The morning of the Literature Symposium dawns like a storm cloud I can’t shake. Our dorm room is a mess... clothes strewn across the bed, half a dozen coffee mugs cluttering my desk, and my symposium notes scattered like confetti after a party gone wrong.
I stand in front of my mirror, tugging at the hem of my blazer, trying to look like I’ve got my life together. My reflection stares back at me. Pale, with dark circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer can hide. I look like I’ve been hit by a truck, which isn’t far off from how I feel after Ethan’s bombshell breakup and the whirlwind of yesterday’s rehearsal.
I’m mid-yank on a brush through my tangled hair when my phone buzzes on the dresser, the screen lighting up with a text.
My stomach lurches when I see the name. Ethan.
My hand freezes, the brush dangling in my grip like a weapon I don’t know how to use. I don’t want to look. I shouldn’t look. But my stupid, traitorous curiosity wins out, and I swipe it open.
Ethan: Hey, Aria. Just wanted to say good luck today. You’re going to kill it at the symposium. I know it’s been a rough week, but you’ve got this.
My chest tightens, a mix of anger and something softer... something I hate myself for feeling swirling together until I can’t breathe. Good luck? Good luck?! After everything he’s put me through, he thinks a text is going to fix it?
My thumb hovers over the reply button, itching to fire back something scathing. “Thanks for nothing, jerk,” or “Go enjoy your new girlfriend and leave me alone” but I stop myself. No. He doesn’t deserve a response. He doesn’t deserve anything from me. I toss the phone onto the bed like it’s radioactive, letting it sink into the pile of discarded hoodies. Silence is my answer. Let him stew in it.
Zianne barges in, her arms full of makeup bags and a grin that’s way too chipper for 8 AM. “Rise and shine, symposium superstar!” she chirps, dumping her haul onto my desk. “You ready to slay this thing or what?”
I groan, flopping back onto the bed, my blazer crumpling beneath me. “No. I’m ready to fake a stomach flu and hide under my covers until it’s over.”
She snorts, grabbing my arm and yanking me upright. “Not happening. You’re not letting Professor Hottie or should I say, Professor Heartbreaker and his new girlfriend ruin your big day. We’re making you look like a goddess, and you’re going to walk in there like you own the place. Ramsey who? Davies what? They’re irrelevant.”
Her energy’s infectious, even if I don’t want it to be. I let her fuss over me, curling my hair into soft waves, swiping mascara over my lashes until my eyes pop, dabbing lip gloss that tastes like cherries. She’s chattering the whole time about Jiro’s latest football drama, Arkin’s new piercing, how Aiden’s promised to be front-row cheering me on and I nod along, pretending I’m fine. But inside, I’m a live wire, sparking with nerves and hurt, Ethan’s text looping in my head like a bad song I can’t turn off.
By the time we’re done, I barely recognize myself. The blazer’s sharp, my skirt’s crisp, and my hair falls just right. I look like I’ve got it together, even if my heart’s a shredded mess. Zianne steps back, hands on her hips, grinning like a proud mom. “There. You’re a total badass. Now let’s go crush it.”
The walk to the symposium hall feels like a death march. The campus is buzzing. Students lugging backpacks, profs in suits, the air thick with that preppy vibe.
I clutch my bag tighter, my knuckles white, as we near the lecture hall where the event’s being held. My stomach’s in knots, but I keep my head up, channeling Zianne’s pep talk.
'You’re a goddess. You own this.'
 The doors loom ahead, tall and imposing, and I push through them, Zianne at my side like my personal hype squad.
Inside, the hall’s packed, rows of seats filled with students, faculty, and some fancy-looking guests I don’t recognize.
The stage is set with a podium, a massive screen behind it, and a banner screaming “Inkwell University Literature Symposium” in bold letters. My heart’s pounding so loud I’m sure everyone can hear it, but I scan the crowd for my crew. There they are... Jiro, Arkin, Aiden, and Troy, front row, grinning like idiots. Aiden catches my eye and gives me a thumbs-up, his lopsided smile steadying me just a bit.
Then I see them. Ethan and Professor Davies. They’re off to the side, near the front, deep in conversation. My breath catches, a sharp sting slicing through me. Ethan’s in a navy suit, his hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly hot, and he’s… relaxed. More than yesterday, anyway. He’s leaning toward Davies, nodding at something she’s saying, his posture loose, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Davies is all polished perfection... tailored blazer, heels clicking as she shifts, her hand brushing his arm like it’s no big deal.
