Chapter 3 The Ripple

She walked home with numb fingers and a heart that fluttered in strange, uneven beats. The sky was overcast, the wind brisk, but she didn't feel the cold. Her mind kept circling back to that one moment-his voice, low and flat, his eyes locking with hers like they had weight.

He said thanks.

The words weren't special. Anyone could say them. But he said them. To her.

That night, she lay in bed fully dressed, journal open beside her, pen in hand. But no words came. Everything she felt seemed too big for ink. Hope, hunger, pride, shame. She felt like a little girl playing in a world too grand, too dangerous.

But she didn't want to stop.

Monday came. Aidan didn't look at her.

He passed in the hall, laughing at something one of his friends said. His laugh wasn't loud, but people noticed. Like it was rare, valuable.

Lilan stood near the lockers, pretending to rummage through hers.

He didn't pause.

Didn't glance.

Didn't care.

But Claire did.

She leaned against the wall nearby, a lollipop in her mouth, watching.

"You're not subtle," Claire said, pulling the candy out with a pop. "But I'll give you points for effort."

Lilan flinched. "I'm not-"

Claire raised a brow. "Don't bother denying it. I saw the way you looked at him Saturday. Like you were about to burst into flame."

Lilan's face burned.

Claire smirked. "It's kind of cute, honestly. Painful. But cute."

Lilan wanted to disappear.

But Claire wasn't done.

"Listen," she said, leaning closer, her voice lower now. "Aidan doesn't do... people. Not really. Not unless they matter."

Lilan's chest tightened. "I don't want-"

"Sure you do. Everyone does. But he's like gravity-you get close, you fall. And trust me, most people crash."

Claire stepped back, sucking the lollipop again like nothing had happened.

"But hey," she added, eyes flicking over Lilan with something unreadable, "maybe you're different."

Then she walked away, leaving Lilan reeling.

That week, Lilan didn't try to see him. Not on purpose. But she noticed everything anyway.

She noticed when he showed up late to economics, hair wet from the rain, sleeves rolled up.

She noticed how he only ever answered questions when directly asked, and even then, like he was doing the world a favor.

She noticed how girls looked at him-hungry, hopeful, insecure-and how he never once looked back.

But on Thursday, something changed.

She was walking down the East Hall when she heard footsteps echo behind her. She turned slightly-and froze.

Aidan.

Alone.

Coming her way.

She told herself to keep walking, to not turn again, but her body didn't listen. Her hands went clammy. Her throat dried up.

As they passed, he glanced sideways. Just once.

A flicker of a look. No expression. No words.

But he saw her.

He saw her.

And that was enough to make her knees nearly give out.

That night, her journal bled with ink:

"I don't think he smiles. Not really. But he saw me. I know it. I'm not making this up. I'm not. He knows I exist.

What do I do with that?"

She stared at the page until her eyes blurred. Then slowly, almost absently, she began to sketch his eyes in the margins. Sharp. Cold. Impossible to read.

She drew them over and over again, until the page was a forest of stares.

The next day, Claire appeared at the coffee station again.

"Saturday," she said casually, "same order. Don't mess it up."

She didn't wait for a response.

Just left.

But she was smirking.

Lilan clutched the coffee rag in her hands, staring after her.

Her breath came fast. Hope and fear twisted together inside her like a storm.

He was coming back.

And Lilan Reyes would be ready.

Even if it killed her.