The morning sun spilled into the hostel courtyard, warm and bright, but Lara barely noticed it. She moved through the campus almost invisibly, earbuds in, the rhythm of her playlist keeping her heartbeat company. Her phone buzzed twice in her bag. Both times, she ignored it.
She had learned something the night before. Something dangerous yet thrilling: she didn't need to be available. Not for him. Not for anyone.
For the first time in weeks, she felt… free.
By the time lunch rolled around, Lara had found her usual spot under the big mango tree near the faculty building. Maya was already there, legs swinging, smirking like she had a secret only Lara wasn't allowed to know.
"Omo, you look like a queen," Maya said, pointing at Lara's new top and the way she walked with her head high.
Lara smiled faintly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. Pride hummed in her chest.
"You really think so?" she asked, though the tiny curve of her lips said otherwise.
"Girl, I don't even need to see him to know. He's sweating already."
Lara laughed softly. The sound was low and shaky. Maya always knew how to hit the right nerve.
Then her phone buzzed.
She felt the familiar flutter, the tiny spark in her chest—but she didn't look. Not immediately. She chewed her bottom lip, pretending to check her food while glancing subtly at her bag.
Ethan: Hey… you there?
Her pulse skipped. A slow, steady panic rose in her chest, and at the same time… a strange thrill. He had finally texted. After all the silence, all the "seen" messages, all the waiting.
She picked up the phone. Read it. Smiled faintly. And then… locked it again.
Her heart screamed, Reply! Reply now!
But her pride—new, sharp, unyielding—whispered: Not today.
Maya noticed the change in her expression immediately.
"Hian! I don't like this. You're too cold, Lara."
"I'm not cold," Lara said, almost to herself. "I'm awake."
It was true. For the first time, she felt aware of her own worth. She wasn't chasing. She wasn't begging. She wasn't the girl lying awake at 2:17 AM, hoping he would notice her.
He had noticed her before, yes. But now… now, she noticed herself.
Later, while walking to her next lecture, Lara caught sight of him across the courtyard. He didn't look over immediately, but something in his posture was different. Shoulders tensed. A flicker of hesitation in his step. He had finally realized: she wasn't going to give him the comfort of her immediate attention anymore.
Her lips curved into a subtle, almost imperceptible smile. That little thrill—the knowledge that she now controlled the pace—was intoxicating.
She pretended to check her phone, typing a fake message in her head, but never sent it. Instead, she tucked her phone back in her bag.
Romantic tension hummed like static electricity in the air between them.
That evening, back in her hostel room, Lara sat on her bed staring at her phone. Another message popped up. From him.
I… I feel like I messed up. Can we talk? Please?
Her stomach flipped. Her pulse raced. A thousand tiny voices inside her screamed at her to reply immediately.
But she didn't.
Not yet.
She set the phone aside, leaning back against her pillows. For the first time, the fluttering in her chest was different. Thrilling. Empowering.
She could reply. She could pour out her heart. She could explain everything, like she had done countless times before.
Or she could… wait.
A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. Maybe she'd wait a little longer. Maybe she'd let him sweat.
Because for the first time, Lara was no longer the girl who needed him to notice her.
She was the girl who chose when to care.
And that… that was delicious