They look… comfortable. Too comfortable. My stomach twists, a bitter taste creeping up my throat. Week ago, he was mine, and now he’s hers? I want to look away, but I can’t. My eyes are glued to them, picking apart every move, every glance.
Davies spots me first. Her head tilts, and she waves me over, her smile tight but professional. “Aria! There you are. Come here a sec.”
I plaster on a grin, my legs wobbly as I cross the room. Ethan turns, and our eyes lock. His eyes widen, just for a heartbeat, before he schools his face back to that calm, detached mask. Up close, he’s even more unbearable... those hazel eyes, that jawline, the faint stubble that used to tickle when he—Nope, stop it, Aria. I shove the thought down, focusing on Professor Davies instead.
“You’re looking sharp,” she says, her tone clipped but encouraging. “Big day today. You ready?”
I nod, my voice steady despite the chaos inside. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks, Professor.”
Ethan steps forward, his hands in his pockets, and I brace myself. “You’ve worked hard for this, Aria,” he says, his voice low, warm, slicing right through me. “You’re going to do great out there. I’m… proud of you.”
The words hit like a punch, and I clench my jaw, fighting the sting behind my eyes. Proud? He’s proud? After everything? I want to scream, to demand why he’s acting like he still cares, but I don’t. I can’t. Not here. “Thanks, Professor Ramsey” I mutter, my tone flat, and turn away before he can see how much it hurts.
The symposium kicks off. Opening remarks, some prof droning about “the power of narrative,” blah blah blah. I’m third up, and when my name’s called, my legs feel like jelly.
I climb the stage, the spotlight blinding, the crowd a sea of faces blurring together. My notes shake in my hands, but I grip the podium, take a deep breath, and dive in.
“The unreliable narrator isn’t just a gimmick,” I start, my voice wobbling at first but gaining strength. “It’s a lens on truth itself. From Holden Caulfield’s skewed rebellion to the curated chaos of TikTok, these voices make us question what’s real and why we keep buying into it.”
I hit my stride, the words flowing, sharp and clear. I weave in Star Wars, The Hunger Games, even a viral meme about a guy who thought his cat was plotting against him and laughter ripples through the crowd, and I feel a spark of confidence. My eyes flick to my friends... Jiro’s whooping like a maniac, Arkin’s nodding, Aiden’s grinning, Zianne and Troy’s clapping. It’s fuel, pushing me through the nerves.
Then I glance at Ethan. He’s watching, leaning forward slightly, his lips parted. His eyes are locked on me, and there’s this… glow in them. Pride, sure, but something deeper, something raw that makes my chest ache. He’s not hiding it, not now, and it’s like a knife twisting in my gut. I tear my gaze away, focusing on the screen, the words, anything but him.
I wrap it up. “In a world of filters and facades, the unreliable narrator isn’t just a story trick. It’s us.” and step back, my breath ragged as applause erupts.
It’s loud, real, and my friends are on their feet, hollering like I just won an Oscar. I manage a shaky smile, bowing my head as I leave the stage, my legs trembling but my heart pounding with something like triumph.
The rest of the symposium flies by other presenters, some Q&A, more applause. It’s over in an hour, and I’m buzzing, riding the high of nailing it despite everything.
My crew swarms me after, Zianne and Arkin hugging me so tight I can’t breathe, Jiro yelling about a “victory party,” Aiden ruffling my hair with a proud “Told you so.” I’m laughing, actually laughing, when we decide to stick around after the event and help pack up to stack up chairs, roll some banners, the usual post-event grind.
I’m hauling a stack of programs to a box near the stage, chatting with Aiden about his latest sketch, when it happens.
A creak overhead, sharp and wrong, snaps my my ear. The massive “Literature Symposium” banner that was wood frame, heavy as heck, suddenly sways, then it cracks.
My brain screams to move, but my feet are glued, and before I can react, it’s falling, fast, right at me.
“Aria!” Aiden shouts, lunging, but it’s too late. The world tilts, a deafening thud slams through my skull, and pain explodes. Sharp, blinding. My vision blurs, Aiden’s face fading into a smear of panic, and then… nothing. Just black.
———
Ethan’s POV
———
The symposium hall is alive with energy, applause still ringing in my ears as Aria steps off the stage. She’s a vision up there... sharp, poised, her voice cutting through the room like a blade, every word a testament to how incredible she is.
I’m leaning forward, my hands clasped so tight my knuckles ache, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Pride swells in my chest, hot and fierce, but it’s tangled with this gut-wrenching ache I can’t shake. She’s brilliant, unstoppable, and I’m the idiot who let her go.
