The second I got home, I collapsed face-first onto my bed and screamed into the pillow.
What the actual hell was that?
Why did I sound like a socially anxious golden retriever with zero game?
"Aiden…" I whispered to myself like some lovesick idiot. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. "Why are you nice to me?"—he asked. Bro. BRO. Did he not realize how insanely cute he looked asking that, all bruised and tragic and soft-voiced? My brain short-circuited.
And then me—"You're not much of a talker, huh?"
I said that. Out loud. With my mouth.
To the guy I was lowkey (highkey) trying to impress.
I groaned and dragged a pillow over my face. "I'm never speaking again."
Every second of that drive played in my head like a humiliating rom-com I didn't sign up for. The way he sat in my passenger seat, all silent and guarded. The way I couldn't stop looking at him. His busted lip. His voice. That one stupid little half-smile that had me gripping the steering wheel like my life depended on it.
And then he asked for my name.
My name.
Progress? Maybe? Or just basic manners?
I don't know. All I know is I'm whipped. Already. Fully.
I need help. Or a slap. Or maybe both.
Because if I wasn't before, now I'm officially obsessed.
I was still lying there—half dead from the embarrassment overload, half floating on a pathetic cloud of post-crush delusion—when my phone buzzed against the sheets.
First text: "Be home a bit later than usual. Shopping with Theo. He's dragging me all over the place lol J"
From: Treasured Pain in the Ass.
God. That woman.
I snorted. My aunt really had the audacity to text like we were besties after she'd basically tried to auction off my love life to a teenager. Shopping with Theo? Of course. She probably thought setting me up with him would score her the title of matchmaker of the year. Delusional.
Then came the wave.
Theo. Text after text.
Theo: How was school?
Theo: Wanna come over later?
Theo: We can binge that show you like
Theo: Also your aunt is picking out hideous dresses. Save me pls
I dropped the phone beside me and rubbed my face. Theo was… fine. Sweet, even. But if he thought tagging along with my deranged aunt gave him a leg up in my love life, he was more delusional than she was. That woman shouldn't get a say in anyone's dating life until she had at least three therapy breakthroughs.
I closed my eyes, exhaled through my nose.
Then Aiden's face flashed behind my eyelids.
Damn him.
In one day, he'd already started to bury someone I swore I could never forget. That ghost from my past—the blurry boy I maybe loved, maybe just built up in my head until he became this sacred little mystery.
But Aiden…
He was real. Real enough to bleed. Real enough to be bruised. Real enough to make me feel something again—and not the kind of something you drown in nostalgia. This was sharp. Present.
I hated it.
But I kind of loved it too.
He made me forget my first obsession. And maybe that was the point. Maybe chasing a ghost all these years was just an excuse. Maybe it was time I stopped grieving something that never even started.
I sat up slowly and grabbed my phone again. I didn't reply to Theo. Not yet.
Because right now, I had to figure out a new mission:
Not chasing a memory.
Not escaping my aunt.
Just…
Getting Aiden to look at me the way I look at him.
And that, unfortunately, would take actual effort. Ugh.
_ _ _
The next day at school was… weird. I kept seeing Aiden everywhere. Like, everywhere. The boy who was basically a ghost yesterday had suddenly turned into a walking school landmark.
But always from a distance.
And never alone.
He was constantly surrounded by those… what do you call them? Oh right—student council people. His crew. I knew he was the vice president, but I didn't realize that meant he had an entourage.
Still, the image of his bruised face from yesterday kept sneaking back into my mind like a virus I couldn't uninstall. If he had all this power, all these people around him, then why the hell was he getting hurt? And worse—why was he keeping quiet about it?
I clenched my fists just thinking about it.
But every time we crossed paths, he'd look up—like he felt me watching. A soft glance. A slight tilt of the head. A smile that could've made angels weep.
Damn you, Aiden.
You beautiful, infuriating devil.
You have no idea what you're doing to me.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted—emotionally, mentally, physically, existentially. I dragged myself toward the parking lot, fully ready to sulk in my car alone and scream into the steering wheel.
Then I saw him.
Waiting by my car.
I nearly had a heart attack. On the outside? Cool as ice. On the inside? Nuclear meltdown.
"Hey, Aiden. What's up?" I asked, voice only slightly betraying the fact that my brain was doing cartwheels.
He casually brushed away a strand of hair that had slipped from his messy bun and said, "Didn't mean to bother, but… could I get a ride home? You're the only one who knows where I live and… I'm not really in the mood to walk alone today, if you get what I mean."
Does this mean we're friends now?
Is he hitting on me?
Do I say yes? Do I act cool? What's happening?!
My brain was a jumbled mess of static, but I forced out a very dignified, "Um…"
Aiden's eyes dropped a little. "Well, if it's a bother, I can always—"
"No!" I practically shouted.
He blinked.
"I mean… yeah. I mean… it's fine."
He raised a brow. Amused. Confused. Possibly reevaluating my mental stability.
I sighed. "Just… get in the car, man."
He chuckled. Chuckled. And got in.
"Okay."
As I slid into the driver's seat, I couldn't stop the stupid warmth in my chest. God, he smelled nice. This close, I could see the edge of a healing bruise under his jaw.
And all I could think was: I want to be the person you call when something goes wrong.
Even if right now, I could barely form a sentence.
The drive this time wasn't as awkward as the last. Aiden actually talked—like, talked talked. Asked how school was, told me about some student council projects… I nodded, I smiled, I probably said "cool" too many times, but honestly? I wasn't listening.
All I could focus on were his lips. The way they moved, the curve of them when he laughed softly. I wanted to kiss him just to shut him up.
God, I know I wanted conversation, but not when it made me want to crash the car from sheer thirst.
I pulled up in front of his apartment. He opened the door, gave me this bright, stupidly beautiful smile and said, "Thanks. I had fun talking with you."
Then he turned and walked off.
I sat there, gripping the steering wheel like it had personally wronged me.
God, someone kill me now.