Chapter 6 The Confessions Behind Closed Doors

The music thumped in the background of Demian's dorm suite-something loud, bass-heavy, and meaningless. His friends were scattered across the apartment, some playing video games, others chatting about weekend parties and girls they'd already lost interest in.

But in the smaller study room tucked in the back, Demian sat slouched on a leather chair, staring out the wide glass window, lost in thought.

His closest friend, Marcus, lounged across from him, twirling a basketball between his fingers.

"You've been weird lately, bro," Marcus said casually. "You've turned down three parties in two weeks, dumped Sophia without blinking, and today you didn't even throw shade at the freshman with gold shoes. What's going on with you?"

Demian exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with something tired-unsettled.

"It's her," he muttered.

Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"Her who? Don't tell me it's Amelia again."

Demian shot him a look.

Marcus sat up straighter.

"No way. You mean that... that fruit-selling girl you keep roasting in front of everyone?"

Demian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice low.

"Yeah. Her."

Marcus blinked.

"You like her?"

Demian nodded slowly.

"More than I want to admit."

The silence stretched.

"Bro... you've been calling her names since day one. Everyone thinks you can't stand her."

Demian chuckled bitterly, staring down at his hands.

"That's the problem, Marcus. I've been lying. To everyone. To myself. I tell myself she's just a poor girl who doesn't belong here. That she's too serious, too proud, too stubborn. But man, she walks into a room and it's like... like everything else fades. And those eyes..."

He looked up at Marcus with frustration brewing in his chest.

"She's not even trying. That's the worst part. She's not like the other girls. She doesn't care about the parties or the status or how much my family owns. She walks around like she owns herself-and it drives me crazy."

Marcus smirked.

"So why not just tell her how you feel?"

Demian scoffed, sitting back in his chair.

"You don't get it. If I let people know I've fallen for a girl like her, they'll eat me alive. My father will flip. The school will laugh. My entire reputation will burn. I'm Demian Blackwood. I'm supposed to date models and rich girls-not some scholarship girl who lives in a one-room apartment with a broken fan."

He paused, then added with a conflicted sigh:

"But when she looks at me... like I'm nothing special... like I don't scare her... it's the only time I actually feel seen."

Marcus stayed quiet for a moment, then tossed the basketball aside.

"Man, that sounds a lot like love. Dangerous kind, though-the kind that'll make or break you."

Demian stared back out the window. Somewhere in the distance, he imagined Amelia walking home with her worn-out bag and determined steps, probably thinking of business plans while the rest of them wasted time.

"I hate that I like her this much," he said softly.

Marcus smirked.

"Then stop bullying her, Romeo. You're only pushing her away."

Demian looked down.

"I know. But if I show her the real me... what if she walks away?"

Marcus leaned forward, serious now.

"The real question is-what if you never give her the chance to see it?"

Demian didn't answer.

But the silence in his chest was louder than ever.

Unlike his younger brother Elias, Elias Blackwood never walked through the school halls with an entourage or the smell of expensive cologne trailing behind him. He didn't speak unless he had something meaningful to say, and he never joined the buzzing student cliques that treated Blackwood University like their playground.

Elias was a shadow in the halls-tall, mysterious, eyes always thoughtful and distant. But beneath the surface, his heart beat with quiet storms.

He was the youngest son of Richard Blackwood-but to him, that name felt more like a burden than a legacy.

From the moment he could understand words, Elias had heard the whispers. "His mother died giving birth to him."

"He carries misfortune."

"A cursed child..."

And over the years, that belief began to root itself in his soul.

His father never said the words aloud, but Elias felt them in the silence. He felt it in the way his birthday was always quiet. In the way Richard looked at him like a reminder instead of a son.

So Elias pulled away from the world. He lived among books, sketches, and piano notes that no one else ever heard. He didn't bother with attention, nor did he seek friendship.

Until Amelia.She was the first person he noticed not because of what she wore or who she knew-but because of who she was.

There was something radiant about her, something real. She walked with a fire in her spirit, despite the dust on her shoes. Her laughter-when it came-was like sunlight through cracked glass. And her eyes... they held stories, pain, and strength beyond her age.

She didn't try to fit in. She didn't chase anyone's approval.

And Elias found himself drawn to her. Quietly. Hopelessly.

He would sit on the far end of the library, pretending to read, just to catch a glimpse of her as she scribbled in her notebook. He memorized the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought, the way she bit her lip when she solved a tough equation.

He loved her in silence.

And he hated himself for it.

Because deep inside, Elias believed that he was not meant to be loved. He was the boy whose mother died bringing him into the world. The boy whose presence brought sorrow.

He didn't know that it was Amelia's late father, a man his own father betrayed, who laid a curse upon the Blackwoods:

"As you have killed my name and stolen my future, so shall death follow every woman who dares bear your name. Every wife to the Blackwood sons shall taste what my wife tasted-grief."

Richard had buried that curse in silence. But the shadow of it haunted Elias's life like a second skin.

But Amelia... Amelia made him want to hope again.

One afternoon, she found him sketching alone beneath the oak tree behind the west building-a place students rarely went.

She approached, quietly, curiously.

"You draw?" she asked, sitting beside him without asking.

Elias flinched slightly but didn't close his sketchbook. He didn't want to hide from her.

"Only when the world feels too heavy," he replied.

She smiled at that-her real smile, dimples showing, gap tooth shining like sunlight through a window. It made his chest ache.

"Then you must be drawing all the time," she teased gently.

He let out the softest chuckle. It was the first sound of joy he'd allowed himself in months.

They talked. That day. And then another. And slowly, Amelia became the only person who made Elias feel human.

She admired him-not for his name, but for his soul. His depth. His quiet, hurting strength.

And she began to fall for him too.

She loved that he didn't need to prove anything to anyone. That he listened more than he spoke. That when he did speak, it mattered.

But still, Elias kept his feelings locked inside. Not out of pride-like Demian-but out of fear. Fear that the curse was real. That loving Amelia would only doom her.

So he loved her from afar. Longed for her in silence.

And every day, he fought with the aching desire to hold her-and the paralyzing fear of losing her before he ever got the chance.

"She's the only good thing I've ever known. But if I let her in... if she becomes mine... will the curse take her too? Will she become just another shadow behind my eyes?"

So he waited.

And watched.

And loved her-quietly, painfully, and endlessly.