Ethan’s POV
———

It’s been a week since Aria got discharged from the hospital, and the campus feels like it’s holding its breath around me. The leaves are turning crisp gold and red, crunching underfoot as students rush between classes, their laughter and chatter a distant hum I can’t quite tune into.
My morning lectures just wrapped, and I’m trudging through the hallway, my briefcase heavy in my hand, my mind heavier still. The past seven days have been a slow bleed, every moment stitched with the quiet agony of watching Aria get better, stronger, while I’m stuck in this limbo of my own making.
She’s healing. The cast came off her wrist yesterday, leaving a faint pink line where the fracture mended, and the stitches on her forehead are fading into a thin scar she’ll probably hate but I can’t help finding beautiful. I’ve seen her around, subtle glimpses in the quad, the library, the edges of my lectures. Our interactions are clipped now, a careful dance of student and professor, stripped bare of everything we used to be. No more childhood memories, no more late-night talks, no more of that spark that used to light up her eyes when she looked at me. It’s like none of it ever happened, like I never held her hand by the river or felt her heartbeat against mine. She’s locked me out, and I deserve it, but it cuts deeper than I thought it would.
Kai’s voice echoes in my head every time I see her...
'Look after her, man. She needs you.' 
He doesn’t know what he’s asking, doesn’t know I’m the last person she needs right now.
But I try anyway, because he’s my best friend, because I promised, and because... let’s be real, I can’t stop caring about her. I check in from a distance, make sure she’s eating, resting, not pushing herself too hard with that damn stubborn streak of hers. It’s the least I can do, the only thing I can do without crossing the line I’ve already torched.
Claire’s shadow clings to me like damp rot, though. Our 'relationship' is a twisted knot of manipulation and blackmail, a cage I walked into to keep Aria safe.
She’s got me by the throat, threats of the school board, Aria’s expulsion, my career in ashes and I let her, because losing Aria to that would’ve been worse than losing her to my own cowardice.
But it’s suffocating, this charade. Claire’s not subtle about it either, her arm brushing mine in meetings, her laugh too loud at my dry jokes, the way she lingers like she’s staking a claim. I play along, smile when I have to, but it’s hollow, a performance that’s wearing me thin.
And yet… sometimes I catch these flickers in her. Effort. She tries bringing me coffee unasked, leaving notes on my desk, softening her sharp edges in moments I don’t expect. There’s this sweetness, a shocking niceness that sneaks through her armor, and I wonder if she actually cares. Not just about the power trip, but about me. It’s disarming, and I hate how it makes me question myself. Could I give this a chance? Could I let go of Aria, let Claire in, build something real out of this mess? My head toys with it, weighs the logic.
Claire is the same age as mine, my equal, a partner who fits the life I’m supposed to lead. But my heart? It’s a traitor. It belongs to Aria, always has, always will, and no amount of Claire’s effort can change that.
I’m lost in that tangle, my footsteps echoing down the hallway, when I see her. Aria.
She’s on the opposite side, walking with some classmate. A guy with glasses, oblivious to the storm brewing in my chest. She’s laughing, her head tipped back, that bright, unguarded sound slicing through me like a blade. Her hair catches the light, and she looks… alive. Better. Like she’s reclaiming herself, piece by piece, without me.
They pass me, close enough I could reach out, and I brace myself for her to glance my way, to stop, to acknowledge me in some small, fleeting way. But she doesn’t. Her eyes stay on her classmate, her laughter unbroken, her stride steady, like I’m invisible. A ghost.
The guy with her nods at me, a quick “Hey, Professor Ramsey,” polite and oblivious, but Aria? Nothing. She walks right by, her shoulder brushing the air where I stand, and it’s like a punch to the gut.
I keep moving, my jaw tight, my chest caving in with a hurt I can’t name. It’s what I wanted, right? For her to move on, to forget me, to be safe from the mess I dragged her into. But it stings, sharp and bitter, a wound I didn’t expect to feel so raw.
I’m halfway down the hall when something pulls me back, a prickling instinct and I glance over my shoulder.
She’s looking at me.
Just for a heartbeat, her head turned, her eyes catching mine across the distance. Wide, unguarded, a flicker of something... hurt, maybe, or longing before she snaps her gaze away, her friend’s chatter pulling her forward.
My breath catches, my steps faltering, and I’m staring after her, trying to sink into that split-second look. What was it? Did she feel it too, that ache, that pull? Or was it just my imagination, a desperate grab at a thread she’s already cut?
I’m about to turn away, to shove it down and keep walking, when a voice cuts through the haze.
“Ethan!” Claire’s tone is bright, too bright, slicing through the quiet like a spotlight.
