The late afternoon sun bathed the campus grounds in a honeyed hue, the warmth barely brushing Elena's skin as she leaned against the familiar stone bench near the fountain. It was the spot she and Jordan always ended up at—intentional or not. Her sketchpad rested in her lap, pencil poised but unmoving. For the first time in days, she couldn't bring herself to draw.
Her mind was thick with static—Jordan's hesitation during their last conversation had lodged itself into her like a splinter.
He was hiding something.
She didn't know what, but it was there—in his gaze, in the way his fingers had fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, in how his smile faltered right before he turned away.
Love wasn't supposed to be a puzzle. It was meant to be freeing, comforting. But lately, it felt like a house with one locked door neither of them dared to open.
"Mind if I sit?" His voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
She looked up, surprised. Jordan stood in front of her, disheveled as always, but handsome in a careless, effortless way that made her chest ache.
"Sure," she said, shifting her things to make space.
He sat slowly, glancing sideways at her. "You've been avoiding me."
"I've been busy," she replied curtly, eyes drifting to the fountain. "Exams. Projects. Life."
"That's fair," he said, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But that's not the whole truth, is it?"
"No," she whispered, then louder, "it's not."
A silence stretched between them, and in it bloomed the tension they'd both been ignoring.
"Elena," he began softly, "I need to tell you something."
She braced herself, heart thudding. "Then tell me."
But he didn't. Not yet.
---
Earlier That Week
Jordan had stood in front of Professor Daniels' office for nearly ten minutes before he found the courage to knock.
"Come in," came the gruff voice.
The office was cramped, lined with books, paperweights, and awards—each a testament to the professor's years of research. Jordan felt like an intruder.
"I need your advice," he said plainly. "About ethics."
Daniels removed his glasses, rubbed his temples, and gestured to the chair.
"You're not in trouble, are you?"
"No," Jordan said. "But I might be. Emotionally."
That caught Daniels off guard.
"I'm in love with someone," Jordan said. "Someone who doesn't know everything about me. About… where I come from. What I've done. And I'm scared that if I tell her, she won't look at me the same."
Professor Daniels leaned back, studying him with a surprisingly tender expression.
"Jordan, love is about showing the truth—messy, raw, unfiltered. If she really loves you, she'll see past what you were and into who you are now."
"But what if what I was is too dark?"
"Then let her decide."
---
Present
Jordan's hand reached for Elena's, tentative but sincere.
"There are parts of me I haven't shared with anyone," he said. "Not because I don't trust you. But because I wasn't sure you'd stay if you saw the whole picture."
Elena swallowed hard.
"Then show me," she said. "I'd rather know you fully than love a shadow of you."
His grip on her hand tightened slightly, as if drawing strength from her courage.
"I used to get into fights," he began, voice low. "Not just arguments—real, brutal ones. I was angry. At my father for leaving. At my mom for never speaking about him. At the world for making me feel invisible."
Elena listened, her silence filled with empathy.
"I hurt people. Nothing criminal, but bad enough that I was nearly expelled in secondary school. I spent a year in therapy before I came here. That's why I transferred late."
She exhaled slowly. "That's what you were scared of me knowing?"
"That, and… I'm scared I'll lose myself again. That being with you makes me better, but if I lose you, I might go back to that person."
She looked at him then, eyes shining. "You won't. Because you're not that boy anymore. You're this man, right in front of me, telling the truth even though it hurts."
A slow breath escaped his lips. He hadn't known how badly he'd needed to hear that.
Then Elena added, voice quieter, "I have things I haven't said either."
Jordan turned toward her. "You can tell me."
"Not today," she said, offering a small smile. "But soon."
---
Elsewhere
Danica watched them from a distance, her fingers tight around the strap of her bag. She had always known that Elena had something special. But watching the two of them—Jordan leaning in, Elena smiling like she'd found the one thing worth trusting again—it made something twist in her stomach.
It wasn't jealousy. Not exactly. It was the haunting realization that the two people she cared about most had found something with each other that she feared she might never find.
Danica turned away before they noticed her. She had her own secrets, too.
---
A Week Later
The group gathered at Bella's for a quiet evening. There were snacks, music, a few bottles of wine smuggled from someone's older cousin, and laughter. So much laughter.
Elena and Jordan sat close, not touching, but their bond palpable.
"Truth or dare," Bella called, her eyes sparkling.
Jordan grinned. "Truth."
Bella's gaze narrowed. "Who was your first love?"
Everyone oohed, except Elena who just tilted her head, amused.
Jordan didn't look at anyone but Elena as he said, "She's sitting right in front of me."
A collective sigh swept the room.
Elena blushed, hiding her face in her hands. "Okay, your turn, Bella."
But the game was already forgotten. In that moment, Elena knew. Whatever darkness Jordan had walked through, he had emerged from it with light in his eyes—and most of it was for her.
---
Later That Night
Elena stared at the stars from her balcony, the cold wind tugging at her sleeves. She felt light. Full. But in her chest, there was still an ache she couldn't quite name.
Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was fate whispering that calm like this never lasted long.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Jordan.
> Can I see you tomorrow? Just us. I want to take you somewhere.
She smiled, typing back.
> Always. Pick me up at noon?
> Perfect.
She stared at the screen a while longer, then whispered to the night, "Please don't take this away from me."
And somewhere in the dark, fate hesitated—just for a moment.