Chapter 2 The Note

AVA

The sunlight spilled across campus like honey, turning dew-speckled grass into gold and warming the early buzz of day-two nerves. Students milled about, laughing, hurrying, or pretending they weren't running on caffeine and four hours of sleep. I adjusted the strap of my backpack and scanned the crowded quad, trying to spot Zoe.

My phone buzzed-Almost there!-and I tucked it away with a sigh.

Then I looked up.

And froze.

Nathan Rivers.

No crowd around him. No fake laughter or hanger-ons. Just him, leaning casually against the stone edge of the arts building, coffee in one hand, the other tucked into his hoodie pocket. The sunlight hit just right, softening the edges of his face like something out of a photograph I'd spend hours analyzing in class.

And then his gaze lifted.

Not casually.

Not vaguely.

Directly. At. Me.

My breath caught like it had hit a wall. My stomach dipped.

I immediately looked away-hard-pretending to find the nearby tree extremely fascinating, like its bark patterns held the key to passing my lit quiz.

"Chai," Zoe's voice hissed in my ear like she'd teleported there. "You were so staring."

"I wasn't," I muttered, trying not to sound like I'd just been caught doing something illegal.

"You were." She looped her arm through mine with way too much glee. "You looked at him like he was the last slice of cake. Rich. Sinfully sweet. Off-limits."

I gave her a look. "You're so dramatic."

"I call it observational accuracy," she said proudly, tugging me toward class. "And he was staring too. Lingering, Ava. That boy is intrigued."

I didn't glance back. Couldn't. "Maybe he's just trying to place me."

"From yesterday? When he gave you his jacket like a Wattpad fever dream? Please. You are etched in his memory."

My cheeks flushed, and not from the morning sun. Everything about Nathan was strange-too strange. Accidental collisions. Quiet stares. The jacket. Now this?

I wasn't the girl people like him noticed. Not back in high school. Not in crowded rooms. Not... ever.

But the air between us felt different. Like it carried meaning.

By the time we got to creative writing, my pulse had finally calmed-mostly. The class flew by in a blur of welcome speeches, marker fumes, and half-hearted icebreakers. I focused, kind of. Though at one point, I realized I'd unconsciously written a name in the corner of my notebook.

Nathan.

Ugh.

When class ended, I stepped into the sun again, the quad now buzzing louder than before. I slung my bag over my shoulder and pulled out my phone to check messages.

Then paused.

My fingers brushed something unfamiliar in my side pocket.

I reached in.

A small, cream-colored envelope. Neat. Unassuming. My name written on it in blocky, confident handwriting.

Ava.

My heartbeat kicked into overdrive.

"What's that?" Zoe's voice was suddenly close, and I could practically hear her eyes widen. "Open it. Unless it's a curse. Then maybe don't."

My hands trembled just slightly as I opened the flap. A single note, folded. Handwritten in blue ink.

> You dropped your pen yesterday.

I thought about giving it back immediately,

but I wanted a reason to speak to you again.

- Nathan

It was the pen. My pen. The black gel one I loved-thought I lost. I hadn't even realized it was missing until last night.

Zoe clutched my arm. "I. Am. Shaking."

I read it again, my fingers pressing lightly into the paper like I could somehow absorb the moment.

He didn't just return the pen. He noticed. Held onto it. Wrote me a note. On actual paper.

"That's so romantic," Zoe whispered like we were in church. "It's subtle but it's intentional. You don't slip a note into someone's bag unless you've thought about it. This is Peak Quiet Drama. I'm obsessed."

I swallowed, still processing. "He could've just texted."

"But he didn't. And that's the whole point."

She wasn't wrong.

It was deliberate. Not loud. Not flashy. Just... thoughtful. And it made me feel something sharp and soft all at once.

That walk back to the dorm felt floaty. Like my shoes barely touched the ground. I kept touching the note in my pocket, like I needed the reminder that it was real.

That night, our dorm was calm. Just the distant thump of someone's playlist muffled by walls and the sound of Zoe snoring softly with her headphones still in.

I reached over and picked up the note from where I'd placed it beside my lamp.

I held it there, next to the gel pen.

It wasn't about the pen.

It was the way he made me feel-seen, in a way that wasn't performative or exaggerated. Like he noticed the quiet parts of me.

The parts no one ever asked about.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't scared of being noticed.

I wanted more of it.

I turned off the light with the note still under my fingers.

Tomorrow was day three.

And for the first time all semester, I couldn't wait.