I turn, and there she is, striding toward me with that polished confidence, her heels clicking sharp against the tile. She’s not alone, she's with some guy, older, in a crisp suit, carrying a briefcase and a vibe that screams 'important.' He’s got graying hair, sharp eyes, and a smile that’s all business.
She stops in front of me, her smile tight but triumphant, like she’s won something I don’t even know I’m playing for. “Ethan, I want you to meet someone. This is Richard, he’s a famous publisher. Richard, this is Ethan Ramsey, one of our most brilliant literature professors.”
Richard extends a hand, his grip firm as we shake. “Pleasure, Ethan. Claire’s been singing your praises.”
I force a smile, my mind still reeling from Aria’s glance. “Uh, thanks. Good to meet you too.”
Claire’s eyes glint, and she jumps in, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Richard’s visiting the university for a potential collaboration, and I thought it was the perfect chance to show him some of your work. Those essays you’ve been tinkering with, the ones on narrative theory and modern identity? I slipped him a few copies.”
My stomach drops, a cold jolt cutting through the fog. “You… what?” My voice is low, tight, but she doesn’t catch the edge, too caught up in her own glow.
Richard nods, oblivious to the tension coiling in me. “They’re impressive, Ethan. Sharp, insightful, with a fresh take that could really resonate. I see big potential here. It could be a book, maybe even a series. We’d need to polish it up, of course, but I’d love to talk more if you’re interested.”
I stare at him, then at Claire, my jaw clenching as anger simmers under my skin. “That’s… generous,” I manage, my words clipped. “I’ll think about it. Maybe we can set something up. I’d need your contact.”
Richard pulls a card from his pocket, handing it over with a grin. “Excellent. Give me a call when you’re ready. I’ll let you two sort this out. I’ve got a meeting with the dean. Pleasure meeting you, Ethan.”
He strides off, leaving me with Claire, the hallway suddenly too quiet, too small. I turn to her, my voice low, barely controlled. “Claire, what the hell was that?”
Her smile falters, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What do you mean? I thought you’d be thrilled—”
“Thrilled?” I snap, stepping closer, my frustration spilling over. “You showed him my work without asking me? Without even a heads-up? That’s my writing, Claire. My personal stuff I wasn’t ready to share with anyone, let alone some publisher I don’t know!”
She blinks, hurt flashing across her face, but it’s quickly masked by defensiveness. “I was trying to help you, Ethan! Do you know how big this could be for your career? I saw an opportunity and took it. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Appreciate it?” My voice rises, sharp and bitter, and I catch myself, lowering it as students pass by, oblivious. “You had no right, Claire. I’m grateful for the chance, yeah, but you don’t get to make that call for me. You don’t get to dig into my life like that.”
Her lips press thin, her eyes narrowing, but there’s a tremble in her voice when she speaks. “I’m your partner, Ethan. I’m trying to be good for you, to support you, despite… everything. I thought this could be something we share, something positive.”
“Partner?” I laugh, a harsh, jagged sound that makes her flinch. “This isn’t a partnership, Claire. It’s blackmail. You forced me into this, threatened Aria’s future, my career, everything I care about, just to keep me here. And now you’re acting like we’re some happy couple?”
Her face pales, but she steps closer, her voice dropping, fierce and wounded. “I’m better for you than she ever was, Ethan. I’m helping you build something... your career, your life, while she was just a risk, a reckless kid dragging you down. I care about you, more than you realize. I’m trying to make this work, despite how we started.”
I feel a surge of annoyance, hot and fierce, but I clamp it down, my voice cold and steady. “Don’t you dare talk about Aria like that. You don’t know her, don’t know what she means to me. You got what you wanted, Claire. I’m here, playing your game. What more do you need? I’ve sacrificed everything. my happiness, years of longing for her... just to fall into your twisted trap. What else do you want from me?”
Her eyes glisten, hurt and anger warring there, but she doesn’t back down. “I want you to see me, Ethan! To realize I’m the one who’s here, fighting for you, while she’s out there laughing with her little friends, moving on without you. Someday, you’ll wake up and see it, see that I’m the one who fits, not some college girl who doesn’t understand your world.”
I shake my head, my chest tight, my voice dropping to a raw, bitter whisper. “You’re wrong, Claire. You’ll never be her. I don’t care how sweet you are, how nice you try to be. My heart’s hers, always has been, always will be. This?” I gesture between us, my hand trembling. “This is a lie I’m living to protect her, not because I want it. You can’t blackmail me into loving you.”
She stares at me, her breath hitching, tears welling but not falling. “You’re a fool, Ethan,” she says finally, her voice cracking, sharp and sad. “You’ll regret this, throwing away something real for a fantasy that’ll never last. I’m giving up for now, but mark my words, you’ll see it someday.”
She turns on her heel, her steps sharp and clipped as she stalks off, leaving me alone in the hallway, my chest heaving, my heart a wreckage of guilt and longing.
