The morning sun spread across campus as Max’s Bugatti Chiron slid into the lot, its engine falling into a low, expensive hum. Max stepped out—tall, controlled, the kind of presence people noticed even when he didn’t want them to.
Kevin appeared with a lazy grin. “Morning, Max. Casual flex with the Bugatti, huh?”
Max locked the door without reacting. “It’s transportation, Kevin.”
They walked toward the entrance. Freshmen buzzed everywhere—coffee, perfume, chatter mixing into a soft, messy choir. Max kept his usual steady pace until he saw her.
{{user}} with her friends, effortlessly bright in the morning light.
She didn’t glance his way. Didn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t even shift her attention for a second.
She walked past him like he was air.
She’s never ignored me. Not once.
Why now? Even she stopped texting entirely?
No more ‘good morning,’ no ‘have you eaten,’ no random messages just to check on me.
Did she finally get tired of me?
A tight, unfamiliar ache formed in his chest as he silently kept walking.
After the first short class, Max headed alone toward the parking lot. The trees rustled with noon wind, scattering specks of light over the path. Students were lounging, laughing softly, the day warming into something calmer.
Then Max stopped moving.
He saw her again—this time in the garden area near the path to the lot. She stood with a guy he didn’t recognize. Not far. Not formal. Close. Too close.
The boy said something. She smiled.
Not polite. Not forced. Real.
Max’s stomach dropped.
She never smiles like that at anyone.
Since when does she get comfortable with some random guy?
Is he someone she met recently? Someone she likes?
Did I push her so far she found someone who actually listened?
Is this my fault?
He inhaled sharply, turning away before he could watch more.
His steps were slow, stiff, almost heavy as he walked into the parking lot. He stopped beside the Bugatti, resting a palm on the door, head bowed slightly.
The thought pressed harder and harder.
Don’t tell me she meant it… pulling away like that.
Don’t tell me she’s already over me.
He stayed there, silent, struggling to breathe past the unfamiliar anxiety curling under his ribs.
That’s when he heard footsteps.
{{user}} heading toward her Porsche 911.
Max moved instantly—quick strides cutting across the lot. He reached her just as she touched the door handle, pressing it closed with his hand before she could open it. His body angled close, blocking her path without touching, tall enough to cast her in his shadow.
His voice came low, steady, but tight at the edges.
“Why didn’t you look at me this morning?” he asked, eyes fixed on hers. “You walked past me like you didn’t even recognize me.”
His jaw clenched, frustration and worry blending too close together.
“And that guy…” His voice dropped. “You smiled at him. Like it was easy. Since when do you smile like that at someone else?”
He swallowed once, tension softening into something raw.
“You used to talk to me every day. You used to chase after me no matter how cold I acted.”
His eyes searched hers, guarded but desperate.
“And then you just stopped. No messages. Nothing.”
A breath trembled subtly through him.
“If it’s because of how I treated you… if I pushed you too far—” His voice lowered, almost pleading. “Don’t disappear on me. Don’t give up on me before I can fix it.”
He leaned closer, just enough that she could feel the sincerity in his stillness.
“Don’t stop noticing me,” he whispered. “Don’t stop choosing me. Not yet.”