surprised, and a soft blush touched her cheeks. "Thanks, Felix," she said quietly. There was no sarcasm, no guardedness in her voice. Just a simple, sincere appreciation.
I put the print down carefully. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise," I added, my voice low, almost an instruction. "Especially not anyone who thinks talent can be bought or sold." The words were for her, but they resonated with my own life, the constant pressure to be what my family wanted, to fit into a mold. She had a genuine talent, something pure. Something I respected.
The usual tension between us was gone. Replaced by a comfortable quiet. It wasn't a friendship, not exactly. But it was a shared moment. A quiet acknowledgment of common ground that went deeper than scratched cars or family names. It was a step towards seeing her as more than just the clumsy girl who hit my car, and for her to see me as more than just the arrogant jerk who owned it. A subtle shift. And for once, it wasn't a 'problem' that needed 'handling.' It was just… good.
The art studio encounter with Felix had left me feeling… discombobulated. Not in a bad way, exactly, but in a way that required immediate Lisa analysis. Later that evening, curled up on my dorm bed while Lisa meticulously organized her overflowing bookshelf, I finally spilled everything.
"Okay, so get this," I started, pausing to gather my thoughts. "The scholarship isn't a PR stunt. His parents actually liked my photography. And Felix… he was genuinely impressed with my work." I recounted the art studio conversation, the way he'd looked at my prints, his surprisingly sincere compliments, and the uncharacteristic softness I'd seen in his eyes with the puppy.
Lisa stopped mid-organize, turning to face me with wide, understanding eyes. "So, he's not just a walking-talking designer suit of arrogance?" she teased gently, a smile playing on her lips. "I told you there was more to him!"
"But that's the thing," I admitted, my voice dropping. "When he said his family hates 'public messes,' I really thought… I thought he meant me. Like I was just a problem he had to fix. It made me feel like… like a scandal he had to clean up, even the scholarship." I hugged my knees to my chest, remembering the sting of those words. "And I avoided him for weeks because of it."
Lisa scooted closer, gently pushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "Elisa, come on. Think about it. He lives in a world where everything is about optics and reputation. When he said his family hates 'public messes,' he wasn't saying you were a mess. He was saying the situation was a mess for his family. Two powerful, wealthy families—the Thornes and your Aunt Carol's—suddenly involved in a college scandal? That's a PR nightmare for them."
She paused, then continued, her voice firm but kind. "He was probably freaking out about how it would look to his dad, not about you personally. And him saying 'I'll handle it' wasn't about shutting you up, it was about shutting down the paper, about shutting down the narrative that his family despises."
"But he was so cold," I murmured, recalling his flat tone in the library.
"He's Felix," Lisa stated, as if that explained everything. "He doesn't do warm and fuzzy. But think about it, Elisa. He found the puppy. He helped you in the rain. And now he's actually seeing your art. That's huge for him! He doesn't go around complimenting everyone. He's just… a little socially awkward in his own arrogant way." She grinned. "And maybe, just maybe, he feels a little bad for how he spoke to you, even if he'd never admit it out loud."
Her words were like a balm, soothing the lingering insecurities. Lisa had a knack for cutting through my anxieties and seeing the clearer picture. She wasn't just my best friend; she was my reality check.
"You're right," I sighed, a genuine smile finally reaching my eyes. "I guess... I just need to stop assuming the worst with him."
"Exactly!" Lisa beamed. "He might be a pain, but he clearly respects you. And honestly," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "a little bit of mystery and a lot of arrogance can be pretty interesting, especially when there's a soft spot for puppies underneath it all, right?" She nudged me playfully, and for the first time in weeks, the complex entanglement with Felix felt a little less daunting, and a lot more like a strange, evolving story.