The puppy incident had softened my stance on Felix, just slightly. Enough that I stopped actively avoiding him, though our interactions were still mostly reserved, punctuated by his occasional, unexpected bluntness. Then, the scholarship email landed in my inbox.
It was for the prestigious Thorne Family Arts Scholarship – a full ride for a student demonstrating exceptional talent and promise in creative fields, but with a new "community impact" clause added this year. I'd applied months ago, almost on a whim, never really expecting anything. But now, the email stated I was shortlisted for the final round. My heart hammered with a mix of disbelief and hope. This scholarship could change everything for me.
The excitement lasted until I overheard a conversation in the student lounge the next day. Two senior art students, names I didn't know, were talking heatedly.
"Can you believe they shortlisted her for the Thorne scholarship?" one scoffed. "The one who ran into Felix Thorne's car? Total fluke. She probably only got on the list because Felix put in a word for her. You know, to 'fix' his little public mess."
"Yeah, I heard that too," the other agreed. "Apparently, the Thorne family is all about damage control. Giving her a scholarship would be a quick way to shut her up and make their heir look like a generous benefactor after the car incident. Total PR move."
The words hit me like a physical blow, colder and harder than anything Felix had said before. The puppy moment, his unexpected help in the rain – it all evaporated, replaced by a searing shame. A PR move? Was that what this was? Was my talent, my hard work, just a way for the Thorne family to clean up their image, with me as the unwitting pawn? The 'public mess' that needed to be "handled" by a scholarship, instead of just a cleaned-up article.
My stomach churned. The idea of my future, my dreams, being a calculated transaction, a way to make Felix look good, was soul-destroying. It confirmed my worst fears: to them, I was just a problem to be solved, a loose end to be tied up. And Felix, in his 'generosity,' was just furthering his family's agenda, perhaps without even realizing how much it destroyed my sense .
(Felix's POV)
The campus was finally starting to settle into a rhythm. The article incident was behind us, and while Elisa still kept her distance, the puppy rescue had at least thawed her enough that she wasn't actively glaring anymore. Progress. Slow, agonizing progress.
Then, the email from the Thorne Family Foundation landed in my personal inbox. It was an internal update on the Arts Scholarship finalists. My eyes scanned the names, checking off the usual suspects from the top art schools. And then I saw it: Elisa.
A knot tightened in my stomach. Her. For the Thorne Arts Scholarship. This was a separate branch of the foundation, focused purely on merit, completely outside my father's direct influence on daily operations. But the optics… I could already hear the whispers. Felix Thorne's car crash girl? Now she's getting a Thorne scholarship? Obvious damage control. Buying her silence.
It was exactly the kind of "public mess" my family was always trying to avoid, even if this one wasn't my doing. This had nothing to do with the car; Elisa's portfolio was genuinely strong. I knew, because I'd actually glanced at some of the submissions for the "community impact" category a few weeks ago, just out of curiosity. Her project, a series of photographs capturing candid moments of local community life, had stuck with me. Raw, honest, unlike anything else. It deserved to be on that list.
But no one would see it that way. Not with the recent public humiliation she'd faced because of my car. They'd assume the worst. And knowing Elisa, she'd probably think the same thing. That this was some grand, manipulative gesture by my family to shut her up. That I was somehow behind it. The thought infuriated me. I wasn't behind it. I never would have done something so transparently clumsy. This was about her merit.
I saw her later in the library, hunched over her laptop, her face flushed with that familiar mix of anger and humiliation. She'd heard. Of course she had. I knew exactly what she was thinking. And for once, I didn't have a quick, cold retort. How do you defend something that, to the outside world, looks exactly like the manipulative crap your family would pull? It was an infuriating, unfair situation. She deserved this on her own terms, not as collateral damage from my world.
ELISA'S pov
The air in the private dining room of the exclusive restaurant was thick with forced politeness. My Aunt Carol had, predictably, set up another "casual family dinner," but the moment I saw Felix's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, seated at the head of the long, polished table, I knew what was happening. This was a damage control dinner, and I was the primary "damage."
I kept my head down, picking at my food, acutely aware of Felix across the table. He looked uncharacteristically strained, exchanging terse, low whispers with his father. His mother, an impeccably dressed woman with eyes that seemed to miss nothing, smiled thinly at me whenever our gazes accidentally met.
Halfway through the meal, Mr. Thorne cleared his throat. "Elisa, my dear," he began, his voice smooth and authoritative. "We were quite saddened to hear about the unfortunate incident involving our son's vehicle and the subsequent sensationalism in the college paper. Felix assured us it was all a regrettable misunderstanding."
I stiffened, preparing for the condescending apology, the subtle payment offer.
But then, Mrs. Thorne chimed in, her voice surprisingly warm. "Indeed. And, on a much more positive note, we were absolutely delighted to see your name on the shortlist for the Thorne Arts Scholarship, Elisa. Your photography portfolio, particularly your 'Faces of the City' series, truly stood out. It's rare to see such raw talent and keen observation at such a young age. My husband was quite impressed."
Mr. Thorne nodded, a genuine, albeit brief, smile on his face. "Yes, truly exceptional. We added the 'community impact' clause to the scholarship this year precisely to find voices like yours, Elisa. Talent, yes, but also a connection to the world beyond the ivory tower. We truly hope you'll consider accepting if you are indeed the final selection."
