Brooklyn sat at her desk, her laptop open but forgotten. The blinking cursor on the blank page mocked her as she tried, and failed, to focus on her assignment. Her head was still heavy from crying herself to sleep the night before.
The whispers in class had been unbearable. Everywhere she went, she caught fragments of her name. "That's her." "Banner Girl." "Did you see her face?"
Some were sympathetic, but most were cruel. Students loved a spectacle, and Mani had handed them one on a silver platter.
A knock at the door jolted her. Amanda looked up from her bed. "That's probably him."
Brooklyn's heart thudded. "Him?"
Amanda smirked. "Who else? Bryant. He's been hanging around outside like some bodyguard since yesterday."
Brooklyn's cheeks warmed. "Amanda—"
Another knock. Firm, patient.
Amanda grinned and gestured toward the door. "Go. Before he wears the carpet out pacing."
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She pulled the door open, and there he was—Bryant, in a gray hoodie and jeans, holding a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
"Hey," he said softly, his eyes scanning her face. "You've been hiding all day."
"Trying to," she murmured.
Without waiting for an invitation, Bryant stepped inside, setting the bag on her desk. "Chicken soup. Don't argue, just eat."
Amanda raised a brow. "Wow, someone's husband material."
Brooklyn shot her a look, but Bryant only chuckled. "Don't mind her," Brooklyn muttered.
"I don't," he replied easily, pulling out the container and setting it in front of her. "But I do mind you starving yourself."
She sank into her chair, her throat tightening as the warmth of the soup drifted up. "Bryant, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't." His voice was gentle but firm. "I want to."
The simple words unraveled her. Tears prickled her eyes again, but this time they weren't heavy with humiliation—they were soft, almost fragile.
She took a sip, her voice trembling. "Why are you being so… kind to me?"
Bryant leaned against the desk, folding his arms. "Because you deserve it. Because you've been through hell this week, and you're still standing. And because—" His eyes flicked to hers, warm and unwavering. "Because I like you, Brooklyn. More than I probably should."
Her spoon clattered back into the bowl, her pulse racing. "Bryant…"
He held her gaze, no teasing this time, no cocky grin. Just truth. "I know you're scared. I know Mani's been making everything harder. But I need you to know that with me? You don't have to be afraid. I'll fight for you, but I'll never fight you."
The words wrapped around her like a blanket, steady and safe.
Her lips parted, a thousand emotions tangling on her tongue. She wanted to tell him she felt the same—that she'd felt it for weeks—but fear gripped her chest.
"What if he doesn't stop?" she whispered. "What if Mani doesn't let this go?"
Bryant's jaw tightened. He crouched down so he was level with her, his hand brushing lightly against hers. "Then he answers to me. Not you. You don't have to carry that weight anymore."
Her breath caught, a tear slipping free. She nodded, though doubt still whispered in the back of her mind.
Amanda cleared her throat loudly. "Not to ruin the moment, but I'm still in the room."
Brooklyn laughed through her tears, shaking her head. Bryant grinned, the tension easing just a little.
But as the night wore on, as they ate soup together and traded soft words, a shadow lingered over Brooklyn's heart.
For the first time, she let herself imagine a future with Bryant—steady, warm, full of laughter instead of fear.
But somewhere out there, Mani was stewing, his pride fractured, his obsession sharpening.
And Brooklyn knew—peace like this couldn't last forever.