I slump against the wall, my head tipping back, eyes stinging as I fight the ache clawing up my throat. Aria’s laugh echoes in my mind, that fleeting glance she threw me, the way she’s healing without me. It’s bittersweet, a knife twisted deep. She’s moving on, and I’m stuck here, tethered to a lie I can’t escape.
Suspense coils in my gut, a thrill of what-ifs, what if Claire snaps, spills everything? What if Aria finds out? What if I lose her forever, not just as mine but as anything at all? It’s dramatic, a sad, thrilling spiral I can’t climb out of, and it’s killing me.
I push off the wall, my steps heavy as I head to my office, her face burned into my mind. Laughing, alive, slipping through my fingers like sand. She’s better now, stronger, and I’m fading, a shadow of the guy who loved her too much to fight for her.
And as the hallway empties, the silence presses in, heavy and sad, I wonder if this is it, if this is how it ends, with her walking away and me drowning in a love I can’t have.
A tragedy I wrote myself into, with no happy ending in sight.
———
Aria’s POV
___
The library at Inkwell University smells like old books and desperation, a vibe I’m way too familiar with these days.
I’m slumped over a table in the back, my laptop glowing with the half-finished team report I’ve been slogging through with my classmate who’s way too good for someone who just had her accident week ago. He’s packing up now, his glasses slipping down his nose as he flashes me a grin.
“Catch you later, Aria! Don’t forget to proofread section three... I went a little wild with the metaphors,” he says, all nerdy enthusiasm, before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and bouncing out the door.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, waving him off without looking up.
The second he’s gone, I let my head thud onto the table. It’s been a week since I got discharged from the hospital, and I’m still a walking mess, physically and emotionally. My wrist’s healing, sure, but my heart? That’s a whole other disaster zone.
I’m mid-pity party, staring at the empty table like it’s got all the answers, when a tornado of chaos barrels into my quiet corner. Zianne and Jiro, my personal hype squad and occasional tormentors, swoop in like they’ve been tracking me with GPS. Zianne’s got this wild glint in her eyes, her curls bouncing as she plops into the chair across from me, and Jiro’s practically vibrating, his sneakers squeaking as he hops from foot to foot.
“Aria-freaking-Grey!” Zianne announces, slamming her hands on the table so hard my laptop jumps. “You will not believe the tea we just scooped!”
I groan, lifting my head just enough to squint at her. “I don’t care.”
“Oh, you’ll care,” Jiro says, grinning like he’s about to drop the juiciest gossip bomb ever. He leans in, elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “It’s about Professor Heartbreaker and Professor Davies. Major drama alert!”
My stomach does a flip, but I force my face into a mask of boredom, rolling my eyes so hard I might strain something. “Pass. I don’t give a flying crap about Ethan or his creepy girlfriend. Can we talk about literally anything else?”
Zianne’s grin turns wicked, and she leans closer, her voice all singsong and teasing. “Oh, come on, Aria! You can’t just brush this off! Word on the street is they were arguing in the hallway earlier.. like, full-on tension, red faces! Nobody knows what it was about, but it was intense. Students walking by said you could feel the vibes from ten feet away!”
Jiro jumps in, practically bouncing now. “And get this, they didn’t even eat lunch together today! You know how they’ve been glued at the hip since they started dating, right? Every day, same table, all lovey-dovey with their stupid food and coffee? Well, not today! Davies was solo in the faculty lounge, and Ethan was nowhere in sight. Suspicious much?”
I clench my jaw, my good hand curling into a fist under the table. “So what? Maybe they’re fighting over who gets to grade my next paper. I. Don’t. Care.”
But they’re not buying it. Zianne’s eyes narrow, all detective-mode, and Jiro’s smirking like he’s caught me in a lie. “Oh, please,” Zianne says, tossing her hair like she’s some Queen Bee.
“You’re telling me you’re totally over Professor Heartbreaker? After he stayed by your hospital bed for three days straight, all weepy and heroic? After he drove you back here like some knight in a sweater? You can’t fool us, Aria Grey!”
I shove my laptop into my bag with more force than necessary, the zipper screeching as I yank it shut. “I’m over it, okay? Done. Ethan Ramsey is dead to me. I don’t care if he’s fighting with Davies or marrying her in the quad tomorrow. I’m moving on.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, and storm toward the exit, my sneakers pounding the floor like I’m running from something.
They follow me, of course, because they’re an annoying friend and also total pains in my butt.
Jiro’s jogging to keep up, his voice all playful and annoying. “Yeah, right! You keep saying you hate him, but your face says otherwise, dude! Every time his name comes up, you get all twitchy and red. You’re not over him... you’re obsessed!”
