Aria’s POV
———
My phone burned a hole in my pocket, that unread message from Ethan weighing it down like a brick. I hadn’t checked it, not yet. Every time I thought about swiping it open, my stomach did this twisty, fluttery thing, half dread, half something I didn’t want to name.
What could he possibly want now? Another “good luck” pep talk? A casual “hope you’re okay” like he hadn’t ripped my heart out and handed it back to me in pieces? I wasn’t ready to find out. Not after everything.
“Earth to Aria!” Jiro’s voice jolted me back, his sneakers scuffing the pavement as he waved a hand in front of my face. “You’re zoning out again, dude. What’s up?”
I rolled my eyes, shoving his hand away with my good one, the cast on my left wrist making me feel lopsided and grumpy. “No, I’ve just got… stuff on my mind, okay?”
Zianne smirked, tossing her curls over her shoulder as she matched my stride. “Stuff, huh? Like a certain professor? Bet you’re still stewing over Professor Heartbreaker and Professor Davies’ hallway drama. Admit it, you’re dying to know what they were fighting about.”
I groaned, loud and dramatic, my head tipping back like I could escape their teasing by sheer willpower. “Oh my gosh, can you two drop it already? I told you, I don’t care! Ethan’s ancient history. Done and over. I’m moving on, and you should too.”
Jiro snickered, nudging Zianne like they were in on some secret I wasn’t privy to. “Yeah, sure. That’s why you’re walking like you’re about to storm a castle. Totally over it, right?”
“Totally,” I shot back, picking up my pace as we hit the fork in the path.
They were headed to the quad for some dumb hangout thing, but me? I had Literature 301 in ten minutes. With Ethan. My stomach flipped again, and I hated it. Hated how just the thought of him could turn me into this jittery mess. “I’ve got class, so you two clowns can go gossip somewhere else.”
Zianne grinned, all teeth and mischief, linking arms with Jiro as they veered off. “Fine, but don’t think we’re letting this go! We’ll grill you later, Miss I’m-So-Over-Him!”
“Whatever!” I called after them, rolling my eyes so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet. Their laughter echoed behind me as I turned toward the lecture hall, my steps slowing despite myself.
The closer I got, the heavier my legs felt, like my body knew what my brain refused to admit, I wasn’t ready to face him. Not after the hospital, not after that car ride, not after his stupid text I still hadn’t read.
The lecture hall loomed ahead, all brick and glass and inevitable doom. I pushed through the double doors, the chatter of students washing over me as I slipped into my usual spot near the back. My bag hit the desk with a thud, and I yanked out my notebook, pretending to be super invested in flipping to a blank page. Anything to avoid looking up, to avoid seeing him.
But then the room hushed, that telltale shift when the prof walks in, and I couldn’t help it. My eyes flicked up. There he was. Ethan.
Standing at the front, his navy blazer hugging his shoulders just right, his dark hair a little messy like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked… tired. Shadows under his eyes, a tightness in his jaw I hadn’t noticed before. My chest did this dumb little squeeze, and I hated it, hated how he could still look so good, so Ethan, even after everything.
He started the lecture, his voice smooth and steady, diving into something about unreliable narrators ironic and I tried to focus. Really, I did. I scribbled notes, doodled in the margins, anything to keep my eyes on the page and not on him.
But then I felt it. That prickle on the back of my neck, like someone’s staring. I glanced up, just a quick peek, and... yep. He was looking at me.
Not a casual glance, either. His eyes were locked on mine, intense, unwavering, like he was trying to say something without words. My breath hitched, and I snapped my gaze back to my notebook, my pen digging into the paper so hard it nearly tore through.
What the hell was that? He’d never stared at me like this in class before, not since… well, before. It was weird, unsettling, and my heart was pounding way too fast for someone just sitting here pretending to take notes.
I risked another look a few minutes later, because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, and damn it, he was doing it again. Staring. Right at me. His eyes flicked away when I caught him, but not fast enough, and I glared, narrowing my eyes like, telling him to stop doing it. Did he want the whole class to notice? What if someone saw? What if whispers started...
“Oh, look, Professor Ramsey’s got a thing for Aria Grey.”
And it turned into some campus rumor? I’d barely survived the last round of heartbreak. I didn’t need that kind of drama on top of it.
I hunched lower in my seat, scribbling nonsense in my notebook and tried to tune him out. His voice rolled over the room, calm and steady, but every time I dared a peek, there he was, glancing my way again. Subtle, sure, but not subtle enough for me to miss it. My glare sharpened, a silent STOP IT beaming straight at him, but he just kept going, like he couldn’t help himself. It was maddening, and my stomach was doing these little flips I couldn’t control.
Halfway through the lecture, he switched gears, scribbling something on the board before turning back to us. “Alright, everyone, I’ve got a seatwork for you today. Analyze the passage on page 47, focus on how the narrator’s perspective shifts. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
The room rustled with flipping pages and murmurs, and I dove into it, grateful for the distraction. But then I saw him move. Ethan crossed to his desk, grabbed his phone, and started typing, his fingers quick and deliberate. My heart sank. No way. No freaking way.
