The weeks after that first kiss blurred into something Ethan had never experienced before. Classes, assignments, and sleep all took a backseat. Suddenly, every day had Aria in it, and that made the world sharper, brighter, more alive.
She became a habit. A message from her would light up his phone at 2 a.m.: Come outside. He'd sneak out of the dorm like a teenager breaking curfew, and there she'd be, leaning against her aunt's dented Toyota with a mischievous grin. They'd drive aimlessly through the city streets, windows down, music blasting, Aria singing off-key with no shame.
"You ever wonder what it's like to just…leave?" she asked one night, staring at the blur of passing streetlights.
"Leave where?" Ethan asked, glancing at her.
"Everywhere. This place. This life. Just disappear, start over."
Ethan frowned. "Why would you want that?"
She shrugged, tapping her cigarette against the edge of the car window. "Because standing still feels like dying."
He wanted to tell her that sometimes stillness was peace, but the words stuck in his throat. He was learning quickly: Aria hated anything that sounded like being tied down.
Still, he couldn't stop himself from falling.
On campus, everyone noticed them. Aria was the kind of girl who turned heads anyway—her laugh carried, her outfits were daring, and she had that effortless magnetism that made people orbit around her. When she walked in with Ethan, people whispered.
"Bro," Daniel muttered one afternoon as they sat in the cafeteria. "I'm telling you, this is a bad idea."
Ethan looked up from his tray. "What is?"
"Aria. She's…you know. People talk."
"People always talk," Ethan said, more defensive than he meant to.
Daniel leaned closer. "I've heard she's been with half the football team. And now she's with you like you're some…some project."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "She's not a project. She's different with me."
Daniel sighed, shaking his head. "You're blinded, bro. Just…don't say I didn't warn you."
Ethan didn't answer. He didn't want to hear it. Aria made him feel alive, and nothing else mattered.
Their second month together, she dragged him to the coast.
"Pack a bag," she said one Friday, showing up unannounced at his dorm. "We're going to Mombasa."
"What? Now? I have class on Monday—"
"Class will still be there," she interrupted. "But the ocean won't wait."
Ethan laughed, exasperated but helpless. "You're insane."
"Insanely fun," she corrected, kissing him before he could protest further.
And so they went—on buses, matatus, and finally walking the last stretch to a shabby little Airbnb near the beach. For three days, Ethan lived in a bubble. Sunburned skin, salty hair, long nights tangled in sheets and laughter.
One evening, they sat on the sand, the tide brushing against their toes.
"You know what I like about you, Ethan?" Aria asked, staring at the horizon.
"What?"
"You're steady. You don't try to control me. You just…let me be me."
Ethan smiled. "Why would I want to change you?"
She leaned against his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, he felt like he was enough to anchor her restless spirit.
But even then, there were cracks.
A stranger had walked past them on the beach earlier—a tall guy with an easy smile—and Aria's eyes had lingered just a second too long. When Ethan teased her about it, she'd laughed it off.
"What? I can't look?" she'd said. "Relax, babe. You're too serious."
He had laughed too, pretending it didn't sting. But deep inside, he felt it—that tiny splinter of doubt.
Back at school, the doubts grew louder.
Ethan noticed the way Aria kept her phone close, screen always turned down. He noticed how sometimes she'd disappear for hours, claiming she was "with the girls," but never offering details. He noticed how quick she was to change the subject if he asked too many questions.
One night, he finally worked up the courage.
"Aria," he said quietly as they lay in bed, the glow of his desk lamp spilling across her bare shoulder. "Are you…seeing anyone else?"
Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "What kind of question is that?"
"I don't know. It's just—you disappear sometimes, and—"
She cut him off with a laugh, sharp and dismissive. "Ethan, please. If I wanted someone else, I wouldn't be here. You overthink too much."
He wanted to believe her. So he nodded, swallowing the doubt.
But later that night, when she thought he was asleep, he saw her slip out of bed and step onto the balcony with her phone. He couldn't hear the words, only the soft murmur of her voice, and the way she smiled into the screen.
The splinter drove deeper.
Still, Ethan couldn't walk away. Every time she kissed him, every time she laughed and pulled him into her world of chaos, the doubts melted.
"You're mine, you know that?" she whispered one night, curling against his chest.
"Always," he whispered back.
And he meant it. Even as red flags waved all around him, even as warnings echoed in his ears, Ethan's heart was already chained.
He was falling, hard and fast.
And he didn't care how far he had to fall.