Zianne’s right on my heels, her laughter bouncing off the library walls. “For real, Aria! Since you got out of the hospital, it’s been Ethan this, Ethan that in your head. You’re like, ‘I hate him, I hate him,’ but then you’re staring into space like some lovesick girl. You’re not fooling anyone!”
I spin around outside the library doors, the crisp fall air hitting my face as I glare at them, my cheeks flaming. “Shut up, both of you! I’m trying, okay? I’m trying so hard to hate him, to forget him, to build these stupid walls so he can’t get in anymore! But every time I think I’ve got it locked down, something happens. His dumb text, his dumb face, the way he looked at me in the hospital and it all crumbles! I hate it, I hate him, and I hate that I don’t hate him!”
My voice cracks, loud and dramatic, and a few passing students glance over, probably thinking I’m losing it. Maybe I am. Jiro and Zianne freeze, their grins fading into something softer, but there’s still that spark of mischief in their eyes.
“Whoa,” Jiro says, holding up his hands like he can't believe what J just said. “That was, like, Oscar-worthy. You’re a total drama queen, Aria, and I’m here for it.”
Zianne steps closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, but it’s laced with that teasing edge. “Okay, fine, you’re trying. We’ll give you that. But you’re not moving on, girl. You’re stuck in Ethan-land, and those walls? They’re, like, made of tissue paper when it comes to him. Admit it, you still care.”
I glare at her, my eyes stinging, my chest tight with frustration and something I refuse to name. “I don’t! I’m gonna prove it, okay? I’m gonna move on, forget him, and shove him so far out of my life he’ll be a freaking footnote! You’ll see! Everyone will see!”
Jiro snorts, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Big talk, Grey. I’ll believe it when I see it. Bet you 200 pesos you’re crying over him by next week.”
“Deal,” I snap, jabbing a finger at him, my voice rising to a dramatic pitch. “And when I win, you’re buying me pizza and ice cream, you jerk!”
Zianne laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we start walking again. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Either way, I’m popping popcorn for the show. But seriously, Aria, if you’re so over him, why’d you keep those flowers he brought you? They’re still on your desk, looking all sad and wilted.”
I freeze mid-step, my face flaming hotter than the sun, and shove her off me with my good hand. “Shut up, Zianne! They’re just flowers! I didn’t have the heart to toss them, okay? Doesn’t mean anything!”
“Uh-huh,” Jiro says, wagging his eyebrows like a cartoon villain. “Sure, dude. Keep telling yourself that.”
I groan, loud and theatrical, throwing my head back like I’m auditioning for a teen movie. “You two are the worst! I’m trying so hard to be this badass who doesn’t care, and you’re out here poking holes in my vibe! Can’t a girl catch a break?”
Zianne giggles, linking arms with me again, her voice all mock-serious. “Nope! We’re your besties, it’s our job to call you out. But we love you, even when you’re a hot mess over Professor Heartbreaker.”
I roll my eyes, but a laugh slips out, sharp and real, cutting through the drama swirling in my chest. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too, you pains in my butt.”
We keep walking, their chatter bouncing around me like a shield against the world. Jiro and Zianne’s talking about planning another dumb party again this weekend. It’s loud, chaotic, and so them, and it’s the only thing keeping me from spiraling back into Ethan-land.
Because here’s the truth, the messy, stupid truth I won’t say out loud... I’m not over him. Not even close.
I keep telling myself I hate him, that he’s a jerk who broke my heart and ran off with Professor Davies like some soap opera villain. I keep swearing I’ll move on, forget him, build walls so high he’ll never get through. But every time I try, it’s like my heart’s a traitor, crumbling those walls with every memory... his voice by my bed, his text wishing me luck, the way he looked at me in that hallway today, like I was still his everything.
I glare at the sidewalk, my sneakers scuffing the pavement as Zianne and Jiro keeps on talking beside me. I’m trying, I really am. I’ll prove it to them, to Ethan, to myself.
I’ll shove him out of my head, out of my life, and make him a ghost I don’t flinch at anymore. They’ll see. They’ll all see.
But as we round the corner to the dorms, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and my heart does that dumb fluttery thing it always does when I think it might be him. I don’t check it... not yet because I’m scared it’ll be his name lighting up the screen, and I’m even more scared of how much I want it to be.
But before I could stop myself, I fished my phone in my pocket and peeked who it was. I was freaking right, it's Ethan. What does he needs again?
“Ugh,” I mutter under my breath, loud enough for Jiro to catch.
“What’s up, drama queen?” he teases, nudging me with his elbow.
“Nothing,” I snap, glaring at him. “Just… shut up and keep walking. I’ve got a bet to win, remember?”
He laughs, Zianne joining in, and I let their noise carry me forward, one shaky step at a time, toward a future where Ethan Ramsey’s just a memory I can finally leave behind.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.