A minute later, my phone buzzed in my pocket, a sharp vibration that jolted me upright. I glanced at him... yep, he was looking at me again, his eyes flicking between his phone and me like some secret signal. My eyes narrowed, suspicion curling tight in my chest. It was him. I knew it was him who message me.
I ignored it, flipping a page in my textbook louder than necessary, but then it buzzed again. And again. And  again. Four times in a row, each one louder in my head, like he was hammering at my walls with every text. My glare shot to him, fierce and fed up, but he just typed something else, his expression unreadable, and yep, another buzz.
“Oh, for the love of—” I muttered under my breath, loud enough that the girl next to me glanced over, confused.
I’d had enough. My hand darted into my pocket, yanking out my phone like it was a live grenade. I swiped it open, my eyes narrowing as I scrolled to his messages, starting with the one from earlier I’d refused to read.
Ethan (1:47 PM): I miss you.
I froze, my breath catching hard in my throat. The words stared back at me, bold and simple, like a punch I didn’t see coming.
I miss you.
What the hell? My eyes darted to him, but he wasn’t looking now, his head bent over some papers on his desk, his voice filling the hall as he explained the seatwork to a student up front. I scrolled down, my heart thudding louder with every line.
Ethan (2:15 PM): Did you read my message earlier?
Ethan (2:16 PM): Why are you ignoring my messages?
Ethan (2:16 PM): Stop ignoring me, Aria.
Ethan (2:17 PM): Read my messages, now.
And then, just as I was about to slam the phone down, another popped up.
Ethan (2:18 PM): Stay after class. I need to tell you something.
I stared at the screen, my brain short-circuiting. I miss you. Stop ignoring me. Stay after class. What was this? Some twisted game?
My hands shook, a storm of emotions swirling up my chest. Confusion, anger, this stupid, fluttery thing I couldn’t squash.
Why was he doing this? He’d dumped me, picked Professor Davies, and now he was… what? Missing me? Needing to tell me something? After weeks of radio silence, of me trying so hard to scrape him out of my life?
I glanced up again, quick and sharp, he was looking at me but he returned his gaze to the student he was talking a while back, his back to me now, all calm and professor-y like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in my lap.
My eyes narrowed, my glare boring into him, but he didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Like he knew I’d read it and was waiting me out.
The room spun a little, the chatter of pencils and pages fading into a dull buzz.
I miss you.
Those three words looped in my head, soft and slow, sinking into me like a melody I couldn’t unhear. Did he mean it? Was this some guilt trip, some ploy to keep me hooked? Or… was it real, a crack in the wall he’d built between us?
My heart fluttered, warm and stupid, and I hated it... hated how it made me wonder, made me feel that tiny, treacherous spark of hope I’d been stomping out for weeks.
But then the anger flared back, hot and fierce, drowning it out. No. No way. He didn’t get to do this, didn’t get to waltz back in with his texts and his stares and his I miss you like it erased everything. I wasn’t some toy he could pick up and drop whenever he felt like it. I’d told him we were done, told him to act like nothing happened, and here he was, breaking the rules I’d set.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket, my hands trembling as I gripped my pen, scribbling nonsense on my seatwork.
'Narrator’s unreliable, just like some people.'
My chest was tight, my thoughts a messy swirl of what does he want and why now and I can’t do this again.
I wanted to storm up there, demand answers, yell at him for screwing with my head, but I couldn’t. Not here, not with thirty other students scribbling away, oblivious to the drama unfolding in my stupid, stubborn heart.
The clock ticked on, slow and torturous, every second dragging like it was mocking me. Ethan kept talking, his voice a steady hum that grated on my nerves, and every time he moved, shifting papers, pacing the front... I tensed, waiting for him to look again, to push this weird, intense thing he was doing. But he didn’t. Not for the rest of class. He stayed focused, all professor-mode, like those texts never happened.
When the bell finally rang, students bolted, chairs scraping, voices rising, but I sat there, my heart pounding as I packed up slow, deliberate, buying time.
Stay after class. 
His words burned in my head, daring me to do it, to face whatever he had to say. Part of me wanted to run, to dodge him like I’d been dodging his texts, his glances, his everything. But another part, the dumb, fluttery part... wanted to know. Needed to know.
I glanced at the door, then back at him. He was at his desk now, stacking papers, his head bent, but I could feel it... he was waiting. Waiting for me.
My stomach twisted, a slow, intense knot of dread and something softer, something I couldn’t shake.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, my sneakers silent on the floor as I took a step, not toward the door, but toward him. One step, then another, my heart thumping loud and playful and dramatic all at once.
What are you doing, Aria? My brain screamed, but my feet didn’t listen. I was mad, yeah, furious even, but that flutter wouldn’t quit, that warm, bittersweet pull tugging me closer, daring me to hear him out.
And as I stopped a few feet from his desk, my voice came out, low and shaky but steady enough to carry.
“Hey, Professor,” I said, my eyes locking on his as he looked up, startled, hopeful, wrecked all at once. I tried so hard to talk steady and calm. “You wanted to talk? So talk.”
The air between us crackled, intense and alive, and I stood there, my walls trembling, waiting for whatever came next.