Chapter 4 His World, His Rules

AVA

I hadn't meant to get this involved.

College was supposed to be a clean slate. Lectures, coffee dates with Zoe, deadlines I'd procrastinate on until the last minute, and group chats that fizzled out before midnight. Safe routines. Predictable distractions. Nothing I couldn't handle.

Then came Nathan Rivers.

One minute, I was fumbling through day two, barely holding it together, and the next... I was wearing his jacket like it meant something.

Like he did.

And the worst part?

It was starting to feel like he did.

It wasn't the kind of crush that came fast and loud, all butterflies and impulsive texts. It was quieter. Slower. Like an echo that lingered in the corners of my day-while brushing my teeth, in the pause between classes, or rereading his note like some kind of romantic scripture at 1 a.m.

It started small. That's what got me.

A coffee left on my desk during my brutal 8 a.m. class. No note. Just my exact order, the way I like it. No one else would've known.

Then came the crane.

A perfect paper crane tucked into my poetry anthology. Inked beneath one delicate wing were the words:

"The heart has its reasons which reason knows not." - Pascal.

Zoe, of course, lost her mind.

"He's not even trying to be mysterious. He's just smooth," she declared with all the force of a prophet. "That's so much more dangerous."

I tried to laugh it off. "It's a gesture. A coffee. A quote. A... bird."

She pointed her straw at me like a weapon. "It's a guy noticing you. Not in a creepy way. In a 'I pay attention to what matters' kind of way. And you're pretending you're not spiraling."

Maybe I was. Quietly. But spiraling, nonetheless.

Because I'd been down the maybe-this-is-something road before. And every time, it ended with me folding back into myself. A habit. A survival skill.

But then Thursday happened.

Just as I stepped out of the library, my phone buzzed.

> Come over after class. I want to show you something. - N

My pulse jumped.

He'd never invited me over before.

For a second, I hovered on the edge of excuse-making. I could say I was busy. Say I needed space. That it was too soon.

But instead, I typed a single word.

> Okay.

His Apartment

It didn't feel like a college place. No pizza boxes. No game controller graveyard.

It was intentional.

Warm lighting. Clean lines. Shelves lined with actual books. A turntable with worn vinyl stacked beside it. Matching mugs in the kitchen-matching. Who even does that?

"This doesn't feel like a college guy's apartment," I murmured, stepping inside, eyes wide.

Nathan handed me a glass of iced tea, calm as ever. "That's because I don't really feel like one."

I raised an eyebrow.

He leaned against the counter. "I moved out when I was sixteen. Needed space. Structure. I've been working and studying since. I guess I just like building my own calm."

And it made sense. The way he held himself. The quiet confidence. The stillness.

There was something grounding about him. Like a center of gravity I hadn't noticed I'd been drifting toward.

He led me to the living room. Against one wall stood a large canvas, half-covered with a linen cloth. Beside it, a neat arrangement of paintbrushes and pigment trays. Everything organized. Everything intentional.

"I started this a few weeks ago," he said softly. "Didn't know who she was at first. Just... someone that lingered in my mind. But then I met you. And it made sense."

He looked at me like he was checking that I was real.

Then, slowly, he pulled the cloth away.

And I stopped breathing.

It was me.

Not a photo-accurate version. Not perfectly literal. But me. The eyes. The shape of my mouth. The quiet storm in the expression. She-I-was seated cross-legged with a notebook in her lap, wind-blown hair, a defiant tilt to her chin... and yet, softness, too. Like she was fighting hard not to come undone.

"She's..." I blinked, my throat thick. "She's beautiful. Fierce. But... like she's still holding something back."

Nathan stood beside me, voice low. "I saw her in a dream once. Before I met you."

I turned to him slowly. "And then you met me?"

"And I started painting again," he said simply. "Because suddenly, I remembered what it felt like to want to."

Something swelled in my chest. Raw. Heavy.

I hadn't expected this. Not from him. I thought he'd be cool and aloof and hard to figure out. I didn't expect... this.

Depth.

Vulnerability.

And then there was the way he didn't rush me. He didn't touch me. He just... waited. Let me be. Let me feel.

That did something to me.

Not the painting. Not the poetry quote or coffee.

But the space he gave me to choose.

I reached out slowly, fingers brushing his wrist, just to feel something real. His pulse beat steady beneath my touch.

"I'm glad you showed me," I whispered.

His eyes met mine. "I'm glad you came."

We stood in that stillness, wrapped in something that wasn't quite silence. It was heavier. Fuller.

When I left, his jacket was around my shoulders again. The scent of him stayed with me the whole way home. Zoe practically tackled me for details, but I just smiled.

Because I didn't leave that night with just a painting in my mind.

I left with a truth pressing warm against my ribs-

This thing between us?

It was real.

And maybe I wasn't ready.

But I wanted it anyway.