Mani sat in his room, the glow of his desk lamp casting sharp shadows across the walls. His dinner jacket from the night before hung crumpled over the back of a chair, a forgotten relic of his carefully planned evening.
On his desk lay his phone, Brooklyn's name lit up in his recent calls. She hadn't answered. Not last night. Not this morning. Not after class.
His jaw clenched as he scrolled through their thread. Dozens of his messages stacked against her short, polite replies. Messages that had dwindled to silence in the last twenty-four hours.
Still, she hadn't blocked him.
That was something.
To Mani, silence wasn't rejection—it was hesitation. Hesitation meant there was still hope.
He leaned back, exhaling sharply. "She's just confused," he muttered to himself. "Bryant's gotten in her head, that's all. He's making me out to be the villain. But I'm the one who's been here for her. I'm the one who's real."
The thought of Bryant ignited a fire in his chest. The way he had stepped in earlier, standing beside Brooklyn like he owned the ground she walked on. Mani's fists tightened.
Bryant didn't deserve her. He was reckless, cocky, shallow. Everyone knew it. And yet somehow, Brooklyn looked at him like he was… safe.
Safe.
The word gnawed at Mani.
He stood and paced the room, the walls suddenly too tight, the air too thin. Brooklyn didn't see it yet, but she needed him. Bryant would only disappoint her, leave her broken. Mani, on the other hand—he could give her stability, protection, devotion.
But how could he make her see?
His eyes landed on the roses, now wilted, that he'd brought back from the restaurant. He snatched them up, crushed them in his hands, and tossed them into the trash.
Big gestures hadn't worked.
Words hadn't worked.
So maybe it was time for something else. Something Bryant couldn't compete with.
Mani sat back down at his desk, his mind racing. He pulled out a notebook, scribbling ideas, crossing them out almost immediately. Coffee on campus? Too casual. More flowers? Too cliché. Surprise study help? Maybe… but Bryant was already her partner.
He needed something undeniable. Something that would remind Brooklyn that he wasn't just a boy with a crush—he was serious.
His pen hovered, then he began to write slowly, deliberately. A plan forming.
"She'll thank me later," he whispered. "When she realizes I'm the only one willing to fight this hard."
His phone buzzed, snapping him from his thoughts. A text from a mutual friend in their study group.
"Bro, chill. People are saying you're scaring her. Don't push too hard."
Mani stared at the message, heat flooding his face. Scaring her? No. That wasn't possible. Brooklyn wasn't scared—she was just… overwhelmed.
And Bryant was the reason.
He typed back quickly: "She's fine. Don't believe everything you hear."
Then he tossed the phone onto his bed and stared at the wall, his mind sharpening into resolve.
Brooklyn wasn't slipping away. He wouldn't let her.
If Bryant wanted a fight, he'd get one.
Mani sat in his room, the glow of his desk lamp casting sharp shadows across the walls. His dinner jacket from the night before hung crumpled over the back of a chair, a forgotten relic of his carefully planned evening.
On his desk lay his phone, Brooklyn's name lit up in his recent calls. She hadn't answered. Not last night. Not this morning. Not after class.
His jaw clenched as he scrolled through their thread. Dozens of his messages stacked against her short, polite replies. Messages that had dwindled to silence in the last twenty-four hours.
Still, she hadn't blocked him.
That was something.
To Mani, silence wasn't rejection—it was hesitation. Hesitation meant there was still hope.
He leaned back, exhaling sharply. "She's just confused," he muttered to himself. "Bryant's gotten in her head, that's all. He's making me out to be the villain. But I'm the one who's been here for her. I'm the one who's real."
The thought of Bryant ignited a fire in his chest. The way he had stepped in earlier, standing beside Brooklyn like he owned the ground she walked on. Mani's fists tightened.
Bryant didn't deserve her. He was reckless, cocky, shallow. Everyone knew it. And yet somehow, Brooklyn looked at him like he was… safe.
Safe.
The word gnawed at Mani.
He stood and paced the room, the walls suddenly too tight, the air too thin. Brooklyn didn't see it yet, but she needed him. Bryant would only disappoint her, leave her broken. Mani, on the other hand—he could give her stability, protection, devotion.
But how could he make her see?
His eyes landed on the roses, now wilted, that he'd brought back from the restaurant. He snatched them up, crushed them in his hands, and tossed them into the trash.
Big gestures hadn't worked.
Words hadn't worked.
So maybe it was time for something else. Something Bryant couldn't compete with.
Mani sat back down at his desk, his mind racing. He pulled out a notebook, scribbling ideas, crossing them out almost immediately. Coffee on campus? Too casual. More flowers? Too cliché. Surprise study help? Maybe… but Bryant was already her partner.
He needed something undeniable. Something that would remind Brooklyn that he wasn't just a boy with a crush—he was serious.
His pen hovered, then he began to write slowly, deliberately. A plan forming.
"She'll thank me later," he whispered. "When she realizes I'm the only one willing to fight this hard."
His phone buzzed, snapping him from his thoughts. A text from a mutual friend in their study group.
"Bro, chill. People are saying you're scaring her. Don't push too hard."
Mani stared at the message, heat flooding his face. Scaring her? No. That wasn't possible. Brooklyn wasn't scared—she was just… overwhelmed.
And Bryant was the reason.
He typed back quickly: "She's fine. Don't believe everything you hear."
Then he tossed the phone onto his bed and stared at the wall, his mind sharpening into resolve.
Brooklyn wasn't slipping away. He wouldn't let her.
If Bryant wanted a fight, he'd get one.