Elena lay still in bed, the thin morning light slicing through the blinds in pale stripes. The usual hum of dorm life buzzed faintly outside—footsteps, murmured conversations, a door slamming too hard down the hall—but it all sounded far away. Muffled. Like she was underwater.
Her eyes were dry now, but her head felt heavy. Like thoughts had weight.
She blinked at the ceiling, not really seeing it. Last night replayed on a loop in her mind, but not the party—the soundbites. The moments that slipped under her skin. The exact pitch in Elara's voice when she'd said those things.
"She doesn't care about anyone but herself."
"She just likes being adored."
"She doesn't know what real friends even are."
It wasn't even what she said, really. Elena had heard worse. She had thick skin—or at least, she was supposed to. But something about it being said so casually, in front of everyone, had struck a nerve deeper than she expected. Like a needle to something raw.
And maybe it wasn't Elara's words that hurt the most.
Maybe it was how no one interrupted. No one rolled their eyes. No one defended her.
She sighed and rolled over, curling her arms around her pillow like it could absorb the weight in her chest. Dani, her roommate, was still asleep—dead to the world, wrapped in a blanket burrito with her AirPods still in. The silence gave Elena space, but it also made her overthink.
Last night hadn't gone the way she thought it would. She was supposed to laugh, dance, maybe flirt with someone she didn't actually care about. The usual. Instead, she ended the night barefoot in the grass, mascara running, being comforted by—of all people—Alexander.
And now he was stuck in her head, too.
Not in the way she was used to with guys. There was no fluttery nonsense, no giggles. It was more… still. Strange. Like his presence had settled in some part of her that didn't usually get visitors.
He hadn't done anything outrageous. He hadn't complimented her or fed her rehearsed empathy. He just stood there. Let her speak. Let her exist in her mess without recoiling or rushing in to clean it up.
She hadn't realized how rare that was.
Her thumb hovered over his name in her notes app—she'd jotted it there ages ago in a "hot but scary" list with two other names she barely remembered now. Back when he was just a face she passed on campus. A "type" she didn't talk to. A mystery with piercings and tattoos and that scar above his brow.
But after last night, he wasn't scary.
He was quiet.
And that unsettled her more.
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By the time Elena made it to campus, the sun had climbed high enough to burn off the morning chill. She wore high-waisted jeans and a slate-blue crop top, her signature pendant resting on her collarbone like armor. Her hair was clean, brushed back in a lazy bun. No tears today. Just shadows under her eyes, half-covered by makeup.
She moved through the quad with that familiar rhythm—heels clicking, eyes straight ahead. People noticed her. They always did. A few waved. Someone called her name. She smiled. It was instinct.
But she didn't stop walking.
She wasn't in the mood to be anyone's idea of "put together" today.
As she passed the old humanities building, something made her pause.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him.
Alexander was leaning against a tree about ten feet off the walkway, earbuds in, his head tilted slightly downward. He wasn't scrolling his phone, just staring ahead—expression unreadable. Not brooding. Not bored. Just present.
He didn't see her. Not yet.
Elena hesitated. Her fingers brushed against the strap of her bag. She thought about walking over. Thought about saying what, though? "Hey, thanks for not being weird while I cried in front of you"? No. That felt clunky. Unnatural.
Still… her feet slowed.
She didn't need to talk. She just needed to see.
Their eyes met.
It was brief, maybe two seconds at most, but something in her chest tightened.
He gave a small nod—barely a movement—and looked away.
It was such a simple thing. No smirk. No flirty tension. No "I've been thinking about you too." Just acknowledgment.
I remember. I was there.
And somehow… that was enough.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Elena kept walking.
Back in her room, she dropped her bag by the desk and collapsed onto her bed. The day had passed in a blur—lectures, notes, a vending machine lunch. She'd smiled when people needed her to. Laughed once or twice. But her mind drifted back, again and again, to that moment under the tree.
Not because it was cinematic. Not because she'd felt some electric jolt. But because she felt seen.
Not looked at. Seen.
And for someone who'd spent years performing the role everyone expected of her—pretty, popular, polished—that felt like something new. Something dangerously honest.
She pulled her blanket around her shoulders and opened her notes app again. The "hot but scary" list had two names now. She deleted it entirely.
Then, without really thinking, she typed:
> I think I might be tired of pretending I don't need people.
She stared at the sentence for a long time. Then she locked her phone, rolled onto her side, and closed her eyes.
Sleep didn't come quickly. But for once, her thoughts weren't just noise.
They were questions.
And for the first time in a while… she was curious to find the answers.