I loved him even if I hadn’t realized it. I loved him even if it had scared me into stunned silence. I loved him even if it was too late already.
I crossed the quad with my heart pounding, already imagining the way his shoulders would dropwhen he saw me there. The small, relieved smile he’d try and fail to hide.
By the time I reached the lecture hall, my lungs burned.
I slowed only because I had to, chest heaving as I stopped just outside the door. The corridor smelled faintly of dust and old books and something metallic from the radiators. My reflection stared back at me from the narrow window in the door, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes too bright.
Get it together.
I pressed my lips together and breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth, counting the seconds until the pounding in my chest eased into something manageable. This wasn’t about me. It couldn’t be. This was about showing up, not falling apart in public.
When I pushed the door open, I did it carefully, slipping through the gap like a ghost.
The room was quiet in that tense, focused way lecture halls got during exams. Pens scratched across paper. Someone coughed softly a few rows down. Pages shifted, and chairs creaked. Professor Colby sat at the front, glasses perched low on his nose as he sorted through a neat stack of exams.
He looked up when I entered.
Our eyes met for a brief moment, and he gave a small nod. No questions or interruption, just a nod that I had too much at stake to miss this.
I closed the door behind me as gently as I could and stayed near the back wall, letting my eyes adjust.
Then I saw him.
Jason sat a few rows down, broad shoulders slightly hunched over the desk, curls catching the overhead light and shining softly, like they always did when the sun hit them just right. His pencil moved fast, then paused. His foot bounced under the desk, an anxious tell I knew too well by now.
Something in my chest opened so wide it almost hurt.
There it was again. That feeling I’d been trying to reason my way around for days. Not infatuation. Not panic. Not the dizzy rush of novelty. It was deeper than that, quieter and heavier, like gravity. Like home.
I loved him.
The truth settled in without drama this time.
I took another step inside, choosing a seat near the back, close enough that I could see him clearly without being in his line of sight. I set my bag down carefully and folded my hands in my lap, willing myself not to stare.
It didn’t matter.
As if tugged by something beyond the laws of the universe, Jason shifted. His shoulders tightened, and then he turned his head, just slightly, glancing back over his shoulder.
Our eyes met.
The worry etched across his face vanished instantly as if it had never been there. The tight line of his mouth softened. His eyes lit up, bright and warm and unmistakably relieved.
He smiled.
Something in my throat closed.
That look wasn’t confusion or hope or projection. It wasn’t him mistaking comfort for something bigger. It was recognition. It was knowing. It was the kind of look you gave someone when their presence alone made the world feel steadier.
I’d been so wrong to doubt him.
Jason held my gaze for a second longer, then turned back to his exam, shoulders visibly easing, pencil moving again with renewed focus.
I sat there, heart pounding, watching the back of his head like it was the most important thing in the room.
I was here.
CHAPTER NINETEEN