Roy's POV
The late evening light spread across the courtyard, golden and soft, like a veil draped over the world. Students had long since scattered, their laughter fading into the city beyond. Silence lingered now, broken only by the restless stir of leaves. And in that silence, I stood, heart restless, staring at her.
Ann Matthews.
I had worked beside her for months, shared lesson plans, exchanged thoughts on literature and philosophy. At first, I admired her professionally— the clarity of her lectures, the way she handled a classroom with both grace and firmness. But admiration has a way of turning into something deeper when you are caught unprepared.
She carried an air that both warmed and wounded me. There was strength in her voice, yet something in her eyes— an untold grief, a quiet sadness she thought hidden— betrayed a soul that had endured storms. That contradiction drew me in.
I told myself I could remain silent. That my admiration would fade. But each day, her presence burrowed deeper into me. When she bent over her notes, when she laughed softly with a student, when she walked down the corridors in her simple elegance— I found myself watching, waiting.
And so tonight, as the sun lowered itself behind the roofs, I knew the truth could no longer be locked within me. It was reckless, perhaps, but the weight of silence had grown heavier than the risk of rejection.
I tightened my fists, forcing courage into trembling veins, and walked toward her.
"Ann… can we talk?"
She looked up, startled by the gravity in my voice. Her books rested against her chest, the lamplight catching strands of her hair. "Of course, Roy. What is it?"
For a moment, the words refused to leave me. They clung to my tongue, afraid of the air. But when I looked at her— steady, patient, unassuming— I could not hold them any longer.
"I admire you, Ann," I began, my voice low, unsteady. "Not just as a colleague, not just as a professor… but as a woman. Your strength, your kindness— it's rare. You've become someone I can't stop thinking about."
Her expression shifted; surprise widened her eyes, and she took a slow breath. I pressed forward, afraid hesitation would break me.
"I know it may sound sudden," I continued, "but I can't pretend anymore. I… I care for you. And I want you to know that— if you ever felt the same— I'd be here, waiting."
My heart thundered, pounding against the cage of my ribs. Silence stretched, long and merciless.
Ann's POV
The papers in my hands suddenly felt heavier, like stones pressed against my chest. His words hung in the air, sharp and unreal.
Roy.
I had respected him as a colleague, appreciated his help in the long hours of preparation, even found comfort in his easy conversation. But never— not once— had I let my heart wander in his direction. For my heart was already spoken for.
Dennis.
Even his name was enough to summon a flood of memories: his laughter echoing across the campus when he waited by the gates, his gentle hand brushing against mine as we planned our future, his voice whispering promises under starlight. The hospital lights, his broken body, his determined smile through pain— they all rose within me like ghosts of a life suspended.
I looked at Roy now, his eyes shining with hope and fear, and I felt a pang— not of attraction, but of sorrow. He did not know. How could he?
Slowly, I drew in a breath, steadying the storm inside me.
"Roy," I said softly, "you're kind. And I respect you deeply. But my heart… it already belongs to someone else."
His face fell, confusion knitting his brows. "Someone else?"
I nodded, my voice trembling but firm. "My fiancé, Dennis. He's… he's my everything. No matter how broken, no matter how hard this road becomes, I've promised myself to him. And I won't— can't— give that up."
His lips parted, as though to argue, but then he stopped, watching me with a searching gaze. The silence between us thickened, until I broke it with words that came not from my mouth, but from the depths of my soul.
"Love isn't about choosing the easiest path, Roy. It's about standing by someone when the world falls apart. Dennis had an accident— he's fighting every day just to live, to breathe, to move. And I've chosen to fight with him. Even if it takes my whole life."
Her words cut through me, sharp yet beautiful, like a blade made of light.
Dennis.
The name fell heavy, final, shutting the door I had dared to hope would open. In that instant, I understood— the sadness in her eyes, the weight she carried, the unspoken storms that had drawn me to her. They all pointed back to him.
She wasn't free. She wasn't waiting for love. She was already bound to it, fiercely, irrevocably.
I wanted to argue. To tell her she deserved ease, joy, a life untouched by hospitals and sorrow. But looking at her, at the fire in her gaze as she spoke his name, I knew such words would mean nothing. She had already chosen her battle. And it was not mine to win.
Silence spread again. My throat tightened, my chest heavy with disappointment. Still, I forced my lips into something resembling a smile.
"I didn't know…" I whispered.
"You couldn't have known," she said gently, her voice soft but resolute. "But now you do."
I nodded, each movement aching. "Then… I wish you happiness, Ann. Truly."
Her eyes shimmered, not with regret, but with gratitude. "Thank you, Roy. That means more than you know."
I turned, each step away from her like a tearing within me. The courtyard stretched endlessly, and behind me lingered her voice, her truth, her loyalty to a man who had already claimed what I had only dreamed of touching.
As Roy's figure disappeared into the fading light, I sank onto the bench, papers forgotten in my lap. My chest rose and fell, heavy with the aftershock of his confession.
Part of me ached for him— for the courage it took to bare his heart, for the wound my rejection left behind. But stronger still was the swell within me: the fierce, unshakable certainty that no storm, no sorrow, could steal Dennis from me.
I closed my eyes, and his face came to me: pale against the hospital sheets, eyes burning with fear and love. His hand, weak but alive in mine. His voice, whispering promises even through pain.
Leaning back, I whispered into the evening air, "No one will ever take your place, Dennis. Not now, not ever."
The wind carried my words away, but I knew he would feel them, somehow. For even if his body faltered, even if his voice failed— our love would endure, untouchable, unbroken.
And with that vow burning within me, I gathered my books and walked home, the night sky unfolding like a witness above me.