"There goes your co-hubby," Zane said, eyes fixed on the undeniably handsome boy walking past us.
"Who? Aarav?"
"Yes. Haven't you heard? Zara has been obsessed with him since the eighth grade."
I shrugged. "And why would I care about that?"
He looked at me as if I'd just said something absurd. "Didn't you hear what I said? She is o-b-s-e-s-s-e-d with him."
I let out a chuckle, unfazed. "Well, that's about to change. He has nothing on me."
He stared at me, utterly perplexed. "I didn't realize you were this confident. Wow!"
I smirked. "I mean… how's it going for them so far?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer.
"Exactly," I continued. "Clearly, the guy isn't interested in her. But I am."
"Oh, trust me, he is."
I paused for a moment. "Then why hasn't he done anything about it?"
"Maybe he's shy. He's also probably still focused on school."
"Pfft," I scoffed. "That's the difference between me and him. I can multitask pretty well."
Zane shook his head, laughing. "I never thought I could like you more than I already do." He threw an arm over my shoulders. "Are you saying you're going to confess your feelings to her?"
I smirked. "Did I?" Then I picked up my pace.
"Wait—really?" Excitement lit up his voice, but then, as if something in him shifted, he asked, "What if she rejects you?"
Way to kill the mood. Rejection hadn't even crossed my mind. Sure, it was possible, but why waste energy dwelling on something I didn't want?
"Ever heard of Helene Hadsell?" I asked.
He frowned. "No. Is she a love guru of some sort? A pianist? A farmer? A dancer? Never heard of her."
"All you need to know is she's going to say yes—I can already see it happening."
Then, just as suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. "Okay, there's something I have to tell you."
I stopped. "What?"
He scratched the back of his head, looking guilty—like a kid caught sneaking candy. "She might already know about your, um, crush?"
I narrowed my eyes. "First of all, this is not a crush—it's love. L-O-V-E. Don't confuse it. And second, who told her?"
Zane winced. "Might've been me."
I intensely stared at him, utterly dumbfounded and after a long pause asked ,"And why, exactly, would you do that?"
"It just… slipped out."
I finally pulled my hand out of my pocket and crossed my arms. "How did she take it?"
"She was shocked."
"That's it? She didn't say anything?"
"Nope. Just stood there, completely stunned."
I frowned. "That's weird. Almost everyone in class knows. I thought she at least had a hint."
"Exactly!" Zane pointed at me, practically bouncing. "I mean, dude, I could see how you were drooling over her from a mile away—"
He froze mid-sentence when he noticed the death glare I was giving him. His survival instincts kicked in, and without another word, he bolted.
I didn't hesitate. "You better run!" I shouted, chasing after him.
***
I could tell how uneasy she was—she had been avoiding my gaze the entire time we'd been here.
"How are you going to paint my eyes if you won't even look at them?" I asked, leaning forward in my chair.
"Of course, I'm looking at you. What do you think I'm painting?" she replied, still keeping her focus anywhere but on them.
"My eyes," I said simply.
She hesitated. "What?"
"You're avoiding them."
Silence settled between us before she finally looked up, locking eyes with me.
The light streaming through the window caught her eyes just right, illuminating them to a softer, golden-brown hue. They looked almost translucent at the edges, where the setting sunlight kissed them. It was mesmerizing—she looked exceptionally beautiful.
"I can't paint your eyes properly anyway," she muttered, swinging her brush in loose strokes across the canvas.
Zara had told me before that she couldn't paint my eyes. Apparently, she couldn't paint Alek's, Marina's, or Zane's either. Not that she hadn't tried—she always said they were too dull, too dark, too lonely. She couldn't get them right.
I stood from my chair and walked closer, gently moving the hand that was obscuring the painting.
Her eyes flickered to something else—concern flashed across her face. I followed her gaze and realized she had noticed the small bruise on my hand.
Zane and Alek had asked me about it. I was certain they had talked to Marina and Zara.
I didn't want her to ask what I wasn't ready to answer. But I knew where this would go.
"Wow, you really can't get it right," I said, glancing at the painting, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
She kept her head down, silent for a moment. I could feel the question forming in her mind before she even spoke.
"Can I ask you something, Kai?" she finally said.
"Sure," I replied. "You go first."
"Huh?"
"I have something to ask you as well," I said. A faint smile played on my lips.
She nodded.
She was quiet for a while, maybe searching for the right words. Then, as if deciding to just say it, she let it out. "There are several bruises on your body. Where do they come from?" She asked, looking directly into my eyes.
I exhaled. "Well, that's a very long story. Are you sure you're willing to listen to it all the way through?"
She nodded.
I pulled my chair closer to hers, spun it around, and straddled it backward, resting my arms on the backrest.
"I was never an only child," I began. "I had a brother, a mother, and a happy father. My brother was my best friend. I know people say that just because they're family, but he really was my best friend. His name was Zion. He wanted to be a swimmer, just like me. You could say I was his role model," I added with a small chuckle.
Zara listened intently, her focus unwavering.
"I was fifteen—just last year—when I had a big tournament. My mother wasn't feeling too well but they still insisted on going to the event. I wanted them to be there too. My dad was at work and couldn't make it, so there was no one to drive them."
I swallowed before continuing.
"Twelve minutes before the tournament, I got a call from my mom. She told me they were on their way. She sounded so happy, and that made me excited. I had been training for that moment, and I wanted them to see it."
I paused. The emotions were creeping in, the ones I never wanted to relive. Zara must have noticed—she knew what was coming next.
"That was the last time I heard from them." My voice was quieter now. "The next call I got was from my father, telling me mom and Zion had been in a fatal road accident."
Zara's eyes widened. I could see the tears forming in them.
