The next day unfolded with a familiar blend of classes, textbooks, and the general hum of university life. But the quiet peace of dawn was shattered the moment I saw James, waiting for me near our usual spot by the library, his expression etched with worry.
"Where the heck were you yesterday Night?" he demanded the moment he saw me, his voice low, laced with genuine concern. "I texted you like a crazy person. You never replied. I almost called your home!" He looked me over, his gaze intense. "And don't try to tell me you were just studying. You were gone. All day. What happened?"
I sighed, bracing myself. James was my anchor, my confidant. I couldn't, wouldn't, keep things from him. Especially not after everything that had happened. "Okay, fine," I relented, starting with the beginning – the detention, the tension with Kris, the missed basketball game, and the deal we made. I told him about the motorcycle ride, the restaurant.
As I spoke, I felt a knot form in my stomach. I couldn't bring myself to mention the singing. The way his voice had filled the night air, the vulnerability that had shimmered beneath the melody. It felt... fragile. Like a secret he might want to keep locked away, a crack in his armor that I shouldn't pry into. It felt like something just between us, a delicate thing I didn't want to shatter by blabbing it to James. It was too new, too personal, too... tender, and I didn't know how to explain that to him without sounding like I'd lost my mind. So, I skipped it. I ended my recount with him dropping me off, leaving out the most unexpected, confusing, and strangely intimate part.
James listened intently, his expression shifting from worry to disbelief, to anger, and finally, a resigned sort of weariness. "So, you got abducted by the mysterious, rich, and deranged, motorcycle-riding psychopath, and all you're telling me is that he dropped you off?" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Mia, that's it? After he single-handedly ruins your day, messes with your friend, and terrorizes your existence? You expect me to believe he just... dropped you off like a forgotten shopping bag and that's the end of it?"
I bristled. "That's what happened!"
"No, it's not!" James argued, his voice rising slightly as a group of students nearby glanced our way. "That's what you're telling me happened. Something else went down, and you know it. You have this look in your eye, Mia. The one you get when you're holding back something important."
"I'm not!" I insisted, maybe a little too defensively. "It is just... it was weird, James, okay? He didn't hurt me. He just... left. End of story."
James studied me for a long moment, his gaze searching my face, trying to read the unspoken words I was desperate to keep hidden. "Fine," he sighed, relenting but still unconvinced. "Fine, don't tell me. But don't think I believe it. And if you get any more brilliant ideas to spend time with... him... let me know so I can maybe, I don't know, try to save you before it's too late."
The conversation ended on that note – a mix of unresolved tension and James's characteristic protective, if slightly exasperated, concern. I knew he didn't buy my abbreviated story, and honestly, a part of me didn't blame him. The truth was far more complicated, far more confusing, and frankly, far more terrifying in its implications. Keeping that part secret felt like holding my breath, the pressure building in my chest. It was a secret I wanted to keep, a fragile secret I felt belonged just between me and him, something private in the messy, complicated landscape of our strange, unlikely connection.