Weeks ago, I had her. Her laugh, her spark, her everything and now she’s up there, shining, while I’m stuck here with Claire’s shadow looming over me.
Her closing line lands and the room erupts. I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, clapping hard enough to sting, my heart hammering with a mix of awe and regret.
She glances my way, just for a second, and our eyes lock  hers fierce, mine probably too raw, too honest. I see the hurt flicker in her, and it’s a knife to my gut. She looks away, and I sink back into my chair, my chest tight. Claire’s beside me, clapping politely, her smile all polished and perfect, but I barely register her.
It’s Aria. Always Aria.
The event wraps up fast. Other speakers, some Q&A, the usual wrap-up chatter. I’m half-listening, my mind stuck on her, on that text I sent this morning she didn’t answer. I don’t blame her. Why would she? I broke her, and now I’m sitting here playing the supportive professor while Claire’s arm brushes mine every five seconds, her laugh grating on my nerves.
She’s trying too hard, and I’m just going through the motions, nodding, smiling, pretending I’m not falling apart inside.
It’s over in an hour, and people start trickling out, but Aria sticks around with her friends. Those loud, loyal kids who’d probably deck me if they got the chance.
I hang back too, helping stack chairs, roll up cables, anything to keep busy, to stay close to her without crossing that line I’ve already torched. She’s laughing with Aiden, hauling stuff to a box near the stage, and I’m watching her. I can’t help it.
When a sound splits the air. A creak, loud and wrong, like wood snapping under pressure. My head jerks up, and I see it, the massive banner overhead, swaying, tilting, then breaking.
“Aria!” Her name rips out of me, raw and desperate, as it crashes down. Huge, heavy, right at her.
My heart stops, ice flooding my veins, and I’m moving before I can think, legs pumping, shoving past chairs, people, anything in my way. She’s frozen, eyes wide, and Aiden’s lunging for her, but it’s too fast... too damn fast.
The frame slams down with a thud that shakes the floor, and she’s gone, buried under it, a scream stuck in my throat.
“ARIA!” I shout again, my voice cracking as I skid to her side, dropping to my knees. The banner’s a twisted mess, wood and fabric pinning her, her arm limp, a smear of blood on the floor that stops my breath. “No, no, no—”
I’m clawing at it, shoving the debris off her, my hands shaking so bad I can barely grip anything. She’s out cold, her face pale, too still, and panic claws at me, wild and feral. “Somebody call 911! NOW!”
The room explodes... shouts, footsteps pounding, someone yelling for help but it’s all static. I’m focused on her, my hands trembling as I clear the last of the wreckage, her body limp beneath it. Blood streaks her cheek, her blazer torn, and I’m choking on a sob, my chest splitting open. “Aria, come on, wake up... please, Aria, wake up.”
I’m reaching for her, ready to scoop her up and run, when a shadow looms over me. Aiden. His face is a storm eyes blazing, jaw clenched, and he grabs my shoulder, yanking me back hard.
“Get off her!” he snarls, his voice a growl, shoving me so I stumble. “You don’t get to touch her, after what you'd done, you bastard!”
Tension crackles between us, electric and brutal. He’s in my face, fists balled, and I’m on my feet, adrenaline surging, my own anger flaring hot. “You don’t know anything, Aiden so shut the hell up!” I snap, my voice raw, shoving past him. “She needs help, not your damn hero act!”
He lunges again, but Jiro and Arkin grab him, holding him back as he thrashes, yelling, “You broke her! You don’t get to play savior now!” His words hit like bullets, each one tearing through me, but I don’t care... I can’t. Not with her like this.
Her friends are swarming now, Zianne’s sobbing, Troy’s shouting into his phone but I tune it out.
My arms slide under Aria, lifting her, her weight so light it’s terrifying. She’s warm but limp, her head lolling against my chest, and my heart’s shattering, every beat a plea. Stay with me, stay with me.
Blood smears my shirt, her blood, and I’m running, legs burning, toward the doors where sirens wail in the distance. The ambulance screeches up, red lights flashing, and I’m shouting, “She’s hurt, hurry!” as medics spill out, a stretcher clattering between them.
I lay her down, my hands hovering, useless, as they swarm her... checking her pulse, shouting orders. Her face is slack, lashes dark against her pale skin, and I’m choking on fear, on guilt, on everything I can’t undo. “Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking, “don’t take her from me.”
They wheel her away, the ambulance doors slamming shut, and I’m left there, chest heaving, hands bloody, staring as it peels off. Aiden’s still yelling behind me, the others a blur of chaos, but all I hear is my own pulse, thundering with one truth.
I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not ever.