Lines in the Sand
Later that week, the buzz of real life returned like a tide washing over the quiet bubble Muri and Lex had shared. Group chats flared with gossip from the party. People posted blurry photos, tagged names, whispered stories.
Muri ignored most of it.
She sat on the edge of a fountain outside the university's arts building, sketchbook in her lap, earbuds in but no music playing. Just a shield. Lex hadn't texted that morning, and she didn't know if that bothered her or scared her more than she was ready to admit.
"You draw when you're avoiding feelings," a voice said behind her.
She didn't have to turn around. "You stalk me when you're trying to figure yourself out."
Lex walked around the fountain, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, stopping in front of her. "Is that what I'm doing?"
"You tell me."
He sat beside her, letting the silence stretch for a moment. The sound of water filled the space between them.
"I didn't want to mess it up," he said finally.
"Mess what up?"
"Whatever this is," he gestured vaguely between them. "Last night felt like a line. If I crossed it, it'd mean something."
"And now you're afraid of what it means," she said.
He didn't deny it. "A little."
Muri closed her sketchbook. "Then maybe we draw new lines. Together."
Lex looked at her—really looked. "You're not afraid?"
"Terrified," she said honestly. "But I don't want to be alone in that."
He reached for her hand. This time, no teasing, no heat. Just fingers lacing with hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Then let's not be," he said.
They sat like that, with ink stains on her fingers and hesitation in their hearts, but something steady growing quietly between them.
Not passion.
Not chaos.
Just… something real.