It started with a note.
Not a text.
Not a call.
A handwritten, messy, folded-in-half piece of paper slid into my locker like this was 2003.
Come up to the roof after class. Bring your sketchbook if you find it--D
My heart immediately betrayed me by doing parkour in my chest.
After School. The Roof.
I didn't even know we had rooftop access. But apparently Damian did.
He was already up there. Sitting on the ledge like the main character of a YA Netflix adaptation. Wind in his hair. Hoodie unzipped. Existential drama turned up to 100.
"Hey," he said, not looking at me. "You came."
"I almost didn't," I admitted, sitting next to him. Far. But not too far.
"I wouldn't have blamed you."
Pause.
Then—"I didn't take your sketchbook."
"I know," I whispered. "I just… needed someone to blame."
"Blame me next time," he said, flashing a crooked smile. "I can take it."
That one smile? A full novella of heartbreak.
Then he got quiet.
Like... really quiet.
I looked at him. "Why here?"
He shrugged. "It's quiet. No one comes up here."
"Is this your secret lair?"
"No," he said softly. "It's my escape."
That's when I saw it.
A sketchpad. His.
Worn, ink-stained, full of smudged stories.
He opened it and showed me a drawing.
A woman with fierce eyes. Hair like fire. A small boy clutching her skirt.
"That's my mom," he said. "And me."
I didn't breathe.
"She left last year. Said she needed space. Never came back."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not," he said, but his voice cracked.
The Vulnerable Part
"You're different," he told me. "You don't try to fix things. You just… see them."
I blinked. "That's because I'm usually the broken thing."
"No," he said, and this time his voice was steady. "You're the reason I haven't given up."
That's when my heart completely fell apart.
There was no flirt in his eyes. No smirk.
Just him.
Raw.
Real.
Wide open.
He looked at me like I was the last safe place in the world.
And then—
HE. LEANED. IN.
Not a full kiss.
Just close.
So close I could feel his breath.
So close I almost leaned in too.
And just as my heart whispered yes—
His phone rang.
Loud. Sharp. Rude.
He flinched. Looked down. Froze.
"Who is it?" I asked.
He didn't answer. Just stood.
"I have to go," he muttered.
And then he ran.
Just like Aeron.
Just like my sanity.
Leaving me alone.
On a rooftop.
With feelings I didn't ask for.
Later That Night. Text from Damian:
There's something I want to tell you. But not like this.
I'm sorry I left. Please don't stop seeing me.
Not yet.
My hands shook.
My chest throbbed.
And my heart whispered:
Not again.
End of Chapter 14