𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 </𝟑

The quad was buzzing with late morning energy — people tossing frisbees, someone playing soft indie music through a Bluetooth speaker, and others hunched over textbooks with iced coffees in hand. You sat under the wide shade of a tree with your friends, your knees pulled up as you half-listened to the conversation around you.

They were laughing about something — probably about the professor who always forgot to mute himself on Zoom — but your mind was elsewhere.

Across the lawn, Silas was leaning against the brick wall near the coffee cart. His hoodie was pulled over his hair, headphones looped around his neck, skateboard resting against his side. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just scrolling on his phone, iced drink sweating in his hand.

You looked away, back at your friends, then looked again.

His eyes were already on you.

It was quick — a flicker. You caught his gaze for a second too long before he looked down, pretending to adjust his grip on the cup. Your stomach tightened. That small glance hit harder than it should’ve.

It had been a week since the two of you agreed to take a break. No big fight. No slamming doors or yelling. Just… confusion. Miscommunication. Stress. College had gotten overwhelming, and it was easier to pull apart than risk breaking something that still mattered.

But now, every time you saw him — in the halls, across the library, two seats down in lecture — it was like trying to breathe underwater.

Your friend nudged you. “You okay? You spaced out.”