"I won that day… but at what cost?" I said bitterly. "From that moment, everything changed. Swimming stopped bringing me joy. Actually, the last time I tried, I almost drowned." I forced a laugh, but Zara was too caught up in my story to even fake a smile. "I lost the only dream I had, Zara."
I exhaled, forcing myself to continue.
"Everything in our house was a reminder of them. It wasn't just hard on me—it destroyed my father. He turned to alcohol and, in the process, lost his job and a majority of his friends. We couldn't afford to live there anymore, so we had to move. Tadaa!" I waved my hands in mock enthusiasm, trying to lighten the mood. "Here I am!"
She didn't react, still keenly listening. I went on.
"I fought against the idea of relocating to MayBay, but I had no say in my father's decisions. It felt like I was leaving behind everything—my dreams, my childhood, my friends, my home. Most importantly, I was leaving the memories I made with my mother and Zion."
I glanced at Zara. Her expression said it all—sadness, compassion, and a deep sympathy that made my chest tighten.
"My father became someone I barely recognized. The weight of their passing crushed him. It changed him in ways I don't even have words for. Deep down, he blames me for it."
Then, with a tone that even unsettled me, I said, "Zara… I can't recognize him. My eyes are probably lost, searching for him. Could that be the reason why you can't paint them?"
She stayed silent, staring into my eyes. There was sorrow on her face, a deep, aching kind. I gave her my biggest smile. I needed her to know I was okay.
"Do you blame yourself?" she asked, the question I had been too afraid to face.
I hesitated, the smile slowly disappearing from my face while the weight of it settled over me. That wasn't something I was ready to face, yet. Finally, I whispered, "I don't know."
Then, like a switch, I changed my demeanor. "Okay!" I clapped my hands once and shifted in my chair. "Now, my turn."
Zara blinked, snapping back. "Wait," she said. "You didn't answer my question."
I held her gaze for a moment before replying, "I did."
She looked confused, about to say something else, but before she could, I blurted out,
"Do you like Aarav?" I asked.
Her reaction was immediate—her eyes widened slightly, and I could tell she was shocked, probably wondering where I had heard that from.
"Where is that coming from? I'm not sure what you're talking about," she said, her tone carefully neutral as she picked up her brush and started painting, clearly trying to avoid the subject.
"Someone told me," I said, determined to stay on topic.
"Zane?"
"I didn't mention any names."
"That's private. I don't think we should discuss that."
"I just gave you half of my life history. If that's not private, then I don't know what is."
She stayed quiet. I could tell this conversation was making her a little… uncomfortable. But I wasn't letting her off the hook just yet.
"What do you think about me?" I asked.
Her breath hitched slightly, and she hesitated before tilting her head, silently asking what I meant.
"As a person," I clarified with a small smile.
For the first time, she looked… shy. She had never struck me as a shy person, but today, she was almost hesitant—like she hadn't expected me to ask such things.
"I've never really thought about that before," she admitted.
"Not even once?"
"No," she said softly.
I smiled warmly before saying, "I think about you quite often."
That caught her off guard. She turned her head to me, our eyes locking. For a moment, it looked like she wanted to say something, but no words came. Her eyes were wide, shining under the soft glow of the lights. They held a depth of curiosity, surprise, and something else—something unreadable but intense.
And then, before I could stop myself, I said it. "I like you, Zara."
Her eyes widened even more.
"I have liked you ever since the day I laid eyes on you."
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes glued to mine before she glanced away. She shifted her weight, rubbing the back of her neck before letting her hand drop to her side. The air between us felt warmer, charged with something unspoken but not unwelcome.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, she let out a soft, nervous chuckle, her gaze flickering to the side before meeting mine again. A small, hesitant smile played on her lips—shy, unsure, but unmistakably there. And in that moment, I could tell my words had reached her.
"I—" she finally mustered the courage to talk but I cut in before she could finish.
"Will you be my girlfriend?" My voice was steady, my gaze still locked onto hers. I could tell she wanted to look away, but I held her there, caught in the moment.
"No pressure," I added, giving her an easy smile. "I can wait. But when you're ready to decide, just keep in mind—I'm not exactly bad-looking, I can cook, and I actually clean up pretty well. Oh, and I don't litter," I added with a playful chuckle. "My grades are decent, I can ride a motorbike, and—just so you know—I happen to be an excellent model."
For a split second, I saw it—the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. But just as quickly, she ducked her head, hiding it from me.
I tilted my head, trying to meet her gaze. "Can you at least think about it?"
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the brush. Then, finally, she gave a small nod.
A warmth spread through my chest, slow at first, then all at once. That tiny nod—barely more than a dip of her chin—felt like a quiet promise, a possibility, maybe? My heart pounded in a way that made me feel both foolish and exhilarated. She hadn't said yes, not yet, but she also hadn't said no. And that was enough.
A stupid grin tugged at my lips. I wanted to stay there, bask in the feeling a little longer. But then—reality struck.
My eyes flickered to the time on my watch, and just like that, my stomach dropped. Crap. I was late. Again.
When I'm with Zara, time rushes by too fast—like every second with her is never enough.
Snapping back to the present, I grabbed my bag in a hurry, nearly knocking over a stack of sketchbooks in the process. "I gotta go," I blurted, slinging the strap over my shoulder. "Part-time job. My boss already thinks I have a problem with time management, and, well… he's not entirely wrong."
Zara glanced up, blinking at my sudden urgency. "You have a part-time job? Since when?"
"It's a long story," I said, "I'll tell you all about it next time."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but before she could press further, I was already halfway to the door. I hesitated for a split second, long enough to steal one last look at her, "Think about it, okay?"
And with that, I jolted out of our secret room, my heart still racing, though now for an entirely different reason.