Sophie's text still pulsed. Unanswered.
Ethan knew he'd reread it six times. Knew he hadn't replied.
Was it refusal?
Or paralysis?
The screen's glow pinned him—a moth to the lie.
Then his mind tore backward.
Classroom silence. Late-September furnace bleeding through window cracks. Endless.
Senior year. Ethan's usual orbit—juniors, sophomores, freshmen? Invisible.
Not today.
Heat clawed through the classroom.
Sophie, hunched over her notebook. Pen hovering like a wasp over rotten fruit. Frown etched deep.
Concentration? Or drowning?
Ethan's spine bent toward her. No permission asked.
"You okay?"
Sophie glanced up, startled. First real look between them.
A beat. Two.
"Just… don't get this," she finally muttered, jabbing her notebook.
Ethan leaned closer. Basic algebra. A tangled mess in her ink.
"You're overthinking it." Half-smirk.
Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Chewing the problem. Chewing his words.
Something shifted.
Her frown deepened. Pen spinning between ink-stained fingers. Rewrite. Erase. Repeat.
"Maybe." Flat. Lifeless.
Ethan's elbow hit the desk. Leaned into her heat. Snatched her pen.
Scratch of ballpoint on paper. One clean line.
"See it here—makes sense now, yeah?"
Sophie's gaze dropped. Breath held.
Two seconds. Five.
Then—
A laugh. Soft. Self-mocking.
"Should've seen that." Voice cracking.
"Oh… I see." Her eyes lifted to Ethan's. Lock.
Then—the smile.
No fireworks. No grand gesture. The kind that slips out when relief punches through.
"Thanks."
He blinked. Lungs forgot air.
Chest cavity—wrong.
The smile? Gone in three seconds.
Buried in his skull for three weeks.
Ethan jerked a nod. Looked away.
Didn't dwell. Not then.
But his eyes kept snagging. Her laugh in the hallway.
Funny thing?
She started catching his stare too.
Days bled. "Accidents" multiplied:
—Lockers colliding
—Coffee line purgatory
—That heartbeat where their eyes met before looking away
"Coincidence" curdled.
The universe? Got greedy.
Library dust motes hung suspended.
Ethan's notes blurred. Peripheral vision snagged— Sophie's side-eye over a cracked paperback.
Stairwell shadows. Her shoulder brushing his. Half-smile tossed like a lit match.
Ethan didn't overthink. At first.
Then—
He started anticipating.
Weird. They barely spoke.
But when they did—
—Her laugh sharpening to a blade's edge
—Her lean-in during his dumb jokes
—That warmth behind his ribs
Not the words. Never the words.
The tilt of her head. The crackle in her stare.
Code he couldn't crack.
Library doors wheezed shut behind him.
Sophie—shoulder against brick, arms locked—in the entrance's fluorescent buzz.
Waiting. Someone?
Their shadows collided.
Sun-struck smile.
"Bailing already?"
He froze.
"Yeah. You?"
A beat. Two.
Her crossed arms tightened. Trapdoor in her throat.
Sophie: "Might stick around."
Ethan's eyebrow jagged upward.
"Not exactly hitting the books, are you?"
Sophie's laugh cracked—palm smothering it.
"Maybe not."
Ethan's gaze snagged—
Sunset bleeding gold through her curls.
Her stare—a live wire. Waiting.
Then—
He lived for that smile.
Days dissolved. Ethan-and-Sophie became a compound noun.
No grand design. Just:
—Post-class hallway sprawls
—Midnight texts
"Late. Should sleep."
"Yeah."
…
"Still there?"
"Yeah. You first."
Fingertips buzzing. Pulse thrumming. Screens burning retinas.
Neither would hang up.
But Ethan hoarded their escapes.
Stolen hours folded into:
—Park bench dares
—Convenience store raids for the world's worst gummy bears
Sophie drug him toward some hole-in-the-wall café. "They've got the best tea here!" Voice sparking.
Ethan's smirk sharpened.
Clove and bergamot clawing the air. Cups clinking. Her knee knocking his under the table.
Time warped.
Just them.
Always them.
Ethan: "Never pegged you for a tea drinker."
Sophie's eyebrow hooked skyward.
"What'd you think I drank?"
Ethan: "Black coffee. Like a boring adult."
Sophie gasped—hand clutched to chest. Oscar-worthy offense.
"Calling me boring?"
His laugh cracked the steam rising from her cup.
"A little."
Her kick under the table.
They ordered. Window seat claimed.
Outside—street's relentless march. Pedestrians blurred. Their bubble? Unnoticed.
Tea's jasmine scream wasted on him.
His stare anchored to—
—Her cheek dented by palm
—Her gaze skating glass
—That almost-smile when a thought hooked
Time syrup-thick.
Sophie's voice shattered it.
Sophie: "Y'know… I like this."
Ethan blinked. Brain static.
When he turned, Sophie's gaze dropped like the words had fangs.
"I mean—you're funny." Tea cup death-gripped. Distraction 101.
Ethan missed the save.
Too busy swallowing the grenade in his throat.
Truth detonating: She mattered. Too much.
But nothing stayed golden.
Sometimes Sophie would ice him out—no warning. No reason. Invisible firewall activated.
At first, he shrugged it off. Distracted. Busy.
But the ghost in his ribs grew teeth.
Then—that last night. Laughter cracking through phone speakers. No end in sight.
Ethan's thumb hovering over the keyboard. Echo chamber.
Ethan waited.
One minute.
Five.
Fifteen.
Last time he'd checked—she was online. Then— poof.
No fight. No grand goodbye.
Nothing crucial. Just dumb jokes about cafeteria sushi.
But the chat's warmth? Gutted.
Ethan's thumb hovering over.
Screen dark. Chest darker.
Ethan waited longer.
Until his brain rot set in—
Did I piss her off?
Was I that boring?
Or… was there someone else?
Phone lobbed across the bed. "Chill. She's just busy."
Lie curdled in his gut.
Next morning—
Sophie vibing with her squad. Laughing at Marco's shitty memes. Like last night's ghosting never happened.
Their hallway collision—
"Ethan!" Sunshine voice. Zero fucking cracks.
Her voice: sunlit. Face: zero tells.
Like he hadn't bled hours into that silent screen.
Ethan played along. Nodded. Smile brittle. Voice flat.
But inside—
Chest cavity hollowed out.
And the crack spread.
Now he saw it—
The thing he'd choked down for months.
Sophie's texts vs. IRL? Split-screen reality.
Messages—ghosted for hours. Replies? Knife-short. Ice.
Sometimes her typing bubbles blinked—blinked—then died.
But face-to-face? Sunburst.
No frost. No walls. Just that smile—the one that lit his fuse. That stare—like he was the only socket she'd plug into.
That whiplash? That's what carved him raw.