---
**1**
The note lived in Lena's coat pocket for exactly three days.
She didn't show it to Jace. She didn't tell Noor. She didn't even read it again—just kept touching it, like a sore tooth she couldn't leave alone.
Each time her fingers brushed the folded paper, her pulse spiked.
"He's not who you think he is."
She heard the words everywhere. In Chemistry, when Ava raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow. In the stairwell, where whispers grew legs. In her own thoughts, late at night when she should've been asleep but instead stared at her ceiling in a private war of trust and fear.
By Monday, the note had creased itself into her life.
And she still hadn't said a word.
**2**
Jace didn't notice.
Or maybe he did—but didn't press.
He had his own tells: the way he tugged on his sleeves when he was thinking, the pause before he answered, the silence that lingered after he said goodnight. Lena didn't need to be told something was wrong. She felt it.
And maybe that was the part that scared her the most.
They were learning each other. Slowly, carefully. Like rebuilding a house from burned wreckage. But what if there were rooms Jace had locked, even from her?
What if the walls between them were still too high?
"Earth to Lena," Noor said, snapping her fingers in front of her face.
Lena blinked. "Huh?"
"You've been stirring your yogurt for like… five minutes."
"Oh. Yeah." Lena looked down. Strawberry swirl, now a pale pink mess.
Noor tilted her head. "You good?"
Lena hesitated. "Yeah. Just tired."
Noor raised a skeptical brow. "You sure? You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm spiraling quietly while pretending I'm totally fine' look."
Lena cracked a small smile. "I didn't realize I had a signature look."
"Girl, you *invented* that look."
They both laughed, and for a moment the pressure eased. But only for a moment.
Because Ava walked by then—slow, deliberate, eyes fixed on Lena.
And in her hand, folded once, was a note.
**3**
After school, Lena caught up to Ava in the parking lot. It was cold, and the sky was a low slab of gray, threatening snow that hadn't yet arrived.
"Ava!" she called.
Ava turned, her braid swinging over one shoulder. "Lena. What a surprise."
"Was it you?"
Ava blinked, mock-innocent. "Was what me?"
"The note in my locker. The one that said—" Lena lowered her voice—"'He's not who you think he is.'"
Ava's lips curved. "Oh, *that* note."
"So it was you."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't *deny* it either."
Ava stepped closer, her breath fogging the air between them. "You want to know the truth, Lena? The truth is, people talk. And sometimes, people listen."
"That's not an answer."
"It's all the answer you're going to get."
Ava turned to leave.
Lena grabbed her wrist. "Why are you doing this?"
Ava pulled free, gaze cool. "Because I've seen what happens when you fall for someone who keeps secrets."
She walked away without another word.
Lena stood in the cold for a long time, the echo of those words wrapping around her like frost.
**4**
That night, Lena finally opened her journal.
She hadn't written in it for weeks—ever since things started changing with Jace. But now, she needed the page. The stillness. The safety of her own words.
She wrote:
> **I don't know what I believe.**
> Jace has been kind. Honest. More open than I expected.
> But then why does it feel like something's missing?
> Why does Ava's voice feel so much louder than it should?
> Am I scared of losing him?
> Or scared of what I'd find if I looked too close?
The pen hovered.
She didn't finish the thought.
Instead, she tore out the page, folded it, and slid it into the book Jace had lent her last week—an old, dog-eared poetry collection with his scribbles in the margins.
She wasn't sure why she did it.
But it felt right. Like hiding a piece of herself inside something he'd touched.
**5**
Tuesday was storm-silent. The snow hadn't come, but it was in the air, thick and waiting.
Jace met her outside homeroom, as usual.
He handed her coffee—too sweet, but thoughtful. "You look tired," he said gently.
"Didn't sleep."
"Me either."
He didn't ask why. She didn't either.
But as they walked together toward class, Lena kept stealing glances at him—searching for cracks in his armor, for signs of the boy Ava warned her about.
All she saw was Jace.
Warm. Quiet. A little sad.
But maybe that was the danger.
Maybe monsters didn't wear fangs. Maybe they just smiled like someone you loved.
**6**
In English, they read Sylvia Plath. The teacher's voice was low and steady, each line falling like snow.
Lena wasn't listening. She was watching Jace.
He sat two rows up, pen tapping against the desk in rhythm with his thoughts.
His jaw tightened on certain lines. Relaxed on others.
Was he reacting to the poem? Or something else?
She didn't know.
After class, he caught up to her by the lockers.
"Hey," he said. "You okay?"
She nodded, too quickly.
He frowned. "You sure?"
"I'm fine."
