When Your Name Found Mine
Chapter Nine — The Space Between
Monday mornings on campus had their own unique flavor of misery — bleary-eyed students clutching coffee cups like life preservers, the low groan of people realizing they'd left assignments until the last second.
But for me, Monday felt different now. I caught myself looking forward to it, because Mondays meant Political Theory at nine a.m., and Political Theory at nine a.m. meant Dave.
When I walked into the lecture hall, I scanned for him automatically.
He wasn't there.
---
At first, I didn't think much of it. Maybe he'd overslept. Maybe he was grabbing coffee. But when the professor started the lecture and his seat stayed empty, a tiny knot of worry formed in my stomach.
By the end of class, that knot had twisted itself into something more complicated.
---
I finally spotted him later that afternoon in the campus quad. He was sitting on the stone wall near the fountain, talking to someone — a girl I didn't recognize. She had dark hair pulled into a sleek braid and the kind of confidence that made her look like she belonged everywhere she went.
They were laughing.
The knot in my stomach pulled tighter.
When he noticed me, his expression softened. "Hey," he said, standing up. "Evelyn, this is Maya. She's in my sociology class."
Maya smiled, easy and friendly. "You're Evelyn. Nice to meet you — I've heard a lot about you."
I managed a polite smile. "All good things, I hope."
"All good things," she confirmed.
---
We chatted for a minute before Maya excused herself, heading toward the library. Dave watched her go, then turned back to me. "She's just a class friend. We're working on a project together."
I nodded, but the knot didn't go away.
It wasn't that I didn't believe him. It was just… I'd seen that laugh before. The way he leaned in slightly, like he was letting someone into a private world.
And it wasn't mine this time.
---
That night, Jenna picked up on my mood instantly.
"You've been staring at your textbook for twenty minutes," she said, flopping onto her bed. "What's up?"
"Nothing."
She raised an eyebrow. "Does this 'nothing' have dark hair and a braid?"
I groaned. "It's not like that. I just… I don't know. It's stupid."
"Doesn't sound stupid to me," she said. "Sounds like you like him, and you're afraid you're going to lose him."
I opened my mouth to argue, but closed it again.
---
The next day, I tried to shake it off. Dave and I met for lunch at the small café again, and everything felt normal. He told me about his project with Maya — apparently, they were analyzing campus social groups for some sociological model — and I told him about the ridiculous group chat my literature seminar had started.
But every time my phone buzzed, part of me wondered if his was buzzing too. If it was her.
---
Things came to a head on Thursday.
I was walking past the library when I saw them again — Dave and Maya — sitting at one of the outdoor tables, papers spread between them. This time, she reached across the table and touched his hand, laughing at something he'd said.
I didn't mean to stop walking, but I did. Long enough for him to notice me.
Our eyes met. His smile faltered.
---
He found me later that evening in the study lounge.
"Hey," he said quietly, dropping into the chair across from me. "You okay?"
I kept my eyes on my notes. "Sure."
He exhaled, leaning forward. "Evelyn… if this is about Maya—"
"It's not," I cut in too quickly.
"Right," he said, his voice dry. "Because you've been avoiding me all week for no reason at all."
I looked up then, meeting his gaze. "I just… I don't know where I stand with you."
His eyebrows drew together. "You stand right here. With me. That hasn't changed."
"Then why—" I stopped, frustrated at myself for even starting the sentence.
"Why what?" he asked, his voice softer now.
"Why does it feel like you're letting someone else in?"
---
There was a long pause.
Finally, he said, "Evelyn, she's a friend. That's it. If I wanted something with her, I wouldn't be here with you."
The knot in my stomach loosened, just a little.
I nodded slowly. "Okay."
He smiled faintly. "Okay?"
"Okay," I repeated, and this time I meant it.
---
We didn't talk much after that — not because we were avoiding it, but because sometimes the best way to fix a crack is to stop poking at it.
When we left the study lounge, the night air was cool, the campus quiet except for the faint hum of the streetlamps. We walked in step without thinking about it.
At the steps of my dorm, he stopped.
"You know," he said, "if you ever feel like you're not sure where you stand with me… just ask. I'll tell you."
I smiled. "I'll remember that."
And when he kissed me — slow and deliberate — the knot unraveled completely.