Ava thought she was ready for the quiet.
She was wrong.
The moment she sat in the lecture hall, notebook open, pen poised, the silence became louder than the whispers ever were. Her mind refused to focus. Words on the board blurred. The professor's voice drifted in and out like static.
Her phone buzzed once.
Then again.
She ignored it.
She didn't need to look to know what it was—messages, screenshots, apologies forwarded without context. People explaining things she hadn't asked to understand.
The storm had passed.
But storms always leave damage behind.
She pressed her pen too hard against the page, the tip tearing through the paper. Her fingers tightened.
Breathe.
She told herself she was fine.
Nicholas had said everything was handled. He'd said it with that calm certainty of his, like chaos bent itself out of his way when he asked.
And yet—
Her chest felt tight.
Because now that it was over, she could finally feel it.
The humiliation.
The fear.
The way her heart had jumped into her throat every time she'd heard his name whispered beside hers.
Ava closed her notebook halfway through the lecture and slipped out quietly.
She didn't want to cry in public.
Outside, the campus felt strangely normal. Students laughed. Someone played music from an open window. Life moved on like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn't been the center of it.
She sat on the low stone wall near the library and stared at her hands.
They were shaking.
That's when she felt it—the weight she'd been holding back since yesterday—finally pressing down.
What if Nicholas hadn't stepped in?
What if the video had stayed?
What if she really was just another girl people laughed at for a week and forgot?
Her throat tightened.
She hugged her knees to her chest, breathing shallowly, trying to ground herself.
"You disappeared."
Nicholas's voice was quiet, close.
She looked up.
He stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable but gentle. Like he'd sensed this exact moment and come without being called.
"I needed air," she said.
He nodded, accepting that without question, and sat beside her—close enough to feel solid, not close enough to overwhelm.
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Ava spoke again, her voice softer.
"I didn't know how bad it was until it stopped."
Nicholas turned his head slightly, watching her.
"That's usually how it works."
She swallowed. "I hate that people saw me like that."
His jaw tightened. "They didn't see you. They saw a clipped moment with a story attached."
She gave a small, humorless smile. "Felt real."
"I know."
She glanced at him. "How do you handle it? The attention. The rumors."
Nicholas leaned back, eyes lifting to the sky. "I don't."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I let it burn out. I don't feed it. I don't explain myself." He paused. "But that only works when you've already decided you don't care what people think."
Ava hugged her knees tighter. "I care."
"I know," he said gently. "That doesn't make you weak."
She studied his profile—the sharp lines, the calm control—and wondered how someone could be this composed and still choose to protect her so fiercely.
"Did you really not want me to know?" she asked quietly.
Nicholas looked back at her. "Know what?"
"That Tessa was behind it."
He hesitated, just a fraction. Then nodded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't want her living in your head," he said simply. "You already had enough to carry."
Ava's chest tightened again—but this time, it wasn't panic.
It was something warmer.
"You didn't even ask me what I wanted," she said.
Nicholas met her gaze. "Would you have wanted to know?"
She opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
"…No."
He gave a faint smile. "Exactly."
The breeze shifted, brushing her hair across her face. Nicholas lifted his hand instinctively—then stopped himself, letting it fall back to his side.
That restraint did something to her.
"I don't like feeling helpless," Ava admitted. "Like things are happening around me instead of with me."
"You're not helpless," he said immediately. "You were overwhelmed."
She nodded slowly. "Still feels the same."
Nicholas leaned forward slightly. "Next time—because there's always a next time—you tell me what you need. Not what you think you're supposed to handle alone."
Her pulse skipped. "You assume I'll let you be there."
His eyes softened. "I'm assuming you already are."
She looked away, heat creeping up her neck.
"I don't want people thinking I'm only here because of you," she said. "Or that I'm some—"
"Distraction?" he finished quietly.
She froze.
He exhaled. "They already think that. But that doesn't make it true."
"How do you know?"
"Because I see you when no one's watching," he said. "And they don't."
Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest.
For a moment, she thought she might cry—not from fear this time, but from being seen.
She cleared her throat. "What happens now?"
"Now," Nicholas said, standing and offering his hand, "you go back to class. You live. You don't shrink."
She stared at his hand for a second—then took it.
His grip was warm. Steady.
Anchoring.
As he pulled her to her feet, Ava realized something quietly terrifying.
The noise hadn't just exposed her.
It had pulled her closer to him.
And she wasn't sure she wanted to step away anymore.