Elise didn't make the first move, not directly.
She started small.
A nod when they crossed paths.
A comment in passing when he was talking to someone else.
Lingered glances that lasted a breath longer than polite.
And Ren—he didn't recoil.
Didn't mock her. Didn't shut her down.
He acknowledged her.
Sometimes a faint smile, other times a simple look. Cool. Measuring. But not dismissive.
It was enough.
Elise wasn't foolish enough to leap. Not yet. The fire had already burned her once. But she could inch toward the warmth again.
The moment that cemented it came on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
Students scattered through the common building, seeking shelter from the downpour. Ren was in the corner of the study lounge, typing on his laptop, headphones in.
Elise hesitated at the door.
She wasn't sure what propelled her feet forward, only that she didn't stop.
She sat across from him.
He didn't look up for several seconds.
Then, he did.
Pulled off one earbud. "Hey."
Just that. No sarcasm. No suspicion.
"Hey," Elise replied, trying to make her voice sound casual. "Editing something?"
He nodded. "Segment for next week's upload."
"Which series?" she asked.
Ren studied her face. "The one about performance and authenticity."
She smiled faintly. "Sounds like it hits close to home."
"Always does."
A pause stretched between them.
Elise leaned slightly forward, resting her elbow on the table. "I watched your older videos. You were... different. More distant."
Ren tilted his head. "People change."
"Even me?" she asked, half a challenge, half an invitation.
Ren didn't answer right away.
Then: "Possibly."
Her heart skipped once.
It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no.
The next few days followed a pattern. Ren remained as enigmatic as ever, but never once did he push her away.
Sometimes, she found herself walking the halls and catching his reflection just behind her in glass windows.
Other times, they shared the same space in the AV room or the library lounge, talking quietly—never too long, never too revealing.
And Lira noticed.
Elise saw it in the subtle way her gaze shifted whenever Ren entered the room.
The quiet stiffening of her shoulders.
The way her hands clenched a little tighter around the straps of her backpack when Elise sat beside him.
And for once, Elise didn't feel triumphant about it.
Not gloating. Not cruel.
Just... noticed.
She wasn't trying to hurt Lira anymore.
Not exactly.
She just wanted to feel close to something powerful again. And Ren—he was gravity.
That Friday, the three of them stood near the vending machines again, by coincidence or design.
Ren was sipping canned coffee and coughing—subtly. Elise leaned against the wall.
Lira approached with quiet tension in every step.
"Elise," she said, voice level. "Can I talk to you?"
Ren didn't interrupt. Just raised an eyebrow and stepped aside slightly.
Elise followed Lira a few feet away.
Lira's voice was quiet but firm. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not sure I owe you an answer," Elise replied softly.
"You're circling him," Lira said. "Like he's a prize."
"I don't want to fight with you."
"Then stop acting like we're playing a game."
Elise looked past her, to where Ren stood watching without interfering.
"I'm not playing," she said. "Not anymore."
Lira didn't respond. Her eyes burned, not with hate, but something deeper. Sadder.
She turned and walked away.
Ren approached after a moment. "That went how you hoped?"
Elise gave him a sidelong look. "Not everything's about winning."
He smiled faintly. "That's a new philosophy for you."
She didn't smile back.
But she stood taller.
And he didn't walk away.
That was enough—for now.
But the line between healing and manipulation had never been thinner.
And neither of them seemed entirely sure which side they were on.
…
Lira couldn't place the moment it started.
Was it the way Ren replied to Elise's comments now—short, but never dismissive?
Or how he no longer sought her out the way he once did in the mornings?
Maybe it was the look in Elise's eyes.
Like she'd found an answer to a question no one had asked her.
It was small things.
Ren used to sit beside Lira when they watched the practice debates, offering quiet jokes only she could hear.
Lately, he sat across. Sometimes beside Elise.
He still smiled at Lira. Still talked to her.
But something was different.
There were pauses now.
Delays.
Moments where his attention drifted to the wrong person.
To Elise.
Lira watched the change like someone watching the tide steal a castle they built in sand.
And she couldn't stop it.
One afternoon, during a literature seminar, Lira saw Elise lean over Ren's shoulder, peering at his screen.
Their conversation was quiet. Muted laughter. Elise's hair brushed his arm.
Ren didn't move away.
He didn't lean in either—but he didn't move.
It was restraint, not resistance.
Lira's pen trembled against the edge of her notebook.
She didn't say anything.
Couldn't.
But her stomach felt hollow.
At lunch, Ren sat beside her again. Asked about her upcoming presentation.
Lira nodded, smiled, answered. But the questions burned in her throat.
Why was Elise always around now?
Why didn't he mind?
Was it just strategy?
Or was it... something else?
That night, she opened their old messages.
Ren used to send her ideas at odd hours. Song snippets. Skits. Raw video drafts. Unfiltered and eager.
Now, the last message was two days old.
"You'll do fine tomorrow. Don't overthink it."
It was kind. Simple.
But it wasn't him. Not really.
The next morning, Lira arrived at campus early.
She sat on the stone bench beneath the library's arch.
Ren used to find her here first.
Not today.
Elise found her instead.
"Waiting?" she asked, voice neutral.
Lira didn't answer.
Elise stood there, her bag slung low on one shoulder, coat half-draped. There was no mockery in her expression.
Just calculation.
"You don't trust me," Elise said.
"Should I?" Lira asked quietly.
Elise shrugged. "No. But I haven't lied. Not lately."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I'm... adjusting," Elise said. "Ren makes you want to be seen differently. Heard differently."
Lira's chest clenched. "He's not a tool for your redemption."
Elise tilted her head. "What if it's not redemption I'm after?"
Lira stood up, suddenly needing air.
"Elise," she said, eyes narrowing, "he trusted you enough to let you speak to him again. Don't twist that into something it's not."
Elise didn't answer.
But she didn't deny it.
When Lira saw Ren later that day, she pretended nothing had changed.
He laughed at one of her jokes. Held the door for her. Asked if she'd seen the new edit he uploaded.
She hadn't.
When she watched it that night, her heart sank.
The title was "What Makes People Change?"
The video wasn't dramatic. No flashy cuts or music swells. Just Ren talking. Casual, reflective.
He spoke about mistakes. About people breaking, then rebuilding.
He didn't name names.
But Elise's face flickered once in the background—out of focus, leaning on a window.
And in the final shot, as Ren ended his thoughts with, "Maybe it's not about deserving second chances, but about what we do with them," the camera turned slightly—catching a silhouette walking beside him.
Not Lira.
Elise.
Lira closed the video.
She didn't cry.
She just stared at the screen.
Something wasn't being taken from her.
It was slipping.
And that, somehow, was worse.
The next day, she saw them again.
Elise and Ren by the courtyard steps. Not close, but not far.
Talking. Laughing, maybe. She couldn't hear from her spot near the fountain.
Ren turned, sensing her gaze, and smiled.
Lira smiled back.
Then walked the other way.
Her heart was quiet.
But the ache had grown too loud to ignore.
And for the first time in weeks—she felt alone again.
Even with Ren's name still in her inbox.
Unread.
Waiting.