Rain had come in the early hours of dawn, and though the clouds had cleared, the scent of wet leaves lingered. The quad shimmered faintly in the sun's return -- students passed in waves, unbothered, bustling between lecture halls and weekend plans. Maya kept to the side, phone in hand, but her screen hadn't lit in minutes. She wasn't scrolling. She was thinking.
They were whispering again.
Not in the cruel way they used to. This time, their words carried something else -- curiosity, maybe even awe. And Maya heard every syllable despite the way she moved with practiced calm.
"Did you hear Damien walked her back to her dorm again?"
"They're totally together. He never does that for anyone."
"You think she's the reason Logan's been off lately?"
She didn't flinch. She just tucked her earbuds deeper, the way she had learned to do when silence wouldn't protect her. No music played. She hadn't listened to a real playlist in days. She liked the illusion of sound more than sound itself. It helped her hear better.
Especially when he was near.
Logan.
She didn't need to see him to know. Her skin always seemed to register it before her eyes did -- the way the air shifted, heavy with a pressure that didn't belong to anyone else. A pause in footsteps, a gaze that burned a little too long, a presence that filled too much space even when he said nothing.
He hadn't spoken to her. Not once since the breakup.
Not after the kiss with Damien.
Not even after the rumors.
But he watched.
Maya saw him that morning too. Across the quad. Leaning against the stair railing that led to the east building. Head down, pretending to check something on his phone. Pretending.
She had pretended not to notice. But she did. She always did.
That afternoon, she met Damien at the off-campus café. Not the popular one. The quiet one tucked between an old bookstore and a plant shop, where they played soft jazz and the barista always seemed half-asleep. The booth near the window was theirs now. No one questioned it.
Damien had ordered ahead. Her tea -- black, two sugars. His coffee, black, no sugar. No words were exchanged when she slipped into the seat across from him. He didn't even look up right away.
"You're five minutes late," he murmured.
"You're early."
"I'm always early."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, faintly.
He finally looked up. "You're glowing."
"Don't be weird."
"I'm never weird," he said, sipping his drink, "just observant."
She didn't respond. Her fingers ran along the rim of the paper cup, tracing the heat.
"They're talking again," she finally said.
Damien didn't ask who. He never did.
"Let them," he replied, stretching his legs beneath the table until one brushed against hers lightly. "Rumors work faster than facts."
"It's stupid," Maya said, but her voice lacked conviction. "We're not even doing anything."
"Not yet," he teased.
She glanced up sharply, but Damien only smirked, mischief in his eyes, like always. But then his gaze softened, just enough to settle her nerves.
"I mean," he continued, his voice quieter, "we're not lying either."
Her face warmed, and she looked away, feigning interest in the café's window. Students moved past, books in hand, coffees clutched like survival. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar silhouette leaned against the bookstore awning.
Logan.
She blinked, looked again. He wasn't there. Or maybe he never had been.
Damien watched her closely.
"He was watching me again," she said after a pause.
"Where?"
"Outside the art studio. He didn't even bother hiding it this time."
A slow nod. "He's unraveling."
Maya wasn't sure what that meant. And she didn't want to ask. Not yet.
Instead, she whispered, "Do you think he regrets it?"
Damien took longer to answer than usual. "I think… he didn't expect you to survive him."
That made something twist inside her. A part of her still wished she understood. Why Logan had left so suddenly. Why his face had been so empty that day. Why he could be so cold… and still linger in every shadow she walked through.
She didn't miss him. Not the boy who walked away like she was nothing.
But she missed understanding. Closure. Sense.
"I wasn't supposed to be a game," she murmured.
"You weren't," Damien said, surprising her with the seriousness in his tone. "You were just inconvenient."
The words hurt more than they should've. Because they rang too close to truth.
She nodded once, trying to swallow the lump rising in her throat. "So what now? We keep pretending?"
"Are we still pretending?" he asked softly.
Their eyes locked. It wasn't a challenge. It wasn't flirtation.
It was something else.
"I don't know," Maya admitted. "I just want to stop feeling like I'm the only one who didn't know the rules of the game."
Damien reached across the table. Not to hold her hand, but just let his fingers brush hers. A subtle connection. Barely there.
"You're not alone in this."
Just then, the café door chimed open. She didn't need to look to know.
Logan.
The silence that followed was loud. Every pair of eyes seemed to turn toward him, but his eyes found only her.
No Brielle.
No group of friends.
Just Logan, damp hair still curling from what must've been a recent run. Hoodie zipped halfway. Hands shoved into his pockets.
He didn't move toward the counter right away.
He looked at Maya like she was the only anchor in a sea of static. Her breath hitched when she realized… he wasn't trying to avoid her anymore. He wanted her to see.
She held his gaze this time. Didn't look away.
And he still didn't speak. Only nodded once. Slow. Deliberate. Then turned and placed his order at the counter.
Her pulse thundered. Damien didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
When Logan finally left -- drink in hand, silence in tow -- Maya let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Damien leaned in.
"Next time," he said softly, "don't look away first."
Maya nodded.
Because for the first time in weeks, she wasn't just surviving.
She was learning how to be seen again.