The walk back from Liam's workplace was heavier than she had expected. The sun was still high in the sky, the street busy and full of people, but her mind refused to leave the small, quiet moment they had shared inside. She could still hear the echo of her own voice, louder than she had ever meant it to be. He's my boyfriend.
The words hung in her head like a stubborn echo. They had not been careful or quiet, not when they mattered most. They had spilled out, in front of strangers, men who knew Liam far better than she did. She could still see their shocked faces, the way one of them had even laughed in disbelief. But what burned most was not their reaction, it was Liam's.
He had not corrected her. He had not laughed it off either. He had just stood there, jaw tight, silent, as though every muscle in his body had locked up. She had been too nervous to look at him properly, afraid of the storm she might see in his eyes.
Now, walking beside him, she stole glances. He carried the lunchbox she had packed, swinging it loosely in his hand. His steps were long, his shoulders tense. He did not speak.
Her chest tightened. She had not planned any of it, neither the kiss in his room nor the sudden claim of him as hers. Everything had slipped out, driven by something in her that refused to stay silent, something that could not bear to see him treated like he was worth less than he was.
But had she gone too far?
"Liam," she tried, her voice low.
He glanced at her once, unreadable expression crossing his features, then looked ahead again.
Her stomach dropped.
"I should not have—" She bit her lip, the words catching. "I mean, I should have asked you first."
He stopped walking so suddenly that she nearly bumped into him. His hand tightened around the lunchbox, his other shoved deep in his pocket. For a moment he only stared at the ground. Then he spoke, his voice quieter than she had expected.
"You don't understand what you just did."
Her breath caught. "Then… tell me."
His eyes lifted to hers, sharp and heavy, making her feel as if he could see through her. "You're not like me. People see you and expect… something better. Someone better." His jaw tightened. "When you said that, they won't believe it's true.They'll think you're playing a game."
She swallowed hard. "I don't care what they think."
"Well, I do." His tone cut quick, then softened a little. "You don't know what it's like to be laughed at because of where you live, because of what your family is, because you're not good enough."
Her heart ached at the rough edge in his voice. She wanted to tell him that she did know, in her own way, but she stopped herself. This was not about her. It was about him and the walls he carried around his heart.
"I wasn't lying," she said, softer now. "I wasn't playing a game."
Silence stretched between them. Cars passed, people shouted from a shop, but all she could hear was her own heartbeat.
Finally, Liam let out a low sigh and turned back toward the road. "You should go home."
Her lips parted. "What about—"
"I'll walk you," he said quickly, already stepping forward. "But that's it."
She followed, her chest heavy.
That night, Elena lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The memory of his lips on hers refused to leave her. The kiss had not been planned. She had walked into his room to call him for dinner, and instead, she had found herself inches from him, the steam of his shower still clinging to his skin, his hair damp, his eyes burning into her.
The moment had been raw and real. When his mouth met hers, it was as though the world had stopped, as though every question she had carried since transferring schools had answered itself in one heartbeat. He had kissed her back. Not gently, not uncertainly—he had kissed her like he had been holding himself back for too long.
And yet, at dinner, he had pushed it away. He had spoken too quickly, cutting off his grandmother's teasing, making it clear she was not staying the night. His words had stung more than she had expected, but she had smiled through it, pretending it was nothing.
Now, in the quiet of her room, she pressed her hand over her chest. Her heart was still racing, but underneath it all, a different feeling bloomed.
Resolve.
She had seen enough in his eyes to know he felt something too. His anger, his silence, his quick denial—it all came from fear, not indifference. He was afraid of what she had done, afraid of what others would say, afraid that she would one day realize he was not enough.
But he was wrong.
She wanted him. Not Thomas with his wealth, not the polite boys her old classmates would approve of. She wanted Liam with his rough words, his tired hands, his stubborn pride.
She turned on her side, hugging her pillow. Tomorrow she would face the whispers, the questions, maybe even the laughter. But she would not take back her words.
He's my boyfriend.
For the first time, she felt it was not only true, it was a promise.
The next morning, she waited outside the school. Students milled about, the buzz of voices filling the air. When Liam appeared, his bag slung over one shoulder, she felt her heart skip. He looked tired, his hair falling into his eyes, but when he saw her, his steps faltered.
"Elena," he muttered, as if saying her name was a problem in itself.
She smiled, even though her stomach twisted. "I thought I'd walk in with you."
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the students nearby.Whispers had already begun. She could feel their eyes on them, curious, doubtful.
"Suit yourself," he said finally, his voice flat. But his hand brushed hers for one brief second before shoving into his pocket again.
Elena caught her breath. It was not much. It was not enough. But it was something.
And for now, she would hold on to that.