He studied her for a second too long. Then stepped closer. "Lena, if something's wrong, just tell me."
And for a moment, she wanted to.
But the note still burned in her coat pocket. And Ava's words still echoed in her skull.
So she said nothing.
Jace hesitated. Then leaned in and kissed her temple—light, tentative.
It should have felt like comfort.
Instead, it felt like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.
**7**
That afternoon, Lena stayed after school to meet with Ms. Carmichael about her upcoming presentation.
The room was quiet, golden light slanting through the blinds.
"You look distracted," her teacher said gently.
Lena tried to smile. "Just a long week."
Ms. Carmichael nodded, then paused. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"You've been writing more personal pieces lately. That's great. But they seem… heavy. Like you're carrying something."
Lena blinked. "I didn't realize it showed."
"Good writing always shows. Even when we don't mean to."
Lena looked down at her notebook.
"Whatever it is," Ms. Carmichael continued, "you don't have to carry it alone."
The words hit harder than Lena expected.
She thanked her teacher, packed up slowly, and walked out into the dusk.
Outside, the wind had picked up.
And standing by the bike rack, waiting—was Jace.
**8**
They didn't speak right away.
He just looked at her, searching her face like he was reading a map.
"You want to come with me?" he asked finally. "Somewhere quiet."
Lena hesitated.
Then nodded.
He led her to the old band room, the one that hadn't been used in years but was still unlocked if you knew how to jiggle the handle just right.
Inside, the air was musty, but warm.
There were still music stands stacked in the corner. A forgotten drum kit. A faded poster of Miles Davis on the wall.
Jace sat on the piano bench and looked up at her.
"I want to play you something," he said.
Lena crossed the room, slow. Sat beside him.
His hands moved over the keys like he'd done it a thousand times. The melody was soft, hesitant at first. Then deeper. Bolder. Something raw poured from the piano—hope laced with pain, light struggling through shadow.
When he finished, the silence hummed.
He didn't look at her. Just stared at the keys.
"I wrote that after the first time I saw you cry," he said.
Lena felt her breath hitch. "When was that?"
"Back in October. You dropped your lunch tray and tried to laugh it off, but your hands were shaking. No one else noticed. But I did."
She stared at him.
"I've always noticed you," he said softly.
The note in her pocket felt heavier than ever.
And before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out.
"Someone left me a message. In my locker. It said you're not who I think you are."
His eyes didn't move.
"I didn't believe it," she whispered. "Not really. But I didn't throw it away either."
Jace was quiet for a long time.
Then he stood.
Walked to the window.
Hands in his jacket, shoulders tense.
"I figured this would happen eventually," he said. "That someone would try to break it."
"I'm not broken," she said.
He turned, eyes shadowed. "I am."
Lena took a step forward. "Jace—"
"There are things I haven't told you. Not because I want to lie. Because I didn't want them to be real."
She waited.
And he said—
---
---
**Part 2 – "All the Things We Don't Say"**
Lena didn't sleep that night.
She lay awake with her head buried under the covers, the memory of Jace's voice looping in her mind like a song stuck on repeat. *"You don't have to explain anything, Lena. I just… I wanted to be there for you."*
But wasn't that the problem? That he was being kind? Patient? Forgiving?
It rattled her more than if he'd yelled or walked away.
By the time morning came, Lena had run through every possible scenario of how today could go—and none of them felt safe. None of them felt like the kind of thing she could control.
She walked into homeroom barely present. The clatter of desks, the rustle of backpacks, the low murmur of conversations—it all blurred into background noise. She spotted Jace before he saw her, leaning against his desk in casual conversation with Maya and Theo. He laughed at something Theo said, and even from across the room, it unsettled her how normal he looked. How unchanged.
She wasn't.
He noticed her after a second. Their eyes met. There was a flicker of something in his gaze—not anger, not sadness, not even disappointment. Just… understanding. That quiet, steady kind that felt heavier than a hundred apologies.
Lena quickly looked away, retreating to her seat like it was a bunker.
---
Second period, they had to pair up for a group presentation. Ms. Cartwright didn't give them a choice. "Carter and Rivera—you're partners. Front of the room, now."
Lena tried to protest. "Can I—"
"Nope." Ms. Cartwright waved a dismissive hand. "You two are sharp. Let's see if you can keep it civil for fifteen minutes."
The class snickered.
Jace smirked like he was trying not to. "Guess we're the entertainment."
They walked up front together, the energy between them tight as a drawn wire. Lena stood on one side of the presentation board; Jace stood on the other. They'd prepared half of it the night before, before everything went sideways.
She found her voice midway through the presentation. "So, the article argues that censorship in schools limits not just creativity, but student autonomy…"
Jace picked up smoothly. "...And the author uses strong comparative analysis to highlight historical examples, specifically referencing the 1980s textbook bans."
As he spoke, Lena watched him. Not his words—his posture, his expression, the way he subtly shifted his weight to face her instead of the class. It hit her that he wasn't doing it to show off or look good. He was doing it to steady her.
After they finished and the class clapped politely, Ms. Cartwright gave a small, knowing nod. "Good. Better than expected. Surprised you didn't fight each other mid-sentence."
When they sat back down, Lena whispered, "Thank you."
Jace gave her a side glance. "For what?"
"For… letting me mess up."
---
Lunchtime was awkward. Lena lingered by the vending machines, unsure if she should sit at their usual table. It wasn't like anyone had banned her—but the silence that had grown between her and Jace felt like it might swallow the room whole.
She was about to turn around and find an empty bench when she heard her name.
"Lena!" Maya waved her over. "Don't even think about hiding."
Caught.
She hesitated only a moment before walking over. Jace scooted over without being asked, and when she sat down next to him, his leg bumped hers under the table. He didn't move it.
Neither did she.
Conversation flowed awkwardly for the first few minutes—lots of safe topics, like homework and college fairs and how gross the cafeteria spaghetti looked. But eventually, Theo brought up the group project from second period.
"You guys killed that presentation," he said. "Did you rehearse or just vibe?"
Lena blinked. "Um… we rehearsed. A little."
Jace nodded. "And we vibed. A little."
Maya narrowed her eyes. "Okay, but what *is* going on with you two? You're not yelling, but you're also not not weird."
Lena glanced at Jace, half-expecting him to shut it down with a joke. But he just looked at her, waiting. Like it was her call.
She took a slow breath. "We're figuring it out."
It wasn't a full answer, but it was honest.
And for the first time in days, it felt like enough.
---
That afternoon, Lena found herself in the library again. Not to avoid people—but to think. To breathe.
The same windows spilled golden light across the rows of books. The same dusty quiet lingered in the corners. She sat at their usual table and watched sunlight stripe the wooden surface, memories of their earlier conversations flickering like echoes.
She had to say something. Really say it.
So when Jace showed up—like she'd somehow summoned him—she didn't hesitate.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
He dropped his bag beside the chair. "You mean, like, for real this time?"
"Yeah."
He didn't sit right away. Just looked at her for a beat. "Okay."
She folded her arms on the table. "I've been thinking about what you said. About how I push people away. And you were right."
Jace's brow knit slightly. "Lena, I wasn't trying to make you feel bad. I just—"
"I know. I'm not mad. I just…" She trailed off, then tried again. "You're not wrong. I've always kept people at arm's length. It felt safer. Like if I didn't let anyone too close, then no one could hurt me or leave or… or need me to be something I'm not."
He finally sat, quiet.
"I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday," she said. "For shutting down. For walking out."
Jace looked at her for a long moment, then said softly, "You didn't owe me anything, Lena. I just wanted to help."
She nodded. "I know. That's what scared me."
They sat in the silence together for a while—no noise but the tick of the library clock and the far-off rustle of pages being turned.
Then he leaned forward. "I don't need you to be perfect. Or open all the time. But I do need you to meet me halfway."
She nodded again. "I'm trying."
He smiled gently. "I can tell."
They didn't hold hands. They didn't hug. They just sat there, two people no longer pushing away from each other. And somehow, that was more intimate than anything.
---
Later that week, something shifted again.
It wasn't big. No grand declarations, no sudden confessions. But they started walking together again after school. Sharing playlists. Trading notes.
One afternoon, they ended up at the park near Lena's street, sitting on the swings like they were kids again. Leaves drifted from the trees like lazy confetti.
Jace kicked gently at the dirt. "What do you want to do after high school?"
Lena blinked. "Wow. Jumping straight into the existential stuff, huh?"
"I mean, it's only six months away."
She thought about it. "I used to say journalism. But lately… I don't know. I think I want to write something real. Something that makes people feel like they're seen."
Jace nodded. "I could see that. You're good with words."
She laughed. "Unlike you, right?"
"Hey, I have charm. That's different."
They smiled at each other, a quiet, easy smile.
Then he said, more serious, "I want you to know something."
She looked over.
"I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere. Even if you push again. Even if it's hard sometimes."
Her throat tightened. "Why?"
"Because you matter to me," he said. "Even the messy parts."
The wind picked up, cool and full of promise. She looked at him, really looked, and for the first time didn't feel the instinct to run.
"I don't know how to be good at this," she said.
"You don't have to be," he replied. "You just have to be here."
And she was.
---