Adrian's POV
Her words lingered long after she walked away, etched into the corners of Adrian's mind like a brand that refused to fade.
Am I overstepping my boundaries?
He had said nothing. Nothing to reassure her. Nothing to anchor her. He had just stood there, frozen in the weight of his own walls, and let her walk away with sadness written all over her face.
Now, standing in the courtyard alone, the laughter of passing students grating against his nerves, Adrian clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Every instinct screamed at him to move....to go after her, to stop her before she disappeared into the crowd.
His foot even shifted forward.
But then, fear struck. Fear of letting her in. Fear of what it would mean if he admitted even silently..that she mattered more than she should. Fear of repeating every mistake his father had warned him against.
He drew a shaky breath and forced himself to stay rooted where he was.
No. He couldn't chase her.
The walls were safer.
Even if they suffocated him.
That night, Adrian didn't sleep. He lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying her face in the hallway, the way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears. The sound of her voice, soft and breaking, gnawed at him.
He hated it. Hated himself. Hated that silence had become his weapon and his shield.
But every time he thought about apologizing, every time he imagined opening up, the memory of his father's voice returned like a haunting refrain: Don't show weakness. Don't hand anyone power over you.
It was easier to retreat. Easier to let her think he didn't care, even if it was a lie that burned through him.
The days that followed stretched out like punishment.
He and Amara crossed paths in class, their exchanges reduced to the bare minimum...polite, professional, distant. Where once there had been easy conversation in between notes and project discussions, now there was silence that pressed heavy between them.
She sat with Emily more often, laughing when Luke or Damian joined, her smile bright on the surface but never reaching her eyes when she happened to glance at him.
And every time Adrian noticed that flicker of sadness, the hollow where warmth used to be, something inside him twisted painfully.
He wanted to fix it.
But he didn't know how without unraveling everything he'd built to keep himself safe.
By the time their second-to-last project meeting rolled around, Adrian felt frayed at the edges.
The library study room was quiet when he arrived, the late afternoon sun spilling through the tall windows. Amara was already there, sitting across the table with her laptop open, papers neatly arranged. She didn't look up when he entered.
"Hey," he said, his voice quieter than intended.
"Hi." The word was polite, clipped, her eyes never leaving the page in front of her.
The hollow between them deepened.
He sat down, pulling his notes from his bag, the rustle of paper far louder than it needed to be. For a while, neither spoke, the only sounds the soft tapping of keys and the faint hum of the air conditioner.
It was unbearable.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Did you get the data from the last set of results?"
She nodded, sliding a sheet across the table without meeting his eyes. "Here."
Their fingers brushed briefly as he took the page, and he felt the jolt of it....how familiar and unfamiliar it had become at the same time. She didn't react, her attention fixed rigidly on her laptop screen.
They worked like that for the next hour, passing notes, trading brief comments, the silence between them more pointed than any argument could have been.
At one point, Emily popped her head in, cheerful as always. "You two still alive in here? Don't forget to eat."
Amara smiled faintly at her friend, but the moment Emily left, the smile slipped away again, leaving the careful mask behind.
Adrian watched her from the corner of his eye, his pen idle in his hand. She looked tired, not just in the physical sense but in the way her shoulders carried an invisible weight.
He hated knowing he had put it there.
Hated that his silence, his fear, had turned her warmth into hesitation.
He wanted to say something....anything...just to close the gap. To tell her he didn't mean to push her away. That he wasn't good at this, at letting people close. That she scared him because she mattered too much.
But when he opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat. All that came out was, "We should finalize the report outline today."
Her gaze flicked to him briefly, unreadable, before she nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."
And just like that, the chance was gone.
By the time they packed up their things, the room felt heavier than when they'd begun. Amara tucked her notes into her folder, her movements precise, her face carefully blank.
Adrian shoved his books into his bag, his heart pounding with things unsaid. He wanted to stop her, to ask her to wait, to apologize for everything. But his hands stayed busy, his lips pressed shut.
When she stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, she finally met his eyes. Just for a second. Long enough for him to see the hurt still there, buried beneath her composure.
It nearly broke him.
She turned to leave, and he sat frozen in his chair, watching her walk out of the room, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hall.
Alone again, Adrian dropped his pen onto the table and leaned back, dragging a hand down his face.
The silence he had chosen was supposed to protect him.
But all it did was cost him the one person he didn't want to lose.