My jaw dropped, subtly. Their words were sincere. They weren't talking about "damage control" or "public messes." They were talking about my work. My photography. The realization washed over me like a cold wave, immediately followed by a blush of mortification. All this time, I had assumed the worst, that my scholarship was just a convenient way to clean up Felix's car accident. But they were genuinely interested in my art.
I risked a glance at Felix. He was watching me, a faint, almost relieved, expression on his face. He caught my eye and gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, See? I told you it wasn't my doing. The bitterness I'd felt for weeks began to unravel. He wasn't behind it. This wasn't a calculated move. This was… real.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. I found myself actually talking to Mr. and Mrs. Thorne about my photography, their questions insightful and genuinely interested. Felix remained mostly quiet, but I felt his gaze on me, a new kind of unspoken communication passing between us – a shared understanding, a quiet apology, and perhaps, a genuine offer of another chance.
A Quiet Confession
A few days after the Thorne family dinner, Lisa bounced into our dorm room, practically radiating happiness. "You will not believe what happened! I finally know what Leo's studying!"
I looked up from my laptop, intrigued. Despite their growing closeness, Leo remained fiercely private about some things. "Oh yeah? What is it? Astrophysics? Ancient languages?" I teased, knowing his intellectual bent.
Lisa grinned, her cheeks a little flushed. "He's majoring in Music Composition! Can you believe it? He plays like, a gazillion instruments, and he writes these incredible, complex pieces. He played one for me last night, in the practice rooms. It was… amazing, Elisa. Like, really, truly beautiful." Her voice softened, a hint of awe in her eyes. "He said he only tells people he really trusts."
My smile widened. "Wow, Lisa. That's big. He really must like you."
"I think so!" she whispered, plopping down on her bed, a dreamy look on her face. "He said he wants me to be the first one to hear all his new pieces. And he asked me to come to his family's summer house for a weekend next month." She hesitated, then added, "He also said his family is... very musical. And very private. He wants me to meet them."
"That's huge!" I exclaimed. "So, the cold, indifferent Leo is actually a secret musical genius who's inviting you to meet his super private family?"
"See!" she beamed. "I told you there was more to him! He's just really shy, and he needed someone to pull it out of him. And," she added, her eyes sparkling, "his mom makes the best lasagna, apparently."
It was clear that Lisa's persistent warmth and open heart had finally broken through Leo's carefully constructed walls. He wasn't just indifferent; he was guarded, perhaps as much as Felix in his own way, but with a different set of vulnerabilities. And now, he was finally letting someone in. It was a testament to the power of seeing beyond initial impressions, a lesson I was slowly, awkwardly, learning myself.
(Felix's POV)
The private dining room at Ambrosia was stifling, even with the air conditioning. Another one of Aunt Carol's "casual family dinners," which always meant more strategic networking and polite interrogations. My parents, predictably, were at the head of the table, radiating their usual composed power. And across from me, looking as uncomfortable as I felt, was Elisa. She was picking at her food, keeping her eyes glued to her plate. The ghost of her humiliated face in the library still pricked at my conscience. I hated that I'd caused that, even inadvertently.
My father, Mr. Thorne, finally cleared his throat, signaling the start of the inevitable formal portion of the evening. "Elisa, my dear," he began, his voice perfectly modulated, "We were quite saddened to hear about the unfortunate incident involving our son's vehicle and the subsequent sensationalism in the college paper. Felix assured us it was all a regrettable misunderstanding."
I watched Elisa stiffen. I knew exactly what she was expecting: a condescending apology, a reminder of her "mess" status. That was the usual family playbook.
But then, my mother, ever the strategist, smoothly interjected. "Indeed. And, on a much more positive note, we were absolutely delighted to see your name on the shortlist for the Thorne Arts Scholarship, Elisa. Your photography portfolio, particularly your 'Faces of the City' series, truly stood out. It's rare to see such raw talent and keen observation at such a young age. My husband was quite impressed."
My father nodded, actually smiling. "Yes, truly exceptional. We added the 'community impact' clause to the scholarship this year precisely to find voices like yours, Elisa. Talent, yes, but also a connection to the world beyond the ivory tower. We truly hope you'll consider accepting if you are indeed the final selection."
I watched Elisa's reaction. Her jaw literally dropped, subtly, almost imperceptibly, but I saw it. The initial tension in her shoulders melted away, replaced by a wave of disbelief, then a blush of mortification. That was the moment she realized. They weren't talking about the car. They weren't talking about "damage control." They were talking about her work. Her actual, genuine talent. The relief that flooded me was profound, unexpected. She finally understood.
Our eyes met. I gave her a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. See? I told you it wasn't my doing. This is for you. A silent, shared understanding. The bitterness I'd seen in her for weeks, that silent accusation, seemed to begin to unravel.
The rest of the dinner was a strange kind of peace. Elisa actually spoke, animatedly, about her photography, answering my parents' insightful questions. She wasn't just existing in the background anymore; she was shining. And my parents, surprisingly, were genuinely engaged. It was a side of them I rarely saw, a genuine appreciation for something outside of power and profit.
I remained mostly quiet, observing. It was satisfying to see her finally realize that this wasn't some manipulation. That she truly earned this. The way her eyes now sparkled when she talked about her art, the way she was finally comfortable in her own skin, even in this intimidating setting. This was a different kind of 'cleaning up a mess